CHAPTER II.
TOILS AND TRIALS.
When William arose the next morning, he met his parents with as smiling a face as if his father had presented him with a case of pencils, instead of discouraging his attempts at drawing. Nothing was said on the subject, and the weeks rolled on quietly and peacefully as before, until William passed his ninth birthday, and the Christmas-time drew near. This is a festive time with most; and it seems right that it should be so, for can man ever be sufficiently thankful for the great gift of a Saviour, whose birth was heralded by the songs of angels on that day? All nations observe their peculiar ceremonies, but perhaps none are more faithfully observant of them than the Germans in the little community of M——, most of whose inhabitants at the time of which we write were descendants of the original Dutch settlers. Many ceremonies and customs, relics of a ruder age, and now nearly forgotten, were still practised. The Raymonds, although pious, and more intelligent than most of their neighbours, kept up many of the usages of Fatherland on the Christmas occasion, perhaps more as wafting them back in remembrance of early enjoyment in the home circle, than from any present love of the festivity common at this period.
The joyful season drew nigh merrily, and in the watchmaker's family, as in all others—for the very poorest look forward hopingly to it—there was nothing but bright anticipations, which were for the present realized. The Christmas cake was prepared in the most approved old fashion; the dark-hued pine was duly ornamented, and occupied a conspicuous place in the family room, and little William was made most happy in the receipt of many gifts, although toy paints and pencils were not among the number.
But what says the Scripture? "Boast not thyself of to-morrow, for thou knowest not what a day may bring forth;" and the holy man who admonishes to "rejoice with trembling," well knew the slender foundation on which all earthly bliss is based.
The day broke bright and cheerful; the morning prayers, never forgotten in this truly Christian household, were over, and the gifts and greetings exchanged; the village bell rang out clear on the frosty air, and sounded rejoicingly as it called the humble community to give thanks in the little old-fashioned church, as the custom was on Christmas-day. In the Raymond cottage the good dinner was eaten, and when the sun had gone down behind the mountains, the Christmas-tree was once more lighted up; and although not quite as well laden or as brilliant as on the evening before, it nevertheless illumined the cottage, and continued very attractive. It had been a happy day, and as they sat beside their evening fire, thinking over the many enjoyments and blessings that had marked its course, New Year's-day was the next point of expectation, and many were the pleasures to be enjoyed on that day, as well as many new prospects planned to be executed within the year. Ah! they saw not how the dark wing of the angel of Death was sweeping over them, nor could they forebode that from this night their path was to be a stern and rugged one.
In the evening of the day after Christmas, when Raymond returned from his work, he complained of feeling unwell, and his sickness increasing hourly, his earthly course was terminated in a few days; and instead of the promised pleasure on New Year's-day, his corpse occupied the lowly room. It was a mournful New Year's-day in the home of the widow and the fatherless. Margaret, passive in her affliction, for she was stunned by its suddenness, sat gazing with tearless eyes upon the corner where the dim outline of a human form was seen under its white covering; and little William, turning his eyes alternately from his pale mother to the corpse of his father, was too much awe-stricken by the presence of the dread destroyer to utter a word.
It was not until after the remains of poor Raymond had been laid in the grave, and the widow had returned to her desolate cottage, that she experienced the full weight of her heavy burden. Even when death comes slowly, when sickness, pain, and long suspense have made the issue certain, it is hard for the bereaved to realize the dread event; but when the scythe of the destroyer has passed so quickly over, when the home is made so speedily desolate, and the place vacant, is it wonderful that to the stricken mourner all seems dark, discerning no light behind the overshadowing cloud? But none, dear reader, are afflicted more than they can bear; the words of worldly wisdom would fall upon the ear unheard, but the sacred balm poured out upon the bruised heart by the sanctifying influence of the Holy Spirit, the Comforter promised by our Saviour, soothes the soul into submission, and whispers, "Be still, and know that I am God; I will not forsake the widow, nor shall the orphan be forgotten."
It was not long until the pious Margaret recognised the hand by which she had been smitten; and the first stunning effect of her grief being past, with the same patient, humble, and calm spirit that had always characterized her in her prosperous days, she prepared to make arrangements for a more frugal course of life than that they had hitherto maintained, although the housekeeping had always been of the most simple order. She could not afford to keep the cottage in which they had lived so happily; the vines her husband's hand had trained, the flowers she had planted, the little garden which they both had delighted to keep in order, must pass into the hands of strangers; and the thought of leaving a place so dear by association gave an additional pang to the grief already so great. She looked upon her child, her last, her only treasure, and blessing God that this comfort was still spared, she resolved to exert every energy in the endeavour to bring him up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord. Great was her adversity, but He who watches over the sparrow and feeds the raven had raised up friends for her time of need.
