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It was the evening of a quiet day in late autumn, and the inmates of
the little farm home were gathered safely together around the
supper-table. I say the family, but they were not all there. Father's
place was vacant, for he had gone to town that afternoon and would not
be home till late bedtime. His reason for being late was the great
shadow over this otherwise happy home. The children, down to baby
Doyle, three years old, knew that when he came, he would be in no
condition to be seen in the presence of his children, and that money
which was needed badly in his home would have been spent for strong
drink.
But all the others were there. Mother sat in her place at the foot
of the table, and little Doyle sat at her right hand in his high chair.
The others were ranged on both sides of the table, leaving the vacant
place at the head. There were eight children in all, the eldest a boy
of sixteen, and the youngest little Doyle. The three older children
were boys, George and Wilbur, sixteen and fifteen years old,
respectively, and Austin, aged thirteen. Then were two girls, Amy and
Nell. After them came Harry, a fine little fellow of seven, Lila, a
tiny girl of five, and last of all the baby.
Every child was robust and rosy, ready for a hearty meal and all the
fun that was to be had. Mother sat as queen, a dear, beloved queen, and
the children as they talked back and forth in happy freedom turned to
her for reference and sanction in all that was said. There was not one
but bowed in adoration at the beautiful mother's feet. And her eyes,
how lovingly they rested upon them! And how she seemed to be treasuring
them in her heart! This was indeed her kingdom, and she was happy. But
of course there was a sadness in her happiness, because her husband and
the father of her children was choosing a path that took him out of the
family circle. But since such was his choice, she was determined to
make it up to her lads and lassies to the best of her ability, and
throw her teaching and daily instruction against the influence of their
father. She was making this evening pleasant that they might forget the
shadow that hung over them.
With supper over and the evening chores done, the family gathered
about the fireside, some read, the little ones played, and Mother
busied with her sewing. An atmosphere of peace rested upon them, in
spite of the shadow that hangs over every home into which the demon
drink has entered.
“Doyle, Lila, it is time for little people to be in bed. Harry, you
have no lessons, you had better go to bed also,” said the mother.
“So soon, Mother? May we not play a little longer?”
“Bedtime now, little man, and run along without waiting for more
play.”
Three little people trooped off to bed to be tucked in a little
later after the good-night kisses and evening prayers. Soon the girls
went sleepily off to bed with a good-night kiss. Just Mother and her
boys were left, and now was the time for a quiet talk with them. A
gentle word from her and the conversation was begun.
Softly she led them on till they were telling her of their doings
among the boys, and their plans and hopes. It was only a friendly
visit, but into it she put wise counsel as well as thoughtful
understanding. They wondered, afterward, if she this evening felt the
other shadow which at this time was entirely hidden from their eyes,
that she should talk to them so. Perhaps she did. We can not know. But
deeper than this was her yearning for her sons just entering manhood.
She knew that only a little way at best could she go with them, and
then they must choose their own path. She wanted the little time left
to be filled with those things that would make their pathway light.
The evening passed, and after a time all were in their beds. Only
one low light remained, and that was set to guide the father when he
should return.
When the father came, if he had been in condition to notice, he
would have seen a bare little room now that the mother was out of it,
with signs of poverty everywhere. The old table and worn chairs, bare
floors scarred with the tread of little feet, the scant cupboard, the
worn shoes by the fire, all told how little the queen of the home had
to work with. There was nothing of beauty here but herself and her
love.
But Henry Hill did not think any of these thoughts. He was already
half asleep, and he crawled into his bed without a word or thought for
those whom he should have loved and protected. And in the morning each
one of the family secretly thanked God that Father had lain down
without disturbing them.
The morning brought another day of busy care for Elizabeth Hill. Her
hands were full from morning till night helping, lifting the heavy
burdens, and directing the work of the children, in all bearing the
responsibility of the family.
Was she happy? Yes, in their love, and in the anticipation of the
future of her children, especially her boys just entering manhood. Her
thoughts were always with them, and her prayers followed them in all
that they did. So much was at stake. Three lives to be made or marred.
Three men to bless the world or to curse it. And they had the blight
upon them which their father was bringing. Every woman who is a real
mother knows that Elizabeth Hill's face was often wet with tears as she
contemplated what the future might bring. And happy are the sons who
are blessed with such a mother. Her value is untold. The wealth of the
world has nothing to compare with her. Yet how often it is taken for
granted that she will be as good as she is, and her life made unhappy
by the ones for whom she works and prays!
If Elizabeth Hall had known, and if her boys had known, what lay
just ahead, perhaps the days would have been made fuller yet of loving
counsel and happy association. But the veil was before their faces, and
they did not know. Possibly that was best. If the veil were lifted and
we knew our future, our hearts might faint within us. It is enough that
for each day is given grace for its toils. Elizabeth loved her boys and
was giving them the best of herself, and that is all she could have
done if she had known.
Henry Hill sat before the fire with his head in his hands and his
elbows upon his knees, a picture of utter dejection and sorrow. The
house was quiet with an unearthly quietness, those who were compelled
to speak using the lowest tones, and tiptoeing about. The little ones,
Doyle, Lila, and Harry, were not at home. Amy and Nell were silently,
tearfully, trying to wash the few dishes that had been used at the
almost untouched breakfast. The boys were attending to the morning
chores, with faces as solemn and hearts as heavy as each could carry. A
neighbor woman, kind, sympathetic, and busy, but with the same sadness
pictured upon her face, kept coming and going between the bedroom and
the room in which Mr. Hill sat.
Only that morning the physician had been there and had told them
that she whose life had been the light and strength of the home was
lying now upon her death-bed, that she would never again rise to take
the burdens of life, that they would have to let her go. He had felt
for Henry Hill as he had spoken, for the white horror and anguish in
the man's face would have called out sympathy from a harder heart; but
he wanted to say also that had she been given a lighter load to carry,
if some of the anxiety and concern that now stirred his heart had been
expressed when his wife was well, things might not now be as they are.
But the kind doctor left these words unsaid. Henry Hill had all he
could bear without them.
The holidays, with their festivities, were over, and life had just
settled back into its every-day way, when Elizabeth Hill fell sick. She
had never been ailing before. Her children had always known her as able
to take the constant care and oversight of the family. Without her they
were helpless and distraught, for there was no one to take her place.
And when after one day's illness it became certain that her condition
was critical, the anxiety and tension became intense. He who should
have lightened her burden long ago now awoke to her need and was
constantly by her side doing all that was in his power to restore her
to health. But the black cloud settled heavier upon the home as each
day saw the mother coming nearer the gates of death. The children
looked at one another with pale faces and wide, frightened eyes as they
saw the kind neighbor women come from their mother's bed with averted
faces.
Though all was done that could be done, they could not hold her, and
one night, with her weeping family around her, she loosed from her
earthly habitation and went away. She who had been the soul of that
home, lay dead. The calamity came upon the family like a shock. It left
no spirit nor life in them. They knew not which way to turn. From the
father down to Baby Doyle they were bereft. She to whom they had always
looked for counsel and guidance lay in a sublime sleep from which they
could not waken her.
As Henry Hill looked upon the motionless form of the woman whose
love and confidence he had gained and who had been to him such a
faithful wife in spite of his fickleness, he wept, and vowed; but what
are tears and vows when the will has been weakened by self-indulgence?
He looked about him helplessly. What was he to do? What could he do
without her? He was almost a stranger to his children, and had no idea
how to care for them. She had always carried the burden, taken the
oversight, been the one to go ahead. He faced the future as helplessly
as one of his little children.
Her boys looked upon her and knew that they had lost their best
friend. Home would have little more attraction for them. George and
Wilbur took selfish comfort in the thought that they were old and
strong enough to care for themselves, but Austin forgot himself in
wondering what would become of the children. The little ones spoke to
Mama, but she did not answer, they called to her, but she did not hear,
and they went away weeping; for though they could not tell what, they
knew something dreadful had happened.
Kind friends and neighbors came in and did what has to be done at
such a time. They pitied with full hearts the afflicted family, and
they wept for their friend, for they too had loved her. They took her
and laid her with others of death's sleepers in the silent churchyard,
and her orphaned children returned with their helpless father to the
lonely and broken home.
Only those who have returned home after Mother is gone know what
these children and father suffered. Kind hands had put the house in
order and the familiar furniture in its accustomed place, endeavoring
to make the house look as if all were well. But they could not bring
back the one who had made this house home, and to the children it was a
dreary, lonely place. Fearfully they crept out-of-doors, only to find
it as cheerless there.
That first night around the fireside without her, what a desolate
place it was! The father sat with drooped head and heaving breast, and
the children huddled together and some of them sobbed. Just to escape
their misery they went early to bed, and little pillows were wet with
tears. When they were all in bed a gentle hand tucked them in with a
kind caress. “It is what Mother would have done,” thought Austin, as he
made the rounds.
