“Then,” said Hesper, as she glanced towards her father, “I will not mind it much if he doesn’t love me, for it will make me very happy if in one little thing I can be like God.”
“Your father wasn’t always so, Hesper,” said her mother, as the tears streamed down her pale cheeks. She turned her face over into her pillow, and while Hesper was finishing the chapter, she thought of the first years of their wedded life. Then her husband was strong and healthy, and they had a little cottage of their own, with holly-hocks blooming by the door, and roses at the window. Next came long years of suffering and sorrow, when both were broken down in health and spirits, and they had not bread enough to fill the little hungry mouths that cried out for it. No wonder he became gloomy and sad, and said at times that his children would be better off in their graves. It was no uncommon thing. Thousands of poor men had felt just so before him. Only the brave heart of a Christian can bear poverty cheerfully.
Hesper had finished reading some time, and sat waiting for her mother to speak, but as she did not, she supposed she was asleep. “Good night, mother,” she whispered, for it was a comfort to the tender-hearted child to speak the words, even though they were not heard. Her mother raised her head.
“Good night,” she replied, and putting her arms about Hesper’s neck, she kissed her.
Mr. Greyson turned away his face quickly, for he was heart-stricken at what he had heard, and he could not bear to see their mutual love. The next moment Hesper passed him on her way to her chamber, and he longed to call her back and speak kindly, but something, he knew not what, restrained him.
It was not till the poor girl sank down upon her pillow, that she was conscious of being very weary. Her head ached with thinking, and her limbs with long continued action; but it was a sweet consolation to know that she had done all her duty. The moon shone in at the little window near the foot of her bed, and as she looked out, she could see the top of “Cottage Hill” covered with neat white houses and finely cultivated gardens. Beyond this was the “Rolling Mill,” where her father and Mose worked. The noise of the machinery could be heard at a great distance, and day and night the red flames were pouring constantly from the tops of the tall chimnies. As Hesper was watching this, a thought came to her suddenly. “Why!” she exclaimed, as she started to her feet in an instant—“Poor Mose hasn’t had a morsel of supper!” In a few moments she was dressed and went softly down stairs. Her father still sat in his great chair with his eyes closed, but even then he was not asleep. She stole very gently into the pantry, and wrapped up some broad slices of bread and meat which were left from her father’s supper. Then she warmed some tea and poured into it the last drop of milk from her own bowl, of which, as yet, she had not tasted. When all was ready she wrapped her mother’s great shawl about her, and carefully unbolted the door.
“Hesper,” said her father, “where are you going?”
She was very sorry he had heard her, for she feared he would not allow her to go out so late at night.
“Only to carry Mose some supper, if you please, sir,” she said very meekly. “Poor Mose! I am afraid he will faint before morning, if he does not have some.”
“That is right; you are a good girl, Hesper,” he said in a pleasant tone.