Part 27 (1/2)
”But the flowers fade, the leaves fall, the fruit drops off and decays, and the tree is a naked, desolate object, when the storms of winter wheel and whistle around it,” said Chester, darkly.
”Not so with the TREE OF LIFE,” cried the old man, with fine enthusiasm.
”Earth is but its nursery. In his own good time, the Husbandman transplants it into the pure soil of his eternal gardens.”
”And the weeds are burned in everlasting fire!”
”The _weeds_--yes; let us hope so! Let us pray that the good G.o.d will deliver us from the weeds of all base pa.s.sion, which continually spring up in the most carefully tended soil of earth. What remembrance do we need of this swamp-lot, when we are once out of its mud and mire?”
”I mean,” said Chester, ”those trees which the weeds do choke,--those wild crabs which bring forth no good fruit,--_they_ are cast out.”
”And can the good Husbandman plant them side by side with the better trees, in his garden?” asked the clergyman. ”Indeed, would they flourish in a soil so different from that they loved here too well? Nor would they choose that soil. If they are not prepared for the companions.h.i.+p of the cultivated grafts, other and lower places will be found most appropriate for their unsubdued natures.”
Chester remained very thoughtful. By this time they had come in sight of Mark's house,--a wood-colored building, situated on a pleasant rise of ground, in the midst of an orchard. Mr. Royden and Mark were already climbing the fence built about the inclosure, in the midst of which stood the barn and stables.
XXII.
THE FIGHT AND THE VICTORY.
Father Brighthopes and his companion found Mr. Royden examining the injured eye of the sorrel colt, which Mark held by the halter in the yard.
”Can anything be done for it?” asked the jockey, anxiously.
Mr. Royden shook his head, with a pained expression. He loved horses above all other domestic animals, and a fine colt like Mark's he regarded almost as a human being. He could not, it seemed, have felt much worse, had he witnessed the effects of a similar injury upon a fellow-mortal.
”Spoilt, an't it?”
”Yes,” said the farmer; ”I see no help for it.”
”I know,” rejoined Mark, ”the sight is ruined. But is the eye going to look very bad? Will he show it much?”
”Ah, Mark!” said Chester, rather harshly, for a fresh suspicion had entered his mind; ”that hurt can never be covered up. You can't trade him off for a sound horse, if you try.”
Mark turned upon him, with a fierce oath.
”An't it enough for me to know it, without having it flung in my teeth?”
he demanded.
”You deserve it all,” retorted Chester, kindling.
”I do?” muttered Mark, with clenched fists.
”Oh, I am not afraid of you,” said Chester, turning slightly pale, but not from fear.
His lips were firmly compressed, and he fixed his fine dark eyes upon the jockey, with a look of defiance.
”Boys, boys!” exclaimed Mr. Royden, impatiently, ”what is all this about? Chester, leave the yard!”