In those first days of sorrow every one seemed to remember only his
own heartache: but hearts can not always lie broken; in a little while
they began to live again.
It was now, when life was dropping back into its old ways, that the
greatness of their calamity became apparent. If Henry Hill had
understood his opportunity, he might have stepped into his children's
affections and been a true father to them. But he forgot them in his
own self-pity. He was lonely, unspeakably lonely, and the house was
dreary and dull without Mother. He who had always sought first of all
his own pleasure and comfort now reached out for solace somewhere. And
he found it with his old associates in his old haunts. When he returned
to his home after these seasons he found the gloom and emptiness there
more hard to bear. He hated with a deeper hatred the feeling of
responsibility and care that was thrust upon him by the sight of his
motherless children. He felt himself sinking under the strain, and he
longed to ease himself in some way. If only a friend had been found to
take the burden and bear it, how gladly would he have relinquished his
place; but there was no one who would accept it. The neighbors were
willing to help him with the children, but none of them were willing to
do his part, and they waited for him to take the place that a father
should.
George and Wilbur were restless at home since their mother was no
longer there. It had been her influence that had kept them at home and
in school for some time, and now she was not there they felt free to go
when they wished, and they were out of the home in a short while. Night
after night when the shadows crept over the fields, only Austin was at
home with the children. It was he who cooked their meals and waited
upon them. He loved them with a yearning love, thinking always of their
mother and how she had labored for them. He was a boy thoughtful beyond
his age, and, looking ahead, he saw what probably lay in store for
them. To him home meant all, and the thought of the children's being
scattered, never to know the sweetness of home association, was more
than he could bear.
Added to his own feelings in the matter was the thought of his
mother. If she knew, how it would grieve her to have her babies among
strangers, and possibly to be ill-treated! Austin believed also that
his father would be glad to see the home circle broken and the children
scattered. It seemed that there was but one person to stand between the
children and a broken home, and that person was himself. Though but a
boy of thirteen he dedicated himself to them with a determination to
stand by them and keep the home together. He put out of his mind every
thought of following the example of his brothers, and settled himself
to the care of the children. When he had made this decision, it seemed
to him that his mother was near and was well pleased with what he had
done. The children were quick to recognize in him their true friend and
champion, and turned to him as if he had been their mother. So it was
not long till apparently home was running along as smoothly as ever. Of
course those living there felt a terrible void, which never could be
filled.
Austin's father looked on with secret satisfaction at the course the
boy was taking, glad that some one, if only this child, was willing to
carry the responsibility of home. Day after day, as the household
settled back into order and harmony, he felt his burden slipping; but
the loss of his wife was as keenly before him as ever. He had loved her
as much as he was capable of loving any one, and he felt the loss of
her. Now that Austin was doing so well with the children he determined
to get away from it all for a while.
“Austin, you could get along very well with the children if I were
to be gone a few weeks, could you not?” he asked one day. “I am not
feeling well, and it is so lonely here that I am not myself. Perhaps if
I could have an outing, I should be better able to endure it.”
Though Austin was but a child, he knew that his father was acting
very selfishly in going away at this time, and that his real desire for
going was to avoid responsibility rather than to cure loneliness. Many
thoughts pressed in upon the boy as he contemplated his father's long
absence, but the thought that gave him an answer was that if he
refused, the home might be broken up. He seemed to see his mother's
face, and it encouraged him to be brave. It was only a moment that he
hesitated in answering, “Yes, Papa, I think I could manage all right; I
might have to miss school part of the time.”
“Well, I shall go with some of the boys down into the hills for a
while to see if I can not get straightened out so that I shall be more
fit for work. Your uncle John will look after you and see that nothing
happens to you.”
So the matter was settled. In a few days Henry Hill was off for a
month of pleasure, leaving the children in Austin's care. He was right
in thinking that his brother-in-law, John Moore, would look after the
children. Mr. Moore was a brother to the children's mother and had the
same noble principles as she had. He would gladly have taken the entire
care of the children, but he thought it was their father's place to
have their oversight, so stood back and said little. But when he knew
they were left alone in the farmhouse, he was careful to know each
morning and evening that all was well with them.
“Austin is as steady and reliable as a little old man,” said his
uncle after one of his visits. “He manages things over there as well as
many an older person could.”
“How a father could put so much on a mere child is a mystery,” said
some of the neighbor women.
“I would hate to be tied to a kitchen and a row of babies like he
is,” was his cousin Frank's opinion.
But of all these comments Austin was ignorant, nor did he think he
was doing anything brave. He was doing the one thing that would keep
the children together, and was encouraged with the thought that his
mother was pleased with him, for it seemed to him that she knew.
Though Henry Hill was a selfish man, he often thought of his
children while away, but stifled every remorseful thought with the
assurance that Austin was taking good care of them. He assured himself
that they were getting along as well as if an older person were with
them; and this was true, for in the month that he was away, nothing of
enough importance for comment occurred. The days went by as evenly as
if the father had been there. But if Henry Hill thought that his mind
would be more settled by his absence, he was disappointed; for as soon
as he was again in sight of the house, the old loathing of the place
attacked him. He longed to be away from it all forever. And when a man
has all his life given way to his own personal impulses rather than
stand by his duty, you need not expect him to brace up at a time like
this and do his part.
From the point of reasoning which Mr. Hill took he was justifiable
in feeling as he did. Everything about the little farmhouse reminded
him of the woman he had loved. He never came to the house without a
pang of painful loneliness at her absence. He felt himself incapable of
caring for the children. She had always done that, and he did not know
what they needed nor why. It would be better both for him and the
children to be away from this dreary, grief-laden spot. But he could
not take the children with him, and what would he do with them if he
did? But there was Austin. Why should he feel tied to the children when
Austin was willing to look after them? The thing to do was to get out
and find a more suitable place, leaving Austin to look after home and
the little ones.
But it would be pretty hard to leave so many children on one boy.
The neighbors would have a great deal to say. Maybe he had better get a
place for some of them. But where could he find a place? Why, to be
sure—why had he not thought of that before?—he would take Lila and
Doyle to his mother's, and Austin could manage the rest. That was just
the thing, and no one could find fault with the arrangement, at least
no one who knew Austin. And reasoning thus, he had his plans all made
before he mentioned them. The sunny, pleasant days of spring had come,
and the air was balmy and sweet with the perfume of blossoms, making
the vagrant soul of Henry Hill sick with wanderlust, and he could
hardly wait to put his plans into action.
“Austin, I believe I shall take Lola and Doyle out to your
grandmother's, and try to get work there,” he said one morning at the
breakfast-table. “You can stay on here with the other children, and can
get along very well if I am gone all summer. It will make it easier for
you if I have the little ones.”
Austin's chin dropped, and he looked at his father in blank
amazement. Surely he had heard wrong. He started to protest, but
another suggestion stopped him. “If I refuse, he will take all the
children away, and we shall have no home; that would grieve Mother,”
mused the boy. Because Austin hesitated in answering, his father
continued to explain his plan. “If I find a good job I shall get a
house and send for the rest of you children and we shall live near your
grandmother and uncles. I believe we can do better there than here.”
And having said this, he waited for Austin to speak.
“Yes, I suppose we could manage to get along a while,” the boy said,
choking a little. How lonely and bare his path looked before him he
could not explain, and intuition told him it would be useless for him
to try to do so. His father seemed to forget that he was lonely too,
and missed the gentle mother.
Little more was said on the subject, but Mr. Hill arranged his
affairs and, taking the two younger children with him, went to a
distant State, leaving Austin and his two sisters and younger brother
to look out for themselves for an indefinite period.
John Moore and his wife were shocked beyond measure when they
learned Mr. Hill's plans, but knowing that it would be useless for them
to remonstrate, they said nothing. However, they vowed in their hearts
to look after the orphans in their father's absence. But there was one
feature of his father's absence that Austin had not told any one. Had
his uncle John known this, he would have been more than angry with his
brother-in-law. Henry Hill had not left sufficient means with Austin
for the care of the children. He had needed a neat sum for his fare and
had taken almost all from the family purse, promising to send something
back to Austin soon. One week had passed, and a second, and although a
letter had come announcing their safe arrival, nothing had been said
about money. The little home was becoming bare of food, and Austin did
not wish to tell his circumstances to any one. He would have to find a
way to make money for himself.
The neighborhood in which he lived abounded in market-gardens, and
Austin decided to get work in the garden of a neighbor, with permission
to bring the children with him and allow them to work what they could
also. All of them together would be able to support themselves till
their father found work and should help them again. With Austin to
decide was to act, and the very next morning he went to the house of
Mr. Long and asked for work. Mr. Long had been observing the boy and
liked his pluck, and gave him work as he wished.
Now began a new epoch with Austin. There was a feeling of
independence in making and using his own money that was very pleasant.
He did not wonder that the older boys had gotten out to do for
themselves. Though he had to rise early and work late to keep up his
house-work and home chores, and his field-work, he did not count it a
hardship. He felt manly and strong in doing it.
