Public-domain ebook
by Annie Fisler
Language: en400 downloads on Project Gutenberg
Subjects
In: Children & Young Adult Reading·Novels·British Literature
Public-domain ebook sourced from Project Gutenberg #52572.
The opening · free to read
The children had all been very eager about the new governess. They had sat full three minutes at a time, more than once, discoursing about her, wondering whether she was young or old, whether she was pretty or ugly, and whether she was cross or good-tempered. In short, there had been no end to their wonderings; but they could not agree, and so sat waiting full of curiosity till she should come down stairs.
Lillie sat on the floor in front of the grate, her chin on her hands, her eyes fixed on the bright fire. Frank was watching the door, in a very unnatural sort of quietness for a boy, with Tan curled up at his feet; and Jennie was nervously tearing off the corners of her book, since it had grown too dark to read it, thinking that Miss Lane was a very long time in taking off her cloak.
On the sofa lay a plump little darling, with a pair of dark soft eyes shining out of the stillness; one round rosy cheek rested upon her pretty brown hand, and the silky hair was tangled by her race with Tan on the piazza. Nobody knew what Rosie was thinking, for Rosie did not talk much—did not tell all the puzzles in her child-brain, though it was quite full of them, like any other child’s.
Outside, the wind had gone down, but the bare trees, the naked lawn, and the great wide stretch of waste land beyond that, looked bleak enough in the gathering gloom of the winter twilight. Softly fluttering down, like white birds, came a few light flakes of the first snow, and now and then the swaying back of a thick cedar-tree, showed a grave at its foot, receiving the downy covering. It was the resting place of the children’s mother; she had lain there a year, and the little ones had grown quite used to the sight of that which had once made their hearts ache for “poor mamma out in the cold.”
There was a wistful look in the little faces, and a yearning for love in the little hearts all unsatisfied, since the good mother had gone to rest; but none, even down to little Rosie, had forgotten the prayers she had taught them, nor to lift, night and morning, their innocent hands to the All-Father.
And now Tan had risen, snuffed about, gone from one child to another, pattering about on his soft paws, saying, “good night” to all. He sprang noiselessly upon the sofa, by Rosie’s head, and taking in his mouth a beautiful white kitten lying there, carried it off to his basket in the corner.
At this movement of Tan’s every child was on its feet, to witness this nightly performance, which afforded the lookers-on the most intense delight. Kitty submitted very quietly, as a matter of course, and the puppy trotted off as gravely as mother cat might have done. He put pussy to bed first, turning her over to her own side with his paws, if she encroached upon his, and then, ensconcing himself snugly in his corner of the basket, he winked himself to sleep with much satisfaction. When Tan had gone to sleep, the children grew tired of waiting again; but presently, a shout from Frank, who had gone to the window, roused them.
“There’s papa!” he cried, and in two seconds, all, even sleepy Rosie, were in the hall, waiting for his greeting. In they came, a joyous party, clinging to their papa’s arms and knees, claiming kisses and answers to a multitude of questions in one breath, forgetting their late interest in the new governess who stayed so long in her own room, and caring only to welcome him who claimed a double share of their love, now that they had no mother.
Jennie rang the bell, ordering James, when he answered it, rather imperiously, to take her father’s coat and to bring his slippers, bustling about uneasily, and overturning a light stand near her in her haste.
“Softly, Jennie daughter; not so much noise,” chided her papa, rubbing his hands before the blaze, as if he were glad to be at home again. Gently as the words were spoken, they brought tears to the eyes of the sensitive child, and she drew back with a shadow fallen upon her gladness.
With shy ecstasy Rosie was rubbing her brown face against her papa, much as pussy might have done; and Lillie performed a joyful dance with Tan, who had waked up with the commotion, holding him by the fore-paws, and endangering the costly vases by her romping. Frank was pouring out a history of the day with great glee, standing first upon one foot, then upon the other, winding up with:
“And Ben brought Miss Lane from the cars at half past four. We have not seen her yet. But papa—”
He stopped. There she was.
“How do you do, Mr. Graham? How do you do, children?” said a sweet voice, and they all, including Tan, became as mute as mice.
James came with candles, and then the examination began. Miss Lane was not old, neither was she very young; she was almost as small and slight as Jennie, and not at all pretty, as Frank declared more than once, though he liked to look at her face too.
She was dressed neatly and well; her collar shone, her hair shone, her teeth shone, her hands were almost lily white, and her step as light as the snow-fall out of doors. She had a quiet sort of grace that was very fascinating, and from the crown of her head to the sole of her small walking-shoe, stood before them the perfect lady.
The lady stood silent a moment; a little tinge of red colored her cheek, and she did not trust her voice for a few seconds, lest it should tremble.
“I cannot,” was her first thought; “it is not my place; they may think it presuming.”
