“He said afterwards it would not have been much matter if the cattle had remained so all night. Oh, if we only had a home, like other children, Marston. I wonder why we haven’t;” and she nestled her brown head on my shoulder, and tried hard not to sob any more. Just then a sharp voice came up from the kitchen, and for once I felt like resisting. I was tired, my work was all done, and I sat quite still, holding Jennie tightly. Again and again the call.
“We must go, brother; Mr. Kirby said we must do what we have to do well, and then God will open a path for us. I do hope he will; don’t you?” Kissing my angry cheek, she put away her book, and ran down the narrow stairs. Brushing off the tears, I followed as quickly as possible.
“You’ve forgotten your wood, boy; this comes of reading books. If you don’t quit it, you can’t stay here, I can tell you;” and Mr. Jeffries stormed till he was tired, and then walked into the bar-room.
“Don’t mind his being cross, Marston,” said Mrs. Jeffries soothingly; “he’s not quite himself to-night; to-morrow he’ll be sorry.”
Tired as I was at bedtime I could not sleep, the day had been so pleasant notwithstanding the fatigue. I had listened to Mr. Kirby, and thought it would be easy to be good; and then he had prayed that I might be led. But before my work was done I had become angry and cross, and half questioning God’s goodness because Jennie and I had not a home, with some one to love and take care of us.
I went to the window where I could see the distant hills, the very mountain the top of which we had reached by continued effort. “Nothing is gained without labor,” Mr. Kirby had said. How easy it would be to do right, I thought, if we could always live with such people; and I looked up to the stars twinkling to each other in their beauty.
My heart was full, and yearned for sympathy; and to comfort myself, I went back and lived the cheering scenes of my life over again—calling up every word and look of my dear mother, then all Mr. Brisbane had said, and now Mr. Kirby, and my books, of which I could count several.
In going up the mountain Mr. Kirby had often caused me to look behind me, in that way getting an idea of the ascent we were really making. So in looking over the past I could see that I had made some advance, and insensibly my thoughts grew clearer. Again I looked up to the heavens; but I knew but little of God’s love. His precious promise was to me then a sealed voice. Still, there was a feeling of quiet stole over me, something that spoke comfort, for I went to sleep.
The next morning Mr. Kirby left, and I had so much to do, and so many calling upon me at once, that I had no time to tell him what I had resolved to tell him, namely, how forgetful I had been, and what a passionate feeling had swept over me. I meant to try and do better, but I had no time to tell him.
“Do right, Marston, and study all you can,” had been his last words. Mr. Jeffries was very kind, and as if to make amends for the last night, gave me an hour to myself after dinner. Taking our books, Jennie followed me to a flat rock under a gnarled apple-tree, and on a broken slate I pored over my sums, while she studied geography. Then I heard her lesson, and she questioned me in arithmetic; for with less instruction she was further advanced than I was. After that, we read the book Mr. Kirby had given her. It was a simple, unvarnished sketch of every-day life, with allusions that I could understand, and experiences so like my own that more than once I stopped to dry my eyes.