The cottage in the suburbs was speedily let to another tenant; but their landlord, Nicholas Herman, the baker, found a room, an attic indeed, but comfortable, in a house adjoining his own; and from the time in which she took possession both himself and his good wife showed her every kindness within their power. But still she found herself very poor; for after her husband's affairs were settled, and the rent and funeral expenses paid, there was nothing left, and she had to use such industry as she was able to pursue to maintain her little household. Very simple indeed was their manner of living now; but she knew no want, for having gained the respect and confidence of the community in her prosperous days, she was supplied with work almost constantly.
The winter was long and severe, and dark and dreary were many of its hours to the widow. As the season advanced toward the spring, her heart was illuminated by occasional gleams of light sent forth, not only by hope's smiling in the distance, but from the sustaining influence lent her by the hopeful spirit, ready obedience, and untiring industry of her boy.
It is astonishing what a sudden change such a blow of misfortune often produces in a child. We know not the mysterious workings of a child's mind, or by what process such a rapid change is accomplished; but we know from experience that the journey of a very few years in the path of life can make even the very young sensible that this world is not one of unmixed happiness, and that there is often but a step from careless childhood to a painful maturity,—painful because unnatural.
Such was the case with poor Will Raymond; and new comfort dawned on the widow's heart as she remarked his untiring efforts, not only to cheer her, but to aid, by such labour as he was able to perform, in their mutual maintenance. With a maturity of judgment hardly to be expected in one of his age, he entered not only into all her plans, but, during the spring and summer succeeding his father's death, went regularly to some kind of work, by which he gained wages, small indeed, but which, added to the general stock, would help to provide against the severities of the coming winter. There are always some kind hearts to be found in every community, who are willing to comfort the feeble-minded, support the weak, and encourage all virtuous effort, although the service rendered be but trifling. A kind-hearted farmer, hearing of the little boy's exertions to aid his mother, employed him to wait on his reapers during harvest; and as the time of fruit-gathering and hop-picking in the autumn furnished plenty of such work as he was able to do, all his time was, as one might say, filled up. And when he brought home the hard-earned money, the fruit of his toils, and marked the lighting of his mother's eye as he poured his little treasures into her lap, child as he was, he felt there was a sweetness in the gains of labour which no gifts can bestow; and William and his mother were not the only ones to remark that bread earned by honest toil is sweeter than any other.
There was another, besides the farmer, whose heart turned warmly toward the fatherless boy. Old Nicholas Herman, the baker, was too truly benevolent to forget his late tenant, and although not a rich man, he had often something to send to the widow. He had learned the beautiful precept: "Give bread to the hungry, and from the needy turn not away;" and was a true believer in Him who said, "Inasmuch as ye do it unto the least of these, ye do it unto me."
Kept busy and from home throughout the day, the mother waited anxiously for the twilight hour, for then William would return, and great was the joy of her heart when, with bounding step and cheerful face, he entered the house. The night might be dark and stormy, but his presence always made her sun-light; and the tempest might beat upon her lowly dwelling, threatening its destruction, yet she heeded it not, for her earthly treasure was beside her. Although much enfeebled by grief, she spent no idle moments, but sewed, knit, or spun. William, child as he was, did not fail to note the faded look, and exerted himself not only to assist her in her household duties, but learned to knit; for he thought no occupation, however feminine, disparaging to his boyhood, if by it he could only lessen her labours.
These hours were spent with double profit, for she taught him while she worked, and light from her window was seen to glimmer long after most of the dwellers in her neighbourhood had gone to rest. She taught him the ordinary branches of school learning, which she well understood; but she was much more careful to impress upon his mind the more important precepts of the gospel, that only true chart by which, man can steer through life safely, and which wisdom, she told him, was of more value than gold. She grieved not that his face was imbrowned, or his hands hardened by labour: toil is man's natural inheritance, and he is bid to rejoice in his "labour, for it is the gift of God;" but she rejoiced in the maturing of his heart, and saw that the good seed she was sowing was taking root.
