THE SORROWING FATHER.
In another volume of this series, I have told you about Mr. Cahart who brought the stone steps from the granite quarry. He had a son who gave him great trouble, and whom he promised that that he would send to Oxford for Bertie to take to his mamma, hoping she would do him good.
Every day for a long time the little fellow expected the boy would come up the avenue at Woodlawn. But nothing had ever been seen or heard from him; and now more than a month had passed.
One lovely afternoon during the pleasant season called the Indian summer, Mr. Curtis invited his wife, Bertie and Winnie to ride with him to the quarry where he wished to pay the balance of his bill, part of which Bertie had paid Mr. Cahart.
The lady gladly consented and told Nancy to dress the children as soon as possible.
The country never had looked so delightful to Mrs. Curtis as now that the fields were dressed in their gay, autumn attire. Their road lay through rich woods of maple, birch and oak, brilliant in their red and yellow hues.
Mrs. Curtis could scarcely express her delight.
"Oh, there is a branch so perfect! I must have that!" or, "Lawrence, it's too bad to trouble you again; but it does seem wicked to pass so many beauties. They would look so lovely in our new house."
And Lawrence, the most indulgent of husbands, would check up his gay horses, and spring from the carriage and break off branch after branch as she directed.
Herbert had inherited all his mother's love for the beauties of nature, as well as her enthusiasm. His cheeks glowed and his blue eyes sparkled as she piled her treasures in his lap, charging him to guard them with care.
At length they reached the town and drove at once to the hotel, where Mr. Curtis left them, promising to return in fifteen or twenty minutes.
The air was so fine that Mrs. Curtis preferred to sit in the carriage, which she could easily do as the hostler stood at the horses' heads.
The children were chatting gayly when a loud geeing was heard; and presently an ox-team was seen slowly approaching from the direction of the granite quarry.
"Oh, mamma!" said Bertie greatly excited, "there's Mr. Cahart. I do hope he will stop and speak to me. I want to know why his son did not come to Woodlawn as he promised."
The child leaned as far as he could from the carriage, hoping to attract attention; but the man did not once glance toward him. His face looked very sober, as if his heart were sore.
Just as the great load of granite was opposite the carriage Bertie shouted in an excited tone:
"Mr. Cahart! Oh, Mr. Cahart! Please stop! I want to see you!"
Mrs. Curtis was surprised at the effect of her son's voice on the man. He started, gazed about him, and then spying the little fellow in the carriage, came quickly toward them, seizing the small hand Bertie so cordially held out, and exclaiming with great energy:
"Aye, aye, boy, I'm powerful glad to see you!"
"This is my mamma," explained Bertie. "We came to pay Mr. Fuller's bill, and I hoped I should see you somewhere; but why didn't you let your son come to see us?"
Mr. Cahart's face worked convulsively. For a moment he seemed unable to articulate one word; but presently recovering himself he said, with a gasp:
"I've never set eyes on that boy since."
"Why, I'm so sorry, where is he?"
"Run off."
"Oh, dear! how could he do so?"
"Did you never find where he had gone?" inquired Mrs. Curtis in a deeply sympathizing tone.
"I followed him to the city, ma'am, found he'd sailed the morning before, in company with one of his mates, the worst boy in town."
The last words were accompanied by a groan.
"Where was the vessel bound?" asked the lady.
"For the West Indies, ma'am. She's due next week; but I'm afeard that during the voyage my boy has learned nothing but wickedness in company with those rough, swearing sailors."
Mrs. Curtis thought this so probable that she could not think of a word to comfort the poor father's heart, and Bertie could only gaze sorrowfully in his face.
The man turned away, and made a step towards his oxen, but then came back and said abruptly:
"I never shall forget your boy, ma'am. His words led me to the Bible. Bad as wife and I have taken on since our only child ran away from us, we should have been a great deal worse but for the words of comfort we found in God's book."
"I am truly rejoiced to hear you say that," exclaimed Mrs. Curtis, warmly. "If you have learned to pray, you will find comfort in leaving your child in the hands of the almighty Friend whose eye has followed him in all his wanderings. Remember the heart of our Saviour yearns over the creatures for whom he has shed his blood."
"Thank you, ma'am," faltered the man, his eyes growing dim. "I wish wife could have heard you talk; but I shall tell her every word I can remember. I don't mind saying to you, that wife and I were never so nigh each other as since we began to pray. There used to be high words between us, I accusing her of humoring the boy; and she calling me a hard old tyrant. But each of us sees now that we were both in the wrong. If we'd taught him the Bible from the first, he would have stuck to it. There's the promise, 'Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it.'"
At this moment Mr. Curtis was seen hurrying toward them; and Mr. Cahart with a "God bless your boy, ma'am," turned abruptly away.
