The small farm, rented by Farmer Farren, had passed into new hands. Squire Derrick was dead, and “another king arose, who knew not Joseph.” The heir was a needy, grasping man. Old tenants were nothing to him, and he was in want of ready money.
He had made up his mind to sell the little farm. It was more than likely, therefore, that the Farrens would be turned out of the old nest. For the young, it is easy to build new homes, and gather new associations around them; but for the old, it is well-nigh impossible. Their very lives are built into the ancient walls. When they leave a familiar dwelling, they long to go straight to “a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens.”
John was now bailiff to a rich landowner in Sussex. He had a wife and child; but he was not unmindful of other ties. “Come to me,” he wrote, “if you are turned out of the old place.” But the parents sighed and shook their heads. They had not greatly prospered in Huntsdean, yet no other spot on earth could be so dear to them.
“Whatever the Lord means me to do, I’ll strive to do it willingly,” said the farmer, bravely. “Oftentimes I’m mighty vexed with myself for clinging so hard to these old bricks and mortar, and those few fields yonder. If I leave them, I shan’t leave my Lord behind me; and if I stay with them, He’ll soon be calling me away. But you see, an old man has his whims; and I wanted to step out of this old cottage into my Father’s house.”
In this time of uncertainty, a new duty suddenly called Rhoda from home. Her father’s only sister—a childless widow—lay dying in Norfolk, and sent for her niece to come and nurse her.
It was decided that she must go. Her aunt had no other relatives, and could not be left alone in her need. But it was with a heavy heart that Rhoda said farewell to the three whom she loved best on earth, and set out on her long, solitary journey.
It was a keen, clear morning when she went away. A brisk wind was blowing; the brown leaves fled before it, as the hosts of the Amorites before the sword of Joshua. In dire confusion they hurried along over soft turf and stony ground. It was a day on which all things seemed to be astir. Crows were cawing, and flying from tree to tree; magpies flashed across the road; flocks of small birds assembled on the sear hedges. And far off could be heard the clamour of foxhounds and shouts of the huntsmen.
Rhoda wondered, with a pang, how it would be when she came back. Do we ever leave any beloved place without fearing that a change may fall upon it in our absence? It is at such times as these that the heart loves to rest itself upon the Immutable. “Lord, Thou hast been our dwelling-place from all generations.” “Thou art the same, and Thy years shall not fail.”