She had, however, one trouble concerning him, and not being able to discern clearly what was her duty, it gave her more anxiety than even her poverty. His love for sketching could not be repressed. She saw that he shared his father's talent largely, but remembering what her husband's views in reference to the cultivation of the noble art of painting had been, the struggle between maternal pride and the natural yearnings of a mother's heart to gratify a darling and worthy child, in opposition to what seeming duty demanded, can scarcely be imagined. Her late husband's opinions, tempered as they always were by judgment and prudence, had acquired a character of sacredness in her view; but when William, in showing her his sums, showed also the rude but spirited sketches he had drawn on the border of his slate, she saw that the gift was from God, and she could not condemn, although she dared not praise. She was afraid of entailing misery on him by fostering a taste beyond what his means would permit him to gratify. He had no present prospect but that of earning his bread by the sorest labour. Even if his talent were an extraordinary one, it would take a long time to cultivate it to a profitable point; and in the meantime, how was he to be supported?
She told all this to her son; but when he begged her, as his only recreation (for he never played with any boys except George Herman, as good a boy as himself), to let him look over his father's portfolio of sketches, could she deny the favour? or was she wrong? Nor could she forbid some pen-and-ink sketches, in which she recognised familiar objects, although she warned him against giving offence by caricaturing; and while she described to him the wonders of this glorious earth, with its embosomed treasures of mines and minerals, and made him read in his Bible how God had created all and called it good, she also showed him that man was the crowning work;—beloved of God, notwithstanding his rebellion; made only a little lower than the angels, crowned with dignity and honour; and so loved by the Saviour, that he came to save those who otherwise would have been lost; and still bearing much of the original impress in which he was created. She explained to him how wrong it is to make game of the peculiarities of any human being, ridicule his infirmities, or win a reputation by exhibiting his defects; bidding him always, at the close of her lecture, to read the sermon delivered on the mount, and to walk by its rule, and he would not fail to do right.
There were times, however, when the mother's heart would almost overcome this resolve. In her lonely hours fancy would portray her son's future; and when does maternal hope discover aught but a glorious one? She thought of what he might be, could he go abroad to study the works of the old masters; how, with his genius (for she knew not that taste was often mistaken for genius) and persevering industry, her boy might yet win a high place in the world, as many others as poor as he had done. But she was too sensible to let her thoughts dwell long on this flattering subject, and resolved to do what she considered right as present duty, committing the issue to God, in whom she so implicitly trusted.
Christmas-day came round again, and it was a mournful one in the home of the widow and fatherless. Margaret had changed much during the year: her face was deathly pale, silver lines showed themselves among her dark hair, and her usually placid and subdued expression was exchanged for a look of pain. A harassing cough troubled her by day and prevented her resting at night; an accompanying weakness created some little anxiety as to what its issue might be; but, with the hoping spirit which is ever attendant on that insidious disease called consumption, she believed that the coming spring would restore her.
It came with its wealth of sunshine, and renovated the earth to promise of fruitfulness and beauty,—beautiful type of the resurrection, when man shall rise to glorious immortality. All nature rejoiced in its presence; the flowers came forth and filled the air with healthful odours; the birds warbled as they built their nests; the merry children rejoiced as they played on the green, and exulted in the liberty the vernal season bestowed. But to the widow spring brought no renewal of health; and now, finding herself unable to wash, she consulted a physician, who told her it was too late; the disease had made large progress, and she could not live through the year!
Such an announcement would startle most persons. Death is so repugnant to man's nature, that there are but few who do not shrink from the dread encounter. Poor Margaret had more to fear than this. She dreaded not only the misery and poverty her tedious illness would entail upon them, but she wept the bitterest tears when she thought of her orphan child, poor, alone, and uncared for, when she should be taken away. She was, however, too sincere a believer to remain long within the shadow of the cloud. The God in whom she had ever trusted was ever faithful to his own word. Had he not promised, "Leave thy fatherless children to me, I will preserve them alive?" and is not his favour better than life! And when she prayed, "Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me," like Him whose true servant she was, she also added, "nevertheless, not my will be done, but thine." When does the Christian fail to receive comfort, when the child-like submission inculcated in the gospel is exercised? Is not the chastening rod in the hand of a Father who wounds but to heal? and he, who sees the end from the beginning, nevertheless afflicts his children. Margaret Raymond was therefore able to give up all into the unerring hand, knowing that He who feeds the raven and clothes the lily would not forsake her orphan child, but lead him, it might be by a narrow and rugged path—but such is the way that leads to the strait gate, and all who find eternal life must tread it.