Father Brighthopes; Or, An Old Clergyman's Vacation

A "UNITED HAPPY FAMILY."

There was an unpleasant scowl on Mr. Royden's face, as he got out of his wagon in the yard, and walked, with a quick pace, towards the rear entrance of his house.

"Samuel!" said he, looking into the wood-shed, "what are you about?"

The sharp tone of voice gave Samuel quite a start. He was filling a small flour-sack with walnuts from a bushel-basket placed upon the work-bench, his left hand holding the mouth of the bag, while his right made industrious use of a tin dipper.

"O, nothing,--nothing much!" he stammered, losing his hold of the sack, and making a hasty attempt to recover it. "There! blast it all!"

The sack had fallen down, and spilled its contents all over his feet.

"What are you doing with those nuts?" demanded Mr. Royden, impatiently.

"Why, you see," replied the lad, grinning sheepishly, as he began to gather up the spilled treasure, "I'm making--a piller."

"A what?"

"A piller,--to sleep on. There an't but two feathers in the one on my bed, and they are so lean I can't feel 'em."

"What foolishness!" muttered Mr. Royden, smiling notwithstanding his ill-humor. "But let your pillow alone for the present, and take care of the horse."

"The bag won't stand up, if I leave it."

"Then let it fall down; or set it against the wood-pile. Go and do as I bid you."

Samuel reluctantly left his occupation, and went lazily to unharness the horse, while Mr. Royden entered the old-fashioned kitchen.

The appearance of her uncle was anything but agreeable to poor Hepsy Royden, who stood on a stool at the sink,--her deformed little body being very short,--engaged in preparing some vegetables for cooking. Tears were coursing down her sickly cheeks, and her hands being in the water, it was not convenient to wipe her eyes. But, knowing how Mr. Royden hated tears, she made a hasty snatch at a towel to conceal them. He was just in time to observe the movement.

"Now, what is the matter?" he exclaimed, fretfully. "I never see you, lately, but you are crying."

Hepsy choked back her swelling grief, and pursued her work in silence.

"What ails you, child?"

"I can't tell. I--I wish I was different," she murmured, consulting the towel again; "but I am not very happy."

"Come, come! cheer up!" rejoined Mr. Royden, more kindly, feeling a slight moisture in his own eyes. "Don't be so down-hearted!"

His words sounded to him like mockery. It was easy to say to a poor, sickly, deformed girl "Be cheerful!" but how could cheerfulness be expected of one in her condition?

He passed hastily into the adjoining room; and Hepsy sobbed audibly over the sink. She was even more miserable than he could conceive of. It was not her unattractive face and curved spine, in themselves, that caused her deep grief,--although she had longed, till her heart ached with longing, to be like her beautiful cousins,--but she felt that she was an unloved one, repulsive even to those who regarded her with friendly pity.

Mr. Royden had left the door unlatched behind him, and Hepsy heard him speak to his wife. Her heart swelled with thankfulness when he alluded to herself; and the feeling with which he spoke surprised her, and made her almost happy.

"You should not put too much on the poor child," he said.

"O, la!" replied Mrs. Royden; "she don't hurt herself, I hope."

"She is very feeble and low-spirited," continued the other. "You shouldn't send her out there in the kitchen to work alone. Keep her more with you, and try to make her cheerful. Her lot would be a hard one enough, if she had all the luxuries of life at her command. Do be kind to her!"

Had Mr. Royden known what a comfort those few words, so easily spoken, proved to Hepsy's sensitive heart, he would have blessed the good angel that whispered them in his ear. She wept still; but now her tears were a relief, and she dried them soon. She felt happier than she had done in many days before; and when she heard his voice calling her in the other room, she ran cheerfully to learn what he wished of her.

"Sarah has got a letter from Chester, and he sends his love to you," said he. "Read what he writes, Sarah."

Sarah stood by a window, eagerly running her clear blue eye over her brother's letter. Hepsy, trembling with agitation, looked up at her rosy face, and shrank into the corner by the chimney to avoid observation. At first she had turned very pale, but now her cheeks burned with blushes.

"Why, he says he is coming home in a week!" cried Sarah.

Mrs. Royden uttered an exclamation of surprise, looking up from her sewing; Hepsy shrank still further in the corner, and Mr. Royden asked, impatiently,

"What boyish freak is that?"

"He does not explain. There is some mystery about it," replied Sarah. "I warrant he has been getting into trouble."

"If he has, he shall stay at home and work on the farm!" exclaimed her father, in a tone of displeasure. "Read the letter aloud, now, so that we can all hear it."

Sarah commenced at the beginning, and went through with the four hastily-written pages. The listeners were very attentive; Hepsy especially. She fixed her expressive eyes on her cousin with a look of intense interest. When allusion was made to her, the poor girl's countenance lighted up with pleasure, and her tears gathered again, but did not fall.

"O, a letter!--who from?" cried a ringing voice.

The interruption was a relief to Hepsy. The children had returned from the fields; they entered the sitting-room like a little band of barbarians, with Lizzie--a girl some twelve years old--at their head, laughing, talking, screaming, in an almost frightful manner.

"Hush! hush!" exclaimed Mr. Royden, putting down his foot, impatiently.

"Children!" said Mrs. Royden, with contracted brows, "you don't know how your noise shoots through my poor old head! You drive me distracted!"

"Lizzie runned away from me!" bawled a little bareheaded fellow, with a face red as an Indian's, and not very clean. "The old thing! I'll strike her."