Mr. Hill smiled with pleasure when he read in Austin's letters of
the arrangements he had made and how well they were getting along. That
was just the thing. With the wages of the children they would not need
much from him, and he would have more for himself. There was no need of
Austin's having more than was actually necessary, and that would not be
much. It was certainly fortunate that Austin had such a head for
business.
But the best-laid plans sometimes prove to have a flaw, and this was
unpleasantly true in this case. Though Mr. Hill explained at length to
his parents how nicely Austin was getting along, he could not make them
think all was well. They seemed to think, and others were of the
same mind, that he was neglecting his duty.
“Who has the care of the children?” his mother asked him one day.
“Austin is looking after them,” was the easy reply.
“You do not mean to say you left that boy with the care of the
children,” she exclaimed in amazement.
“Why, Mother, he manages them fine. I was gone a month a while back
and everything was running along all right when I came home, and he had
Lila and Doyle then, also.”
“It is asking too much of the child, and I do not see how you can do
it,” was the sharp reply. “I will send for them as soon as I get enough
ahead to set up housekeeping,” promised Mr. Hill.
“Henry, when are you going to bring those children here?” she asked
of him a few weeks later.
“Austin is working there and the others are helping him, and they
are getting on so well I hate to bother them,” he answered.
One evening Austin and the children were coming home from their work
in the gardens, tired and lonely. They could not get used to coming to
the house so quiet and empty. Home was not as it used to be, but the
brave children were making the best of it.
“I wonder if there will be a letter from Papa,” Amy said as they
drew near the mail-box, “and if he has a new home for us yet. I should
like to see Grandma, and I do want to see Doyle and Lila.” Harry,
running on ahead, reached into the box and drew out a letter, at sight
of which the other children quickened their steps. It was addressed to
Austin and was in their father's handwriting:
“Dear Austin, I have gotten things in shape to have you children
come to me. I will send you tickets in a few days. In the meantime
dispose of the things in the house excepting what you can bring in your
trunks. Uncle John will help you do this and see that you get started
all right. Write me a card early enough so that I shall know when to
meet you. We are all well. Henry Hill.”
Austin was trembling all over with excitement mingled with tears. He
was glad for the change, for the loneliness was nearly killing him, but
he hated to leave Uncle John and his family, and all the neighbors, and
Mother's grave. He had almost ceased to hope that his father would send
for them, but here was the letter at last.
Henry Hill was careless, we must admit, in his duty, but he was not
careless of the opinions of others. Be had been stung to the quick more
than once by the insinuations and admonitions of his parents and
acquaintances that he was not doing his duty by his children. His
mother especially nagged him about it. He might have passed her words
off as the whims of childishness, but she was not alone in her
condemnations.
“Henry, you are not doing right. Austin is only a little boy and you
are laying on him too great a burden,” she would say.
“That is where you are mistaken, Mother. Austin is as tall as I am,
and plenty strong enough to do all he is doing. They are getting along
fine. Austin says so in his letters,” he would answer.
“You are not doing right,” retorted his mother, and her tones
implied more than her words.
It seemed strange to Mr. Hill that he could not make any one
understand the situation. Austin had been willing to stay. He had
expressed no reluctance at all, and every week brought a letter from
the children telling how well they were getting along. He was not hurt
by any remorse at their words, but it seemed to him that they were
unnecessarily partial to Austin in their judgment, and he felt a sort
of animosity toward him on that account. Austin was only doing his duty
by the children, so why should he be so praised and pitied? But a man
can not long stand the bite of a fly without flinching, and Henry Hill
found that he must do something to rid himself of these criticisms. He
hated to do it, but he would have to send for the children and again
set up housekeeping.
“O Elizabeth,” he thought, “why did you have to be taken from me
when I need you so much? If you were here, I would not have all this to
bear. You made my life easy and happy.”
It was with satisfaction that Mother Hill listened to her son
explain that he had already sent for the children and must look for a
house for them.
After a hasty toilet and a little to eat the children took the
letter over to Uncle John's. Mr. Moore read it through, then sat still
for a while without comment. At last he spoke, “What does Henry mean by
laying such heavy responsibility upon the boy? No instructions, no
plans! One would think he believed Austin to be of age.”
“I suppose the only thing, Austin, for you to do is to make ready to
go to him as your father tells us to do. I shall be glad to render you
all the assistance possible. But I hate to see you go. If you remained
here I could look after you and see that you get along all right. But
it is not for me to say how your father shall manage his affairs.” If
John Moore expressed a little bitterness in addressing the boy, he kept
back most of what he felt. He knew the habit of drink that bound his
brother-in-law, and how it was weakening his manhood, and he doubted
either the interest or the capability of the man to care for the
children. He was certain a great deal of responsibility would rest upon
Austin, and he feared the father would not always be just with him. But
he wisely kept all these doubtful thoughts to himself and helped the
boy prepare for the journey.
The children were up early the next morning for their last day of
work in the gardens of Mr. Long. That gentleman was much concerned when
Austin told him of the letter and their plans.
“Austin,” he said, “you are a brave boy, and one that can be
trusted. I am going to ask you to promise me one thing. When you are
with your father again, do not follow in his steps. Your father has
habits that are no good to him, and would only ruin your life.”
“Mr. Long, I promised Mother long ago that I would never touch a
drop of liquor,” said Austin, knowing well what the man meant.
“Good for you, Austin; stand by that decision as long as you live,
and it will be well with you.”
Uncle John and Aunt Tillie were true to their promise about helping
the children prepare for the journey. They spent much of the time with
the children, and when the little house was empty of its furniture,
they took them to their own home till time for them to go. Every day
they heaped Austin with advice and counsel. The children heard them
talking to him telling him just how to make the changes on their
journey and how to arrange the baggage, and how to conduct themselves,
and it filled them with respect for their brother. They felt safe in
his care and certain that he would bring them safely to their father
once more.
“Austin,” said his uncle one day, “there is one promise I wish you
to make me. You are a good boy and have started out the right way to
make a noble man. I want you to say that you will not follow in your
father's footsteps. He is not the man he would have been without drink.
He caused your mother many heartaches. You will promise?”
“I promised Mama that before she died, and I will always keep it,”
answered Austin with feeling.
“I do not know how things will go when you are gone from here, but I
tell you now, boy, that if you ever need a friend or find yourself out
of a home, let me know, and I will send you money to come to us. I am
sorry you are going so far away. I want to see that you have a chance
to make good in life.”
To the neglected, over-burdened boy these tender words were like a
balm to his heart. He felt no sense of protection from his father, and
he missed his mother always. At times it seemed that his load was too
heavy for him to bear. Yet to his father he would make no complaint,
lest the home be broken up. He loved the children tenderly for their
own sake, and with a deeper love yet for her sake who had been called
away from them. Sometimes he had to forget that he was a boy and look
ahead and think like a man.
“Austin, we hear you are going to your father. We are glad of it,
but, boy, take the advice of a friend of your father's, do not follow
his footsteps. He is a good fellow and we like him, but he would have
been a better man to his family if he never had learned to drink. It
would never do you any good,” said Pete Dykes one day.
Pete was one of his father's cronies, and this advice surprized
Austin.
“Pete is right in that. You are better off if you never learn to
drink,” said Sam Phipps, Pete's companion.
“I have that settled and mean to stay by my decision,” answered
Austin while his eyes rested on the two men in pity.
At last the day came to start, and everything was ready for the
journey. They would be at least a day and a night on the way, and would
have to change in the heart of a great city, but Austin was certain
that by following his uncle's careful directions they would get along
all right. They started to the station early so that they should have
time to stop and speak to the neighbors who would be at their gates to
bid the children farewell. The eyes of the neighborhood were upon the
children, and many expressions of disapproval of their father's
management were made. Also the kind people remembered with genuine
sorrow the loss of their friend and neighbor, Elizabeth Hill. Tears wet
honest faces as the people bade the children good-by.
Uncle John and Aunt Tillie stood with their arms about the children
as the great engine drew near, and clasped them once more to their
bosoms in a last caress, then they were on the train and away. This
journey was like their first month alone, too uneventful to deserve any
comment. Their father was at the station to meet them and took them
directly to their grandfather's home. As this home was too small to
accommodate them long, their new home was waiting for them. Grandmother
Hill received them with open arms. She felt much more contented to have
them where she could know all was well. Lila and Doyle were delighted
beyond measure to see their sisters and brothers, especially Austin. In
all it was a most happy reunion, and it was with satisfaction that they
went on down to the little cottage that had been prepared for them.
His experience in the gardens of Mr. Long had a direct effect upon
both Austin and his father. To Austin, whose manly feelings were early
awakening, there was an untold sweetness in handling his own money. He
found a keen pleasure in this that gave him a thirst for money-making,
which was certain to assert itself at the first opportunity. No longer
could he be satisfied in the house doing merely woman's work. He wanted
to be a bread-winner also. He felt proud not to depend entirely upon
his father.
