“And he’s a total abstainer,” said Samuel, “and, he humbly hopes, a gradely Christian.”
“Oh, that’s best, that’s best of all,” cried his sister, again throwing her arms around him. “Oh, Sammul, I am so glad to see you—you can’t wonder, for you’re all the brothers I have, and I’m all the sisters you have; you can’t wonder at it, John.”
“I’m not wondering at anything but the Lord’s goodness,” said her husband, in a husky voice, and wiping his eyes.
“Here, Sammul,” exclaimed Betty to her eldest child, “get on your Uncle Sammul’s knee, and hug him with all your might. Eh! I didn’t think this morn as I should have to tell you to say ‘Uncle Sammul.’ He’s called arter yourself. If you hadn’t been off, he’d a been John or Thomas, maybe. But our John knowed how I longed to have him called Sammul, so we’ve called the babe John Thomas, arter the fayther and grandfayther. And now you’ll want your tea, and then we must all have a gradely talk when childers in bed.”
Oh, what a happy tea that was! The cart was drawn into a shed, and Samuel sat gazing through the door, hardly able to eat or drink for happiness. What a peaceful picture it was! Betty was bustling in and out of the room, radiant with delight, sometimes laughing and sometimes crying, tumbling over the children, misplacing the tea-things, putting the kettle on the fire without any water in it, and declaring that, “she’d lost her head, and were good for nothing,” all which delighted her husband amazingly, who picked up the children by turns, and corrected his wife’s mistakes by making others himself; while Thomas Johnson sat in a corner smiling quietly to himself, and looking with brimming eyes at his son, as being quite satisfied for the time without asking questions. Samuel leaned back in his seat, as one who has accomplished the labour of a life, and would rest a while. The house door stood ajar, and he could see the roses and jessamine straggling in through the porch, the sunny road, the noble trees on its farther side, while a herd of cattle slowly made their way towards the brook. Every now and then, when the back door opened, (as it did many a time more than was necessary, for Betty often went out and returned without remembering what she had gone for), he could see the neat, well-stocked garden, with its hives of bees against the farthest wall, and its thriving store of apple and plum trees, besides all sorts of useful vegetables. He looked round the room, and saw at a glance that neatness, cleanliness, and order reigned there. He looked at a small side-table, and marked among its little pile of books more than one copy of the Word of Life, which told him that the brighter world was not kept out of sight; he could also gather from the appearance of the furniture and articles of comfort that surrounded him, that his beloved sister’s lot was in earthly things a prosperous one. As they drew their chairs to the tea-table, which was at last furnished and arranged to Betty’s complete satisfaction, and John had reverently asked a blessing, Samuel said,—
“Fayther, you’re looking better than ever I saw you in my life.”
“Yes, I don’t doubt, my lad, you never seed me in my right mind afore; I were a slave to the drink then. I’d neither health of body nor peace of mind—now, thank the Lord for it, I enjoy both.”
“Have you heard, Sammul?” asked Betty,—she tried to finish her sentence but could not, and the tears kept dropping on to her hands, as she bowed down her head in the vain endeavour to conceal them.
“She’s thinking of her poor mother,” said John in a soothing tone.
“Yes; I’ve heard about it,” replied her brother sadly. There was a long pause, and then Samuel asked, “Did you know as I’d been back to Langhurst?”