Watch—Work—Wait / Or, The Orphan's Victory

by Sarah A. Myers

The cottage in the suburbs was speedily let to another tenant; but their landlord, Nicholas Herman, the baker, found a room, an attic indeed, but comfortable, in a house adjoining his own; and from the time in which she took possession both himself and his good wife showed her every kindness within their power. But still she found herself very poor; for after her husband's affairs were settled, and the rent and funeral expenses paid, there was nothing left, and she had to use such industry as she was able to pursue to maintain her little household. Very simple indeed was their manner of living now; but she knew no want, for having gained the respect and confidence of the community in her prosperous days, she was supplied with work almost constantly.

The winter was long and severe, and dark and dreary were many of its hours to the widow. As the season advanced toward the spring, her heart was illuminated by occasional gleams of light sent forth, not only by hope's smiling in the distance, but from the sustaining influence lent her by the hopeful spirit, ready obedience, and untiring industry of her boy.

It is astonishing what a sudden change such a blow of misfortune often produces in a child. We know not the mysterious workings of a child's mind, or by what process such a rapid change is accomplished; but we know from experience that the journey of a very few years in the path of life can make even the very young sensible that this world is not one of unmixed happiness, and that there is often but a step from careless childhood to a painful maturity,—painful because unnatural.

Such was the case with poor Will Raymond; and new comfort dawned on the widow's heart as she remarked his untiring efforts, not only to cheer her, but to aid, by such labour as he was able to perform, in their mutual maintenance. With a maturity of judgment hardly to be expected in one of his age, he entered not only into all her plans, but, during the spring and summer succeeding his father's death, went regularly to some kind of work, by which he gained wages, small indeed, but which, added to the general stock, would help to provide against the severities of the coming winter. There are always some kind hearts to be found in every community, who are willing to comfort the feeble-minded, support the weak, and encourage all virtuous effort, although the service rendered be but trifling. A kind-hearted farmer, hearing of the little boy's exertions to aid his mother, employed him to wait on his reapers during harvest; and as the time of fruit-gathering and hop-picking in the autumn furnished plenty of such work as he was able to do, all his time was, as one might say, filled up. And when he brought home the hard-earned money, the fruit of his toils, and marked the lighting of his mother's eye as he poured his little treasures into her lap, child as he was, he felt there was a sweetness in the gains of labour which no gifts can bestow; and William and his mother were not the only ones to remark that bread earned by honest toil is sweeter than any other.

There was another, besides the farmer, whose heart turned warmly toward the fatherless boy. Old Nicholas Herman, the baker, was too truly benevolent to forget his late tenant, and although not a rich man, he had often something to send to the widow. He had learned the beautiful precept: "Give bread to the hungry, and from the needy turn not away;" and was a true believer in Him who said, "Inasmuch as ye do it unto the least of these, ye do it unto me."

Kept busy and from home throughout the day, the mother waited anxiously for the twilight hour, for then William would return, and great was the joy of her heart when, with bounding step and cheerful face, he entered the house. The night might be dark and stormy, but his presence always made her sun-light; and the tempest might beat upon her lowly dwelling, threatening its destruction, yet she heeded it not, for her earthly treasure was beside her. Although much enfeebled by grief, she spent no idle moments, but sewed, knit, or spun. William, child as he was, did not fail to note the faded look, and exerted himself not only to assist her in her household duties, but learned to knit; for he thought no occupation, however feminine, disparaging to his boyhood, if by it he could only lessen her labours.

These hours were spent with double profit, for she taught him while she worked, and light from her window was seen to glimmer long after most of the dwellers in her neighbourhood had gone to rest. She taught him the ordinary branches of school learning, which she well understood; but she was much more careful to impress upon his mind the more important precepts of the gospel, that only true chart by which, man can steer through life safely, and which wisdom, she told him, was of more value than gold. She grieved not that his face was imbrowned, or his hands hardened by labour: toil is man's natural inheritance, and he is bid to rejoice in his "labour, for it is the gift of God;" but she rejoiced in the maturing of his heart, and saw that the good seed she was sowing was taking root.

She had, however, one trouble concerning him, and not being able to discern clearly what was her duty, it gave her more anxiety than even her poverty. His love for sketching could not be repressed. She saw that he shared his father's talent largely, but remembering what her husband's views in reference to the cultivation of the noble art of painting had been, the struggle between maternal pride and the natural yearnings of a mother's heart to gratify a darling and worthy child, in opposition to what seeming duty demanded, can scarcely be imagined. Her late husband's opinions, tempered as they always were by judgment and prudence, had acquired a character of sacredness in her view; but when William, in showing her his sums, showed also the rude but spirited sketches he had drawn on the border of his slate, she saw that the gift was from God, and she could not condemn, although she dared not praise. She was afraid of entailing misery on him by fostering a taste beyond what his means would permit him to gratify. He had no present prospect but that of earning his bread by the sorest labour. Even if his talent were an extraordinary one, it would take a long time to cultivate it to a profitable point; and in the meantime, how was he to be supported?

She told all this to her son; but when he begged her, as his only recreation (for he never played with any boys except George Herman, as good a boy as himself), to let him look over his father's portfolio of sketches, could she deny the favour? or was she wrong? Nor could she forbid some pen-and-ink sketches, in which she recognised familiar objects, although she warned him against giving offence by caricaturing; and while she described to him the wonders of this glorious earth, with its embosomed treasures of mines and minerals, and made him read in his Bible how God had created all and called it good, she also showed him that man was the crowning work;—beloved of God, notwithstanding his rebellion; made only a little lower than the angels, crowned with dignity and honour; and so loved by the Saviour, that he came to save those who otherwise would have been lost; and still bearing much of the original impress in which he was created. She explained to him how wrong it is to make game of the peculiarities of any human being, ridicule his infirmities, or win a reputation by exhibiting his defects; bidding him always, at the close of her lecture, to read the sermon delivered on the mount, and to walk by its rule, and he would not fail to do right.

There were times, however, when the mother's heart would almost overcome this resolve. In her lonely hours fancy would portray her son's future; and when does maternal hope discover aught but a glorious one? She thought of what he might be, could he go abroad to study the works of the old masters; how, with his genius (for she knew not that taste was often mistaken for genius) and persevering industry, her boy might yet win a high place in the world, as many others as poor as he had done. But she was too sensible to let her thoughts dwell long on this flattering subject, and resolved to do what she considered right as present duty, committing the issue to God, in whom she so implicitly trusted.