His father was as enthusiastic as Austin at the anticipation of his
making money, but the father's enthusiasm lay in the fact that so long
as Austin was making money it would take less from him for the support
of the family. To one who longed to spend upon himself and his accursed
drink all that he could obtain, the supplying of a family of seven with
food and clothes was no small burden. Henry Hill was not a common
workman, but was capable of making good money, and had been favored
with an opening which brought in plenty for the needs of his family. It
was not necessary that they be in cramped circumstances But when the
support of his family had been taken from his wages, it left but a
small margin for his personal pleasure, and he hated sacrifice. While
Austin could not make a man's wages, what he did earn helped remarkably
in the family expenses.
The satisfaction of Austin and his father was mutual—though
prompted by very different motives—when Austin obtained a position in
one of the village stores. At this time he was just past fourteen,
stood nearly six feet tall, and was well proportioned for his height.
Many men were no taller nor heavier than he, but he lacked the strength
of a full-grown man.
Amy and Nell were little misses of twelve and ten, pretty, dainty
girls, full of life and activity. Their mother had begun their
education in housework, and they had helped Austin since he had been
taking the lead. They knew how to do all the simple household duties
needful for their humble home. They could also cook simple meals quite
well, and so far as knowledge of proceedings was concerned were able to
keep up the housework. Austin was at home in the morning and evening
and oversaw their work, helping with the heavier part. Working thus
together they got along very well. But you must not suppose that these
children were able to keep their home as an older person would have
done. Always there was lacking the mother-touch.
When Austin saw how well the girls did, he felt satisfied to go to
the store each morning, and his wages were sufficient to supply the
family with plenty of good, wholesome food. His father was glad to have
him do this, and withheld his own money, allowing Austin to assume the
responsibility. Seeing that all was going so well, he would be away
days at a time, and always when he returned everything was prospering.
Mr. Hill was apparently contented for a short while, but soon he had
another attack of wanderlust, and, giving up his good position, he went
into an adjoining State where an oil-boom was on and much work was to
be had. He left the family as before in Austin's care, and also this
time failed to provide means for their support while he was gone. He
was sure Austin would find a way to keep things going. Austin was
thankful for his work and that he could keep the home up, and stayed
steadily at his place every day.
“Does Austin Hill work here?” asked a gentleman of the proprietor of
the store one afternoon.
“Yes. He is in the back of the store now. I will call him. Austin.”
The boy answered, coming in immediately.
Taking him to one side, the man looked him over sharply and said: “I
am a welfare officer and have received complaints about your family. I
am told that your father is away and that the children are not being
properly supported, in fact that they lack the food they should have.
Is this a fact?”
Poor Austin! he stood in amazement, his face growing red and white
by turns. He had been priding himself that he could do a man's part by
the children, and had been elated at his success, and here the people
thought he was starving them! When he could find words, he answered,
“It is not true, I assure you. My father is away, but he has not been
gone long, and in that time we have had plenty. At this time the house
is well stocked with food, as you will find if you search it. Go see
for yourself that this report is not true.”
“No, I do not want to do that. I only want to know that the children
are having plenty,” the man replied.
“But I want you to go. I want you to know that it is not true. If
you do not wish to go alone, take my aunt with you. She lives near by,”
Austin urged.
“Well, Austin, for your sake I will investigate. I am sorry I have
wounded you so much, but I had to do something about it,” he answered.
An hour later the officer was again in the store to see Austin. “I
found the reports to be utterly false,” he said. “If every family in
town were as well supplied as yours, some people would live better.”
Austin's heart felt sick, and he was almost too ashamed to lift his
head as he started for home. He felt disgraced and humiliated in the
eyes of his neighbors. That it had been one of them who had uttered the
complaint he was certain, but which one could be so base and false he
could not guess. Never before had he had occasion to think he had
enemies. Till now every one had seemed to be full of faith in him. What
had he done to break their confidence? Not once did it occur to him
that even if the reports had been true, he would not have been to
blame. No one was accusing him of not doing his duty. It was evident
that he was doing all he could. Nor did he stop to consider that to the
minds of the people it was inconsistent that he, a boy of fourteen,
should be supporting a family of six. He took the whole insult upon
himself, writhing under the humiliation. He was half tempted to give up
trying to care for the children. It looked as if failure was all he
could expect.
But determined persistence was one of Austin's strong points, and he
set to work to investigate the origin of these reports, and when he
found their source, a new difficulty was presented and a real cause for
concern made bare. Austin was gone all day long, being at home but a
few moments at noon. The children, when not in school, found the house
lonely and dull. They had no one to direct their efforts nor to control
their impulses, so they came and went as they pleased. Austin had not
thought of this difficulty, for till now they had lived in the country.
One of their neighbors had children about the age of the Hill
children, and the two families played together much of the time. Amy
and Nell, as well as the younger children, had formed the habit of
gadding about among the neighbors, being at home very little. They were
especially often found in the kitchen of this near neighbor, and, as
one can easily see, the cooking of this woman would taste better to
them than what they prepared at home themselves, and they were always
glad for anything to eat they could get. This woman noticed the
tendency of the children to seize upon any bit of food offered them,
and formed her own conclusions. She was a woman who liked excitement,
especially the kind caused by gossip, and, going about among the
neighbors, she had circulated the reports which finally reached the
officer with the result we have just heard.
But the contradictory reports of the officer put things in a
different light, which angered her considerably. Why, we can not say,
but she and her family vented their chief anger upon Austin. He it was
who had discomfited them, and was therefore to blame.
Austin did not spare his reproofs to the children nor his commands
as to their behavior in the future. He blamed them for running about as
they had. Because he was so little older than the girls, he could not
see why they should not feel some of the responsibility that loaded
him. He could not sympathize with their carefree and thoughtless ways,
and reproved them accordingly. He was indeed finding that the cares of
a family man are many.
One evening as he and his family were eating supper, the thick,
incoherent voice of a drunken man fell on their ears. Turning to the
door, they saw him coming up the walk staggering. Austin stepped to the
screen and latched it, not wishing him to come in among the children in
that condition. The fellow was in a terrible anger, and, reeling up to
the door, he said, “I want you, Austin Hill, to come out here. I am
going to whip you for the lies you have been telling on us.” Austin
recognized him as one of the men from the home of the neighbor who had
circulated the evil reports.
“I do not want to fight you. You are in no condition to fight, and I
have done nothing to deserve a whipping,” said Austin quietly.
“You come out here, you coward, and I will show you how you can put
the lie on us as you have. Come out and let us settle this like men,”
commanded the fellow with horrid oaths.
Seeing he was crazy with drink, Austin said no more; but, making the
door safe, he went away and left him alone. The man after a while went
back home, and no more was said about it. But this incident depressed
Austin all the more. His problem seemed too hard for him to solve. That
night his pillow was wet with tears, and he longed for his mother to
advise him. Though surrounded by his father's people, he had little
help or encouragement from them, for they feared that Henry would
depart and leave them the entire responsibility of the children if they
assumed any care of them now. They had all confidence in Austin, but
very little in the stability of his father.
His aunts were quick to see the mistakes Austin made in the
management of the children—and he made many mistakes, for he was too
young to have the wisdom to manage such a large family.
No wonder the boy was discouraged and depressed. But one vision
strengthened him. Again he thought he saw his mother and that she
smiled on him and bade him stand by the children. He took courage and
the next morning was ready to face life again. Austin loved the
children more and more, and as the responsibilities deepened upon him,
he cried out in his heart, “God help me.” And the Lord heard that
prayer.
There were in Austin's mind grave doubts as to his being able to
manage the children in town. They could not be trusted to do the right
thing in his absence, and would be constantly bringing themselves into
reproach. That his father could manage them better was doubtful, but it
was easier when his father was there. In those days of discouragement
Austin was near giving up. But the heaviest load will some time be
lifted, and Austin felt his heart grow more light when he received a
letter from his father, saying he had obtained work that suited him and
had a house ready for the children as soon as they should come to him.
“Why not make the children ready and send them to him and you stay
on with your work?” whispered the tempter, and the suggestion sounded
good to Austin. Again came the vision of his mother and her desire that
he keep the children together. He pitied the poor little things to be
left to the mercies of their careless father. He was fast losing all
respect for his parent, and he could not bear to let him neglect his
mother's precious children.
Again it fell to Austin's lot to make ready for moving; but this
time there was no Uncle John to take the oversight. The furniture was
to be packed and sent as well as the bedding and clothes. It was a big
undertaking, but was finally accomplished. It was with a feeling of
relief that Austin left his grandfather's village. His experience with
the welfare officer had been too great a humiliation to be soon
forgotten.
The town to which his father brought them was full of excitement
over an oil-boom, and men were making money fast and spending it just
as fast. It was a gathering-place for loafers and gamblers, sin and
wickedness abounding on every hand.
