Alice Whitman soon restored the old gentleman’s good humor by showing him the pattern of a new spread for his bed that she was then drawing in the loom to weave; she then wheeled his great chair to the fire, flung on some cobs to make a cheerful blaze, and grandfather, restored to his composure, began to chat and tell of the birch-bark writing-books they had in his school days.
Thus did Bradford Whitman and his wife unite in smoothing the declivity of age to one who had fought and won life’s battle; made many blades of grass to grow where there were none before; reared a large family in habits of industry and virtue; had fought with the savage in defence of his own hearthstone; bore the scars of wounds received in the service of his country, and having made his peace with God, resembled an old ship just returned from a long and tempestuous voyage—her sails thread-bare, her rigging chafed and stranded, her bulwarks streaked with iron-rust—riding quietly at anchor in the outer harbor, waiting for the tug to tow her to the pierhead.
The example of the parents infected the children, and they vied with one another in attention to their grandfather and in obedience and affection to their parents. Thus were Jonathan Whitman and his wife reaping as they had sown, and daily receiving the blessing promised to filial obedience.
Provided at last with quill and writing-book and plummet, the boys spent the entire day in alternate exercises of teaching and learning the letters of the alphabet, and to make straight marks.
When the boys had gone to bed, Mr. Whitman and his wife were looking at the writing and the latter said,—
“The last of James’ straight marks are a good deal better than the copy Bertie set for him.”
The old gentleman, after looking at it, said, “That boy will make a good penman. You can see that he improves, as he goes on; his marks are square and clean cut at top and bottom. I think, for a boy that never had a pen in his hand before, he has done remarkably well.”
“Husband, what are you going to set James about to-morrow?”
“Driving horses to plough. Why?”
“We want some wood cut; and I don’t think your father ought to cut so much as he does. The weather is getting cooler, and we burn a good deal more, but I am afraid it will hurt his feelings if anybody else cuts wood for the fire, as he considers that his work.”