In an instant all were in motion, and Mrs. Wilmot was soon busy preparing a plate of victuals, with a dozen little hands waiting to carry it to the old man, when prepared. After they had given it to him, the girls came back into the house till the first note of his violin told them that he had dined, when again they flocked around him. Most people, and especially most old people, like to tell their sorrows. The old man was therefore quite ready to answer their questions, and they soon learned his little story. It was a very sad one. He had removed some years before with his son's family to a newly settled western state. The land on which they had made their home proved very unhealthy. His son and his son's wife were both in their graves. He had been very ill himself, and had only recovered with the entire loss of sight, and with a constitution so broken that he felt he had not long to live. "And glad shall I be," he said, "to lay this weary, sightless body down in the grave, to which so many I love have gone before me; but first I would take this poor orphan boy to those who will take care of him."
The tired travellers had yet fifty miles to go before they would reach the home of the old man's only remaining child, a daughter, who, though she had children of her own, would take care of the boy, he said, for the love of him and of her dead brother. Poor little boy! how sad and weary he looked, and how bitterly he wept when the old man talked of his father and mother!
My little readers will easily believe that this sad story excited great pity, and they will not be surprised to hear that on Clara Devaux's proposing that they should give the old man something, each little girl brought her sixpence or her shilling and threw it into a bag which Clara herself held. As the proposal had been hers, I was very desirous to see what she would give, but this I could not do. Whatever it was, it made no noise as it fell into the bag, from which I thought it must be paper money, and consequently could not be less than one dollar.
Some of Grace Wilmot's movements on this occasion excited my surprise and curiosity very much. As soon as Clara's proposal was made, she ran into the parlor, took from her work-basket a pocket-book, and taking out all the money it contained, counted it carefully upon the table before her. I could see that there were two bills and two silver half dollars. Grace took one of the bills, and putting the rest of the money away, turned towards the door, but before she had reached it, she seemed suddenly to have changed her mind, and going back, returned the bill and took in its place one of the half dollars. As there was no one in the parlor but herself, Grace did not suppose she was seen, till raising her head, she caught my eye, as I stood at the window, looking fixedly at her. She colored very much, and running hastily to Clara dropped her half dollar into the bag.
Now you will say that this was a great deal for a young girl like Grace to give. So it was, and few little girls could have given so much. But I had seen that Grace had more money, and that she had thought of giving more and then had withdrawn it, and I could not help asking myself over and over again what could have been her reason for doing so, whether she had kept it back for some more important purpose, or whether it had been only for some selfish gratification. On the answer to this question my opinion of Grace Wilmot would, I felt, greatly depend. Though I had to wait many weeks for this answer, you will learn, when you have read this little book, that I received an answer, and what that answer was.
CHAPTER VIII.
INDIAN SUMMER.
About a fortnight after my first arrival at Hazel Grove commenced that delightful season which we call Indian Summer. I dare say you all know that by this we mean the two or three weeks of mild pleasant weather which we generally have in November, after the frosty nights and cold winds have made us suppose that Winter has come. I have no doubt that you all love better to be in the open air at this season than at any other,—that you play more merrily when out, and go in more reluctantly. But you have perhaps enjoyed the season without exactly knowing the reason of your enjoyment. Now I would have you, when next there is an Indian Summer, notice how pure and balmy the air is, and of how deep and rich a yellow are the beams of the sun. I would have my young friends observe all the beautiful and pleasant things with which God has surrounded them, for if they do not, they will fail to give Him, in return, the tribute of loving and grateful hearts which is due to Him.
It was on one of these bright, pure, golden days in Indian Summer that I seated myself as usual after breakfast in Mrs. Wilmot's library, but I tried in vain either to read or write. Do what I would, my eyes would turn to the windows, and instead of the words on the page before me, I saw the leaves on the trees, the white clouds sailing over the bright blue sky, or the little birds hopping from branch to branch. If I had had lessons to learn that day I know not what I should have done,—but I had no lessons to learn, so I threw my book aside, put on my shawl and bonnet, and was soon walking in that beautiful wood whose appearance on my first arrival I have described to you. Delightful indeed was my walk—full of pleasant sights and sounds,—and often did I wish for some of my young friends to partake of my enjoyments, as I saw a shower of bright-colored leaves whirling about in the air whenever the wind stirred the branches of the trees, or a shy rabbit spring away to a safer hiding-place, or a startled squirrel dart to the topmost boughs which overhung my path, as the dry leaves rustled under my feet. So I wandered on, observing all these things, but meeting no one till I had nearly passed the wood. Then I heard a low, gentle voice singing. I listened, approaching as softly as possible. Soon I could hear the words, and found that they were French. It was a hymn describing the beauties of nature, and expressing the devotion of a grateful loving heart to Him who made it so beautiful. I afterwards had the words of this hymn from Cecille, and have tried to translate them into English verse for you. Here is my translation.