Mr. Hill was not located in the town, but had care of engines which
kept pumps going out on the field. He was to have a house near his work
after a while, but for the present he had a house five miles away. The
country was wild and the neighbors few, and Austin saw that he would
not be bothered with his children gadding among the neighbors here.
That was a consolation, though he grieved to have them so far from a
good school.
True to his impulses Austin found work as soon as he was settled in
the new home. This time he hired to the farmers who had not all their
fall work done yet. When he could no longer get work among them, he was
compelled to remain at home, for he would not go away where he could
not keep in touch with the children. But there was plenty to do at
home. They wished to farm the next year, and he could prepare the
ground this fall; besides, he obtained the privilege of clearing a
certain piece of ground for the posts he could get from it. The sale of
these posts brought in something, though not so much as if he had been
working for wages.
It seemed especially necessary that he be at home with the children
at night, for his father was often gone till late and then came home
partly under the influence of drink. Austin knew that the children
needed his protection.
“Austin,” said his father in a surly tone one morning, “why are you
lying around home all the time? Why do you not get out and make some
money? I have enough to support without doing for you.”
“I can not get any work near enough to be at home nights with the
children. Besides I am working at those posts,” was his answer.
“There is no need of your thinking you must be at home at night. The
girls do the work anyway, and you could just as well get out and make
something. Go hire yourself to one of the ranchmen along the river.
Have some ambition and try to do something for yourself.”
How these unkind words stung Austin! He was angry, vowing to himself
that if that was all the thanks he was to receive for keeping the ends
of the family together he would get out and make money.
That afternoon he visited two or three of the ranchmen, offering
himself as a workhand; but when they observed how young he looked, each
one asked concerning his age. When they heard that he was but fourteen,
they said their work was too heavy for a boy.
“Did you get yourself a job?” asked his father that evening.
“No sir, no one would hire me because I am so young.”
“Why did you tell them your age! they would have believed you if you
had said you were seventeen.”
“But I am not seventeen, and I do not like to tell what is untrue.”
“You like an excuse to lie around home. I am getting tired of it,
and mean you shall get out and hustle. Do you hear me?”
There had been a few rainy days just before this outbreak of his
father's, and Austin had been in the house. But the next morning was
sunny, and Austin was again at his chopping, and no more was said till
another rainy spell. Then his father attacked him even more roughly,
demanding that he get out and find work at once. Austin bore these
insults as best he could because of his unwillingness to desert the
family.
One Saturday night the father did not come home. After the children
were in bed Austin sat up with a queer chill of anxiety in his heart.
Something was amiss he was certain, for this was pay-night. He had no
doubt but that his father was drinking and gambling with the other
fellows in the little town or, worse yet, had gone with some of them
down the track a dozen miles to the county-seat. If this were true, he
would come home without a cent and be even more angry with Austin for
not earning wages.
At last Austin lay down and fell asleep, and he did not waken till
day-light. Seeing that his father's bed was not occupied, he knew his
worst fears were realized and that his father was in trouble somewhere.
The engines needed attention, and if they were neglected his father
might lose his job, then where should they be? Touching Harry, who lay
at his side, he said, “Harry, wake up and get ready to go with me to
see about the engines; Papa did not come home last night, and we shall
have to tend them. Amy, Nell, get up and fix us boys some breakfast and
a lunch, for we shall have to see about the engines. Papa is not home
yet.” Hurrying into his clothes, he went out to feed and harness Old
Ben, the white horse, which would pull them to the engines.
Two hours later the boys were off in a little open buggy behind poky
Old Ben; a cold, drizzling rain was coming down, which wet and chilled
them through and through, yet the boys journeyed with light hearts, for
so buoyant are the spirits of youth that they can rise above the most
unfavorable circumstances. They laughed and sang as the old horse
ambled along.
At the first well Austin found the engine still, but with little
Harry's help it was soon started.
The second engine, though, would not go. The boys worked with it
till they were exhausted, but their efforts were without avail. Some
little thing was wrong which neither of them knew how to remedy. As
they stepped to the door of the shed to rest a little, to their
surprize they heard the sound of voices. They were off from the main
road a long way, and in a part of the country where they hardly
expected to see any one on this rainy day. Looking in the direction
from which the voices came, they saw two men approaching, driving a
single horse. At closer range one of the men proved to be their father,
and he was in a maudlin condition, reeling back and forth as the buggy
bumped along. They could hear the men's voices in ribald laughter and
singing. When they were near the building, Mr. Hill climbed clumsily
out of the rig, and Austin tried to tell him what the difficulty was.
“Oh, that's nothing,” he mumbled, “shoon have it fixed.” Reeling as
he walked, he went into the shed that sheltered the engine. The boys
followed him, and while his mind was clear enough to adjust the engine,
his legs were not steady enough to hold him up, and his boys had to
hold him to keep him from falling into the machinery while he repaired
the engine. It seemed to Austin at this time that he utterly despised
his father. He wondered if he could ever feel toward this reeling,
staggering, evil-minded man as a son should feel toward a father. Again
came the thought of the children and what it would mean to leave them
to him. He would not leave them so long as his father would permit him
to remain under the home roof.
Before the hard, cold winter came, they moved into the house near
his father's work. It was a lonely place with only a small yard cleared
in the brush, and was as desolate a location as one could imagine. Yet
the house rang with the laughter of the children, whose changing
fortune had not chilled their merry hearts.
Thanksgiving passed as any other day, only that the children spoke
of their mother oftener than usual. Even they wondered at all the
changes which had come to them since the last Thanksgiving.
There was much damp weather, and Austin was unable to work much in
the woods. So every day was made dark with the taunts and threats of
his father. Sometimes it seemed to him that he could not stand it
another day. He longed to get away, to be forever from the presence of
his father, but he could not leave the children. What would become of
them if he did? Very well he knew that in less than six months they
would be scattered here and yonder, some of them to be abused and
mistreated.
His father's insulting manner was bearing fruit in the children, and
they were no longer submissive. It seemed to Austin that he had failed
entirely.
It had now rained steadily for a week, and the mud and drip
everywhere made all outdoors unpleasant. But in the Hill home the
indoors was even more disagreeable. The new home was near the engines.
Mr. Hill was in the house much of the time, and he was never pleasant
among his children. Austin could not work in the woods because of the
rain, and his presence irritated his father all the time. They were
never in the house together but what something unpleasant was said
between them, and Austin's spirit was becoming worn with the constant
rasping. He thought he could not endure it much longer, and since his
presence made the home so filled with contention he doubted whether he
was doing right to stay.
“Austin, how much longer are you going to lie around this house? You
have not done a day's work in weeks. I can't stand your idleness much
longer. Why can you not be like your brothers?” growled Mr. Hill one
morning a day or two after Thanksgiving.
Austin said nothing, for he had exhausted all his arguments; but at
that instant a determination formed itself in his mind to put a stop to
the whole affair. When his father had gone to the engine-room he went
to the attic and brought down his best suit of clothes and, coming into
the kitchen, prepared to brush and press them. When he put the irons on
the stove, Amy noticed what he was about to do.
“You can't press those clothes this morning, for I am going to use
the irons,” she said in a fretful voice.
“I shall have to use them, Amy, but it will not take long.”
“You can't have them, so there! You always want to do just your way,
no matter what we want to do.”
“Did you hear what Father said this morning?” asked Austin.
“He didn't say any more than he is always saying,” she said a little
less fretfully.
“He will not have to say anything of the kind again, for I am going
to find work and not coming back till I have it,” said Austin.
“Austin, you can't go away. What shall we children do!” exclaimed
Amy, all her vexation leaving at the thought.
“I do not know; but it can not be much worse than having Father so
angry all the time. I will get work on the river if I can, and will see
you all as often as possible,” answered Austin soothingly.
Amy said no more about the irons, but turned to her dish-washing
with tearful eyes, her heart almost standing still at the thought of
home without Austin. The other children who had heard the conversation
stood about with consternation written on their little faces. Harry,
who was a child to act when he thought he might help, hurried out to
the engine-room and told his father what had occurred. Henry Hill was
vexed because Austin's wages no longer came in; but he had no thought
of sending the boy away. He knew too well that Austin's presence was
needed in the home. But the seed of animosity that had been sown in his
heart against Austin during the past summer was now bearing fruit, and
he took a sort of pleasure in annoying the boy. He saw that Austin was
sensitive about being dependent and he enjoyed seeing him wince. At
Harry's alarm he only grunted a word of disapproval and went on with
his work. He believed Austin was only trying to bluff him. He did not
think the boy could be driven away from the children.
An hour later Harry was back again at his father's side, his face
bathed in tears and his breast heaving with sobs. “Papa, Austin is
going. He has his suitcase all packed and is ready to start.”
Henry Hill jumped to his feet, his face red with anger. Could it be
possible that Austin had such an idea in his head? If so, he would soon
frighten it out of him. This looked too much like defiance in the boy!
