IN WHICH PHIL ATTENDS TO THE AFFAIRS OF THE FARM.
The Sabbath sun rose bright and beautiful, and shed its hallowed light upon field and forest. Sunday had always been a day of rest at the clearing since the coming of Mr. Gracewood. Matt Rockwood and I used to spend the day at the island when the weather would permit us to go there. The recluse, on these occasions, invariably read several chapters of the Bible to us, explaining the meaning of the verses as he proceeded, when necessary. After this he read a sermon, or a portion of some religious book.
This had been our Sunday routine for the last three years; and Mr. Gracewood told Matt and me that his religious experience dated no farther back than this period. He declared that he was really worried about me, a child of eight, who had received no religious training. As my education had fallen to him, his conscience troubled him because he confined his instruction to secular branches. He did not feel competent to instruct me in sacred things; but he had devoted himself to a study of the Bible for my sake, that he might be able to teach me. His stock of religious books was very small, but he had sent to St. Louis for a new supply.
The study of the Bible, which he pursued with maps, commentary, and Bible dictionary, soon became very interesting to him. It awakened in his mind a new spirit, and kindled emotions which before had been foreign to him. He was an earnest teacher, while he was an inquiring student. The course of study which he had undertaken for my sake had been even a greater blessing to himself than to me, though I am sure I profited by his instructions. After we had studied together for a year, a prayer was added to our Sunday exercises. Mr. Gracewood told us that he prayed morning and evening, and begged us to do the same. Sometimes Kit Cruncher came down and joined our little class.
On these occasions, which were always very pleasant to me, the grand piano gave forth its deepest and most solemn tones. Mr. Gracewood played only sacred music on the Sabbath; and he performed the pieces with so much interest and feeling, that we were always moved by them. He never sang, declaring that his voice was not adapted to singing.
With this knowledge of Mr. Gracewood's religious views and feelings, I was not surprised when Ella told me, after breakfast, that her father would have a service at his house in the forenoon and in the afternoon. All the soldiers were invited, and all of them came. The familiar hymn, "The morning light is breaking," was sung first, and was followed by a prayer, and the reading of a chapter from the New Testament. The beautiful hymn,—
"When all thy mercies, O my God,
My rising soul surveys,
Transported with the view, I'm lost
In wonder, love, and praise,"—