“I will,” was her next; “God has put it in my way; it is plainly my duty.” Then speaking aloud to Mrs. Hill, the housekeeper, she said calmly:
“If you will call in the servants, I will read prayers: I suppose Mr. Graham would not object.”
“Oh, no, ma’am.”
In a little time they came in and sat down, wondering at the new ways of the teacher, but joining in the prayers quite reverently, and as they went out again, casting curious glances at the pale quiet face of the reader. As for the children, their appetites were quite forgotten in this new and interesting study of the governess, and Jennie secretly determined to imitate her in her mode of eating. It was really a pleasure to watch the neat, graceful fingers at any work, and the children began to find and to feel something of that subtle charm in perfect grace and tact which mere beauty cannot supply. Though she spoke but little, and did not seem to watch them at all, not a word, not a motion, scarcely a glance of her new pupils escaped her. She was silently deciding upon the character of each.
After breakfast, the whole party ran to the windows, to admire the snow-fall; Miss Lane among the rest. It lay white and pure upon the lawn and the trees, and the sun sparkled over it.
“He giveth snow like wool, and scattereth the hoar-frost like ashes,” said the teacher.
“Who? God?” asked Rosie, who could not be content without caresses, and so had crept shily to the side of the teacher.
“Yes, and do you know why it is like wool?”
“Because it is white,” answered Frank, coming up softly, while the rest followed after a moment of hesitation, and closed round Miss Lane with bashful but eager glances.
“Yes, and for another reason. Because it is warm; it protects the tender wheat, keeps it alive in the ground till the spring opens. It is like your cloaks and overcoats, only so much softer, so much more beautiful.”
“Warm? snow warm? I thought it was cold.”
“Persons have been saved from freezing by burying themselves in snow.”
“Do you know stories?” questioned Rosie, with a flush over her brown face.
“Yes, a great many. I will tell you one about a person who had no bed but one of snow for many nights.”
“Did you know him? did you ever see him?” were the eager questions; and the children crouched at her feet, forgetting their reserve.
“Yes, very, very well, all my life. This person, this gentleman, when he was young like you, cared only for books, books all the time, and wandering about over all the rocks, through all the woods in the neighborhood. After a while, when he grew older, he wanted to travel. He went to Asia, to Africa, to Europe—he saw all the great world, but he forgot God.”
“Forgot God! oh, how dreadful!”
“Forgot God; forgot to love him and pray to him—tried to live without him. But God remembered him. He never forgets any one, you know—not even the smallest bird or worm. He counts the tiniest blade of grass.”
“By and by a very sad thing happened to him. A beautiful lady whom he had loved a long, long time, and who was to have been his wife, died suddenly. She was deaf, quite deaf, but so very patient and sweet, living such a holy life, so near to God, that all her goodness shone in her face, making it so lovely, so radiant, that no one could look at her without loving her, and wondering if angels were not like her. She was lost at sea. She had been in England with her father, and was returning to America, when the ship was lost. They both went down together, and when this gentleman heard it, he seemed as if he could never be happy again.
“He looked quite broken-hearted; but the taking of her who was to have been his wife to the rest of the blessed did not seem to draw him any nearer to God, and after a while he wandered off again, and was not heard of for years. He lived for months near the shore of the Gulf of California, alone, excepting the company of two pet seals, which he learned to love dearly. He used to go out on the sand and watch the seals there. Sometimes the young ones, when left by their parents on the beach, would make the most pitiful moaning and crying, like a little child in pain. It used to melt his heart to hear them; he said it made him think of the voice of the lost, crying out of the sea; and so his melancholy grew deeper and darker than ever. He would have stayed there perhaps till he died; but his seals were lost, and then, in his loneliness, he roamed away again.
“He settled at last in New Mexico, and though he lived so much alone, his gentleness and kindliness won him many friends, and he began to think he had found a home. But at length he longed to return, and when he set out he sped towards the mountains. He dared not travel through the valleys, for fear of the Indians, but had to keep out of their sight, if he wished to preserve his life. The mountains were covered with snow. The cold was bitter, and he knew that many days must pass before he could reach a safe shelter; but his heart did not fail him, for he began in those fearful, solitary nights to beg for God’s aid, to think of him as he had not done in years before.
“Every night he lay down in the snow, hungry and tired, for it was dangerous to shoot game. If the Indians had heard the report of his rifle, they would have been upon him quickly; and he suffered severely for want of food. His shoes gave out too, but not his courage and trust in God, which had all come back to him as he lay under the stars, in his snowy bed, so awfully alone, shut out from humanity. On the thirteenth day, he limped into a fort, almost barefooted, hollow-eyed and gaunt, very weak, but joyful over his deliverance, and, with a new heart, praising God.”
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