“Margaret, farewell!" exclaimed he, as he raised her from the ground, “a long, a last farewell. Nevertheless, take this; it is a gift, which may some future day be of service to you. You will not refuse it, as it is the last gift of one who will never see you again. I know you cannot even read it now; but the time may come when you may be enabled so to do, and I had counted in my long voyage of teaching you so to do. It was a present to me from my mother; but I have many more like it, given me by our clergyman. Take it—take it—it can never do you hurt; and, with God’s blessing, it may be the means of our meeting in another world, though we never meet again in this. God bless you, Margaret! farewell!”
He placed a small clasped Bible in her hands, in the opening and the closing leaf of which were two five-pound notes; small sums perhaps apparently to us in this day, but magnificent compared with the means of an early settler in a strange land. This ten pounds paid poor Margaret’s rent, and all her parents’ debts, at a subsequent time, when the deepest distress might have overwhelmed her. But Barry returned to his parents with a noble consciousness of an upright mind. His parting with them was not, comparatively speaking, of so passionate or stirring a nature as that which he had so recently undergone, but it was purely affectionate and loving.
The hour of parting is over; and John Barry, as honest and worthy a young man as ever left the shores of Old England, was soon on board the Kitty, 440 tons; and with some few others, who like himself had a mind to try their fortunes in a foreign land, he sailed for that colony, once the most distant and unpromising, now becoming renowned, and which probably will be the most glorious island of the Eastern world.
[CHAPTER XII
THE WELCOME VISIT]
There is no greater misery upon earth than to be left alone; to feel that nobody cares for you—nobody is interested in you; and that you are destitute as well as desolate! Poor Margaret at this time felt something akin to this sensation. She had a regard for the youth who had driven himself into voluntary exile on her account. She was not, however, to blame for this, though many a one accused her of being the cause of it. She was shunned by those of her own sex, on account of the disreputable character of her lover, with whom it was believed that she still held secret correspondence, although for a long time she had heard nothing of him. The men cared little about her, because she cared nothing about them; but kept herself quietly at home, attending to the sick-bed of a rapidly declining mother. Occasionally she ventured to the Priory Farm, to ask for some few necessaries required by her aged parent. Her former mistress was uniformly kind to her; and not contented with affording the assistance which was asked for, this good woman visited the sick-bed of poverty, and ministered to the wants of the aged and infirm.
Gratitude is very eloquent, if not in the multitude of words, yet in the choice of them, because it speaks from the heart. Margaret’s gratitude was always sincere. She was a creature of feeling without cultivation, and imbibed at once the very perfection of that spirit which all benevolent minds wish to see; but which if they do not see, they are so accustomed to the world that they are not very greatly disappointed. Their surprise is rather expressed in that pleasure which they imbibe in seeing the feeling of a truly grateful heart. An aged female, on a bed of poverty and sickness, is but too frequently left to negligence and want. When their infirmities are the greatest, and their cares always the most anxious, then is it that the really charitable aid of the benevolent is most needed.
Margaret felt her own inability to assist her aged mother, beyond the doing for her to the best of her powers in all attendances as nurse and housewife. She herself earned no money; but she made the best possible use of all the earnings of the family, as at that time she had not discovered the munificent present of poor John Barry; for, not being able to read, she had carefully laid up the treasured book, unconscious of the generosity and self-denial of the donor.
At this time Margaret appears to have suffered much privation. She felt that she was dependent upon the kindness of richer friends for those little delicacies which she required to support her mother’s sinking frame; and never was heart more sensitively grateful than this poor girl’s when she received some unexpected trifle of bounty from the table of her indulgent mistress. She wept with joy as she bore the present home to her affectionate but fast-sinking parent.