“I will show him how to run away, the rascal. Harry, go to the barn
and bring the buggy whip,” and saying this the father rushed across the
little opening between the two buildings and stamped into the kitchen.
Austin was on his knees fastening his suitcase, which was all packed
and ready for his start. He had not meant to bid his father good-by,
nor to tell him any of his plans. He was too angry and his heart too
defiant to want even to look at him again. When his father came in,
Austin rose from his knees and faced him.
“What is up here, young man? I will let you know right here that
there is going to be no running away from this ranch! You get that grip
where it belongs, in a hurry,” thundered the irate father.
“I am going away to find work. I shall take care of myself from this
time on,” said the boy resolutely facing the angry man.
“Take care of yourself,” sneered his father, “you could not exist a
month on your own resources. You take those clothes out of that grip
and stop this nonsense!”
“I am going away, and you need not try to hinder me,” said Austin in
firm, even tones.
A fearful oath escaped the father's lips and he grabbed the whip
which the sobbing Harry had brought; for as much as Harry loved Austin
he dare not disobey his father's command. Turning again to Austin, the
man thundered, “I'll thrash you within an inch of your life. Don't you
dare to tell me you are going away when I forbid it. For once you will
obey me.”
Just then the engine gave a warning sound, which meant that without
immediate attention it would stop running, so the enraged man turned
about without another word and went out, leaving the frightened
children looking after him. But the pause was only for a moment. Austin
seized his opportunity and, picking up the suitcase and bidding the
children a hasty farewell, he bolted out of the door and across the lot
to freedom. He had been running as hard as he could go when still he
heard the wails of the children and heard them calling to him. He took
a course across the unbroken lands where there was not so much as a
foot-path. In his timber-cutting he had become familiar with the lay of
the land and took this rough way on purpose that his father might have
difficulty in following him. He ran for almost a mile before he
slackened his pace, and at every step he seemed to feel his father
right behind him. He knew that now his father would be so angry as to
have no sense at all, but would beat him nearly to death.
When at the edge of the river-bottom he stopped to take a breath he
found that he was wet to the skin and that he had stepped into low
places where the water had come up over his shoe-tops. And he
remembered too that he had not a penny in his pockets, nor a bite to
eat. A more forlorn boy could not be found than Austin as he stood
there and looked across to the farmhouses along the river. But he
smiled a little to himself as he thought, “I am one fellow who actually
ran away from home. It was no walk away.”
As he approached the river he found the lowlands much more wet and
marshy than it had been in the hills, and he had to wade above his
shoes a good deal of the time, and still the heavy drizzle kept up. He
made for a farmhouse where he hoped to get work. As he came up he
wished in his heart that the man would ask him no questions about his
condition; for he saw that besides the wet and mud, he had torn his
clothes in several places. But he was determined that if any questions
were asked he would tell the truth, just as it was. He would not shield
either his father or himself. His cause should stand upon its own
foundation. He believed that almost any one would approve of his
leaving home under the circumstances.
He knocked at the farmhouse door, and the man of the house answered
his rap and hospitably invited the boy in. It was a temptation; but
Austin remembered his soppy condition and did not like to soil the
housewife's floors, so refused to enter.
“I am looking for work. Have you anything I can do?” he said.
“Are you not that Hill boy who wanted work a few weeks back?” asked
the man kindly.
“Yes, and you thought you might have something for me later,”
replied Austin hopefully.
“If you had come yesterday I should have hired you; I found a man
over at town last night, and he will be here today to begin. I am sorry
I did not know you were still wanting the place.”
With a heavy heart Austin turned from the door and journeyed on in
the rain and mud. He had little hope of getting work at any of the
other farms, and he did not know where to go. But he determined to do
his best in seeking employment, and so stopped at every house he
passed, asking the same question.
At last he reached the river at a place where a foot-bridge crossed
it. To cross this bridge seemed to him to be cutting off the last
retreat home. Here he must make his final decision. He stood with one
foot on the bridge and one hand on the railing and pondered. Should he
go on, or should he go back and face his father? He knew the taunts he
would receive even if he were not beaten; but he would bear all that if
it was his duty. Then there came to his mind the picture of his father
that day he had come home after his drunken spree and found the boys
trying to start the engine. At the thought his loathing of his father
overcame him, and he turned and walked across the bridge. Never would
he go back to live in the same house with that drunken fellow. If Henry
Hill had realized the effect his life was having on his children even
he would have considered.
Now that Austin had cut his last shore-line, had crossed the bridge
away from home, he began to plan for himself. It was now past noon, and
he was both hungry and cold. When he thought of his penniless condition
a chill of apprehension came over him, for he had no mind to beg. He
continued his search for work on this side the river, but with as
little success. Though he could hardly have told why, he had kept on
toward the railroad, and was approaching it where a small station
stood. He had no money with which to buy a ticket, yet he hoped that in
some way he might be able to follow the road to where he could find
work.
When he reached the station he found no depot and only a few houses;
a box car had been set beside the track and in it was a tiny
waiting-room with a fire burning. A couple of men sat idly by smoking
and talking, scarcely noticing when the boy came in. Austin was
thoroughly tired out, more hungry than he had ever been in his life,
and chilled to the bone. His feet had been wet all day, and he had not
a dry stitch of clothing on him. Setting the suitcase down, he sank
upon the rude bench at the side of the room and hardly moved for a long
time. The early twilight of the gloomy evening came on, and still he
sat, with a thoughtful, far-away look in his eyes. He did not know what
to do next.
After a while the ticket agent came in. Seeing the boy sit in such a
dejected position and without moving for a long time, he guessed that
he was in trouble and in need of help.
“Where are you going, sir?” he asked Austin kindly.
“I hardly know. I have been looking for work among the farmers all
day and none of them want to hire me, and I hardly know what to do
next,” said Austin.
“Do you live near here?”
“Yes, I have walked from home today; but I do not want to go back if
I can avoid it. I want to find work.”
“Had some trouble?”
At this question Austin looked around, and seeing that they were now
alone and feeling certain that the man was kindly disposed toward him
he told him all, shielding neither his father nor himself. It was so
evident that he told the truth that the man believed him.
“Have you any means, or any way of making your expenses while you
are looking for work?” was the next question.
“No sir, I have no money, and only want to get work. I have a friend
at the next town whom I am quite certain would help me if I could only
find him.”
“Have you anything about you that you could sell if you got into a
pinch?” again asked the man.
“Not a thing unless it would be this,” and he held up a
pocket-knife, which had been a gift of his mother's.
“If you will give me the knife I will give you your supper and a
ticket to the next station,” tactfully proposed the man, not wishing to
make Austin feel like a beggar.
Accepting the offer he was taken to a little restaurant and given a
good supper, and before it had grown much later he had a ticket and was
aboard the train bound for the town where his friend was at work.
Austin had taken opportunity while waiting for the train to change his
clothes, and he now presented a much better appearance than when he was
sitting by the little box-car fire.
When Austin left the train it was dark, and had been for some time.
He had been so tired as the train bounded along that he hardly sensed
his position. Dimly he had wondered where he would sleep that night.
Now he stood for a moment on the little station platform wondering what
he should do next. He did not know where to find his friend and was not
certain he was here at all. This had been his only hope of finding
work, and now he realized it had been a very forlorn one. Since he was
here he must find the man or stay out in the cold all night. He saw the
light of a hotel across the street. Going there, he asked if they knew
his friend; but his friend was a stranger to them. He inquired about
other hotels and rooming-houses, and was directed to two or three,
which he visited with as little success. Standing again in the outside
darkness he pondered what to do. He thought perhaps his friend might be
known at the livery stable, and going there he asked again. The
stableman knew no such a fellow, and by the flickering lantern-light he
saw the look of disappointment and concern that crossed Austin's face.
“Where are you going to stay tonight?” he asked.
“I do not know. I have made no inquiry about it, hoping to find my
friend,” the boy replied.
“Every house in town is full; some folks will have to sit up at the
hotel for lack of a bed. I have no idea where to tell you to go.” Then
after a moment's thought he added, “I could fix you a place here in the
barn where you would be comfortable, and welcome.”
“Thank you, sir; but, to be honest, I have no money to pay for even
that bed,” truthfully replied Austin.
“Well, a fellow can't stay out in the cold a night like this.
Prepare to roll in and maybe you will have better luck tomorrow,”
good-naturedly replied the man, and taking an armful of rugs he went to
an oat-bin and spread them out and left Austin to get to rest as soon
as possible.
Though this was a novel bed to the boy, and the surroundings new and
strange, so weary was he that he was soon fast asleep. It was morning
when he wakened, but not yet light. He heard the man in the barn with
the horses, so jumping up hastily he dressed and went out to help him,
with the hope that he could remain and work about the barn, though this
was not the kind of work he had wished for.
“Have you need of a hand around the barn?” he asked the man after a
while. “If you have I should like a job.”
“No, I can manage all there is to do very well,” was the
discouraging reply.
“Do you know of any work around here I could get?”
“Not a thing. You are most too young to stand the work in the
oil-fields, and that is about all there is to do this time of year. I
shall go over to the house now for my breakfast, and you look after
things while I am gone and then you may go get yours,” said the man,
who felt genuine pity for the boy.
Austin enjoyed the warm breakfast and the kindness of the housewife
who gave it to him. Before he left, the man handed him almost a dollar
in change, another act of kindness.
Taking his suitcase again in his hand Austin proceeded on his
uncertain journey. The money the stableman had given him would be
sufficient to carry him to the village where his grandparents lived,
and as he had heard that Wilbur was there, he decided to cease looking
for his friend and go on to his grandparents' home and get assistance
from his brother. He thought this would be only fair, for Wilbur had
borne no responsibility, while he himself had given all his wages for
the support of the family.
“Why, Austin!” exclaimed his grandmother when he came to her door.
“Can this be you! I did not know you intended coming. How did you leave
the children!”
“Everybody is well, thank you,” primly replied Austin; for he was
always a little afraid of his sharp-spoken grandmother. “Papa thought
he could get along without me for a while, so I am looking for work. Do
you know where I could find Wilbur? Perhaps he could help me get
something right away.”
“Will is in town somewhere; I see little of him. You come in and
spend the night with us, and hunt him in the morning.”
Austin spent a pleasant evening with the old folks; but he told them
nothing of the trouble between him and his father, lest they might
detain him and send word to his father where to find him. The next
morning he found his brother, who was as surprized to see him as the
grandparents had been.
“Hello, kid, how are the folks?” he had greeted him in a jolly tone.
“All right. Papa thought he could get on without me for a while, so
I am looking for work. Do you know where I can get any?”
“No, I do not know of a thing. There is not much around here that is
light enough for a kid,” replied Wilbur, who felt his two years'
superiority very much.
“Well, then, could you let me have some money to keep me till I do
find work? I am completely broke and have not been able to get a thing
to do.”
“I'm sorry, Austin, but I am in the same fix. I lost on a game last
night, and it left me in bad shape. I would let you have it if I
could.”
Austin did not remain with his brother long. He felt sick at heart
to think he had so soon turned to the very course his mother had warned
him against. From the flippant remarks Wilbur made it was plain he was
sowing his wild oats with a reckless hand.
Though in the village where many of his father's people lived,
Austin felt as lonely as he had the day before in the little box car
beside the railroad. Thoughtfully he walked down toward the depot,
wondering what to do. He had no heart to look for work. At the depot he
met a young fellow of a friendly disposition who seemed disposed to
talk with him. It took but a little probing by this smooth fellow to
get from Austin all his story; for the boy was entirely unacquainted
with the ways of the world. And to his new friend the whole thing
seemed a joke. He confided to Austin that he was in nearly the same
predicament, but that he knew a way to ride about the country without
funds. Austin had heard of such things but did not know how it was
done, and showed some interest; and the young man proceeded to explain
to him the tricks of his trade, for he was by profession a loafer, a
tramp.
That what the young man did was wrong, Austin knew; but he was so
kind and engaging in his manner, and seemed to be such a friend just
when Austin needed a friend very much, Austin consented to go with him
on his next trip, which he intended beginning that very afternoon.
Presently another young fellow of the same type as Austin's new found
friend joined them, and the three boys waited at a convenient place for
boarding a box car without being noticed.
It is hard to explain Austin's feelings at this time. He had a
tender conscience and knew he was doing wrong; but he was penniless and
so in need of a friend, and this young man had showed him kindness, and
a way out of his difficulty. He kept promising himself that only this
once would he be guilty of such a deed. He would get work as soon as
possible. And he thought of the children. It seemed impossible that he
had been gone from them only two days.
But the boys were not so successful as they had hoped to be in
boarding the train and were able to get into only an open coal-car.
Here they had to lie down till the train was out of the station, when
they sat up and looked around. It was not long till they became
painfully aware that the journey would not be taken in comfort. A
strong wind was blowing and, after the rainy spell, it had turned cold.
None of the boys had heavy coats, and the wind cut them through and
through. It seemed to Austin that he would freeze to death. They
huddled together to keep themselves warm. The older fellows laughed at
the trouble they were in, for they were hardened to it. But to Austin,
who was used to the shelter of home, it seemed horrible. Never will he
forget that cold ride.
Added to his physical discomforts was the mental consciousness of
wrong-doing.
Just at nightfall the boys climbed out of their uncomfortable
carriage in the freight-yards of a thriving town some fifty or sixty
miles north of their starting-point. Austin was so chilled he could
hardly walk, but managed to follow the other fellows up-town. It is
needless to say that his initiation into the life of a “bum” was not
pleasant. But his companions seemed not to mind their discomfort, and
he trudged along with them. When they reached town, they first got
something warm to eat, then inquired for a place to stay. The man of
whom they asked understood their circumstances, for he had seen many of
their kind, and directed them to the auditorium in the city park as the
most likely place they would find. This building had been made for the
convenience of public speaking, not for a dormitory, and was a very
poor place to stay on a cold night. It had walls on only the east and
north, but afforded a shelter from the force of the cold north wind.
The boys had no bedding, and had to keep themselves warm by building
small fires of the leaves and sticks they could pick up in the dark,
and by walking. It seemed to Austin that he would never see the night
through; but finally morning came. He was again treated to a warm meal
by his friend, and then they parted company with the third member of
their crowd. Austin and his companion decided to strike out on foot to
the next town. This pleased Austin, for he hoped to get work somewhere
along the way. They had not gone far until it was plain that his
companion was not looking for work, but for adventure. Austin wished he
had not fallen into such company. However, after the kindness the boy
had shown him he could not turn from him coldly.
At noon the hoys stopped at a farmhouse for dinner. They were not
posing as tramps, but offered to pay for their meal. The family with
whom they stopped was a lively, jolly one, and the glimpse of home-life
Austin got made his heart ache. He longed to tell the kind man all his
troubles but had no opportunity, for his companion led all the
conversation telling the farmer and his boys a long and brilliant tale
of his travels. He posed as a rich young fellow traveling in the
present manner only for the novelty. Austin had a poor opinion of his
methods and modes of travel, and decided that his companion was a cheap
braggart, and nothing more.
After the noon's entertainment the boys tramped on, Austin longing
for something solid to base his plans upon, his companion evidently
contented with his vagabond life. Night found them in a town twenty
miles north of the place from which they had started in the morning,
and penniless.
But Austin's friend knew what to do. His first inquiry was for the
Salvation Army, and being directed to the home of Captain Albright,
they knocked at his hospitable door. He invited them in and made them
welcome, asking them few questions about themselves. But the young man
was inclined to talk and told the Captain how he had been converted in
an Army meeting two nights before and what a glorious experience it
was. Austin looked at him in astonishment and disgust. He knew now what
kind of fellow he was traveling with—one who would lie about holy
things for a bed and something to eat. The shame and mortification he
felt were so keen that he could hardly look up while his companion
enlarged to the Captain on his religious experience.
In the morning, after the boys had had a good night's rest and had
eaten a hearty breakfast, good Captain Albright took them into his
front room and read and prayed with them, then gave them some kind
advice before they should go on their way.
“Boys, the kind of life you are now living does not pay. You are
both young and strong and able to work, and you had better get
something to do and stay with it and make men of yourselves. You are
building now for all time and you can hardly afford to waste all your
young manhood.”
Austin was a quiet boy, and it was hard for him to speak, especially
when his companion was so quick to occupy all the opportunity for
conversation. All the morning he had been trying to get a chance to
explain himself and get help from the Captain in finding work. Now was
his chance, and he seized it, for his companion was silent on the
subject of work.
“That is just what I want, sir. I am not used to this kind of life
and I do not like it at all. Do you know where I could find work?”
“Right, my boy. You are welcome to remain with us till you can find
something. Have you anything in mind you wish to do?”
“I have an uncle who has always been kind to me, and he promised to
send me money and help me if I ever needed help, but as yet I have
found no place to stay until I can hear from him.”
“You are welcome to make your home with us until you can hear from
him, and I advise you to write today,” said the Captain.
Austin was only too glad to accept this offer and to part company
with his doubtful friend. He took the postal card the captain gave him
and hurriedly wrote his cry of distress and got it into the morning
mail. His heart was now light, and he expected a reply in three or four
days at the longest. In the meantime he made himself as useful as
possible in the household of the kind Captain.
After a week a letter came to the Captain's address, but it was for
Wilbur Hill instead of Austin. This puzzled Austin somewhat, but
feeling certain it was meant for him, he opened it. The letter proved
to be from his cousin Frank, and was in answer to his card.
“Will,” the letter ran, “start east right away, working your way as
best you can, and when you are nearer, I will help you.” Austin was
perplexed and not at all pleased. He did not wish to try any more
penniless traveling. Three days of that had been enough for him. And
that his uncle should fail in his promise seemed indeed unlike Uncle
John.
Austin wrote again to his uncle, a letter this time, explaining the
situation more clearly, and asking that the money be sent for his fare
and promising to return it when he had work. His hopes had rallied much
in writing the letter, and he was sure a more favorable answer would
come soon. While he waited, he helped Captain Albright as much as he
could. The Army people were making ready for their Christmas
celebration, and found plenty for Austin's willing hands to do. Much
food and old clothing had been donated to the Captain for distribution
among the poor, and to Austin was given the task of gathering this
together. He was happy in doing this, feeling that he was at least
earning his board. But he could not understand why an answer to his
letter should not come. Three weeks passed since he first came into
Captain Albright's home, yet his uncle did not send him money nor
acknowledge his letter.
One day a telegram came to him saying a ticket was at the office for
him, and the message was signed by his uncle. Joy almost to distraction
filled the boy's heart as he rushed to the depot to see if it were
truly so.
It was only a day or two till Christmas, and Austin had consented to
fill quite a large place on the program for the entertainment, but he
could not wait now that his message had come. Captain Albright had been
sorry for Austin in his perplexity and rejoiced with him in the good
news, and released him from his part on Christmas Eve.
When Austin reached the great city on his way home, he was told that
his train had gone and he could not get another till the next day. The
fast train, which would pass through his uncle's town, stood then on
the track; but it would not stop. Austin was getting wise in traveling
and believed he could not get into anything out of which there would be
no escape; so if he could once get on the fast train, he would trust
luck to get him off. Dodging past the gatekeeper, he boarded this
train. The conductor told him the train could not stop, but Austin
waited to see what would happen. He had no money to stay in a hotel,
and he wanted to get to his old home very much anyway. Shortly before
they reached the village, the conductor told him the train would stop
just outside for water.
It was noon, Christmas Day, when Austin stepped from the train at
the watering-station just outside his old home village. Oh, the joy of
familiar sights! He felt as if he should like to stoop and kiss the
very earth under his feet, he was so glad to be at home again. He had
not gone far till he saw familiar faces, but he did not stop, though
all were glad to see him back again. His one thought was to see once
more his beloved uncle. He hurried on, swinging his suitcase in his
hand. For some reason it seemed much lighter than at other stages in
his journey. He could hardly keep his feet on the ground, so light was
his heart as he sped along.
At last the old farmhouse came in sight, and about the door were his
cousins, who were wondering if Austin could have come on that train.
They were expecting him any time and had a hearty welcome for him when
he did come. Aunt Tillie had the Christmas dinner just ready to sit
down to when the glad cry of the children announced Austin's arrival.
All of them were at home that day to celebrate their last Christmas in
the old house, for their father had sold the homestead and they were to
move the coming week. It was with joy that the extra plate was laid for
the wanderer.
“Well, well, Austin! you are here at last! I suppose you thought we
never intended to answer your letter,” said Uncle John laughing.
“I could not help wondering why you waited so long,” answered Austin
reproachfully, for he still felt grieved at his uncle's neglect.
“Look at this and tell me if you wonder that I did not answer it,”
said Uncle John bringing out the card Austin had written him from
Captain Albright's home three weeks before. To Austin's surprize it was
unsigned.
“How was I to know who wrote this?” asked his uncle with twinkling
eyes, “you will have to sign your name if you want money from me.”
“I do not see how I came to do anything like that,” said Austin,
abashed at his mistake.
“We never suspected you, and after talking it over at the
supper-table we all came to the conclusion that the card was from
Wilbur, and that he had gotten into some trouble and wanted help. He is
so trifling that I decided to let him fight his own battles, so paid no
more attention to the matter,” explained his uncle.
“I felt sorry for the poor fellow so after a week or more wrote the
letter you received,” said Frank, laughing.
“Then your answer came back to us all signed as it should be, but I
thought it was Will trying to trick me further, so still did nothing.
In fact, I had about forgotten the incident when a letter came from Amy
telling us you had left home. Then we knew the S. O. S. was your call
and waked immediately. That is why there was the long silence then the
ticket by telegram. We were afraid you had given up hearing from us and
left that place.”
When Uncle John had finished his explanation, all that had been dark
to Austin cleared away, and he laughed with the rest at the queer
mix-up. It relieved him to know that after all his uncle had not
purposely neglected him.
And that dinner! Was there ever another feast as good as this one?
It was indeed a table to tempt an appetite under any circumstances, and
to Austin, who had absolute peace of mind for the first time in weeks,
it seemed more delicious than could be expressed.
But before he had finished his dinner, thoughts of the little ones
at home and the Christmas dinner cooked by inexperienced hands came
into his view, and his own good fortune almost choked him. If only
they, too, could have eaten with Aunt Tillie! And he remembered, also,
that only last Christmas Mother was with them, and tears sprang to his
eyes. How much had happened in that year!
When the others had gone about their own affairs, John Moore took
his young nephew and had a long talk with him. Austin was free to tell
him all that had happened and why he had left home. Mr. Moore could
understand how Henry Hill had treated the boy, for he too had received
evil for good at his hands. He was sorry for the little ones, but hoped
the sight of their needs would waken the chords of real manhood which
once stirred the heart of his brother-in-law.
“Austin, I am pained at all you tell me and am sorry that it is
going so ill with dear Elizabeth's children, but I can not see it our
duty to bear your father's burdens. You are welcome here with us. To me
you are like one of my own sons, and I want you to feel as the weeks go
by that you are at home. I shall do by you just as I do by them.”
Tears filled Austin's eyes at the kindness of his uncle, but the
stinging words of his father rang in his ears, “You could not exist a
month on your own resources,” and he was determined to make his own way
and prove to him that he could do for himself.
“No, Uncle John, I can not do that, though I appreciate your offer.
I did not come here to live off your money, but I want to find work and
support myself. I am strong enough to do it, and now that I have no
care of the children I can do it I am certain.”
“But, Austin, a boy like you should be in school. You are not yet
fifteen, and for a year you have not been in school to speak of. You
can stay right here and go every day,” urged Mr. Moore.
“No, Uncle, I do not want to do that now. I am almost out of
clothing. All I possess is in that suitcase, and I need to earn
something for myself right away. Besides, Papa said I could not look
out for myself.” persisted Austin.
“Humph! Well, if that is what is on your mind, I do not blame you
for going to work. Prove that you can take care of yourself and after
that look out for other things,” said Mr. Moore in hearty sympathy with
the boy for resenting his father's taunt.
“I wish none of you would write anything home about me. I do not
want Papa to know where I am nor one thing about my affairs.”
“All right; I will inform the others of your wish. It will be hard
on the children, but as for Henry, he ought to do a little worrying.”
The next week was a busy one for the Moore household, and Austin
helped them with their moving, staying with them till the hard work was
over, and then found himself a place. This was not hard, for he was
well known and universally liked. Those who would hire him knew him to
be reliable beyond his years. The wages he received were small,
pitifully so, but they were sufficient to again clothe him suitably,
and to give him that feeling of independence and self-respect that is
good for any boy.
Though he was satisfied with his present lot so far as his own self
was concerned, his mind was never at rest about the children. In spirit
he lived constantly with them, and was ever longing to return to them
and bear their burdens. Not once did he contemplate entirely forsaking
them. He believed the cloud which now overshadowed him and them would
pass away and he again be welcome under the home roof. He built great
air-castles of the time when he should become rich and return and care
for them. But he could not overcome the feeling of repugnance toward
his father, nor did he really try to do so.
When Austin had again fitted himself with a suitable wardrobe, he
remembered his uncle's advice about going to school. Spring was at hand
now, and the country-school term at a close, so he could do nothing for
the present. But when Mr. Coles, a neighbor of his uncle's, offered him
a place for the summer at reasonable wages with the understanding that
when the summer was over he might remain with him and attend school the
coming winter, Austin thought it wise to accept the offer, though the
wages were considerably less than he could have gotten elsewhere. He
thought that the lesser wage which Mr. Coles paid him would make his
board right for the coming winter, and he did not wish to get something
for nothing.
So Austin all through the hot summer months worked away on the farm,
of Mr. Coles, doing anything and everything there was to be done. He
plowed and sowed and reaped, milked, and fed the calves and pigs, and
worked in the garden and orchard. Mr. Coles had a willing hand all the
summer through.
Some men set a high value upon honor, others will sell themselves
for a trifle. The value of a man is not one whit higher than the value
he sets on his honor. Some men scorn to be dishonest in the small
affairs of life, and as friends and neighbors are ever upright and
honorable, yet can be tempted in greater matters to sell their
birthright for the gain of the profiteer or the influence of the
politician. Other men abhor these greater forms of dishonor, but in
little things are petty and mean. They are like the woman who prides
herself on her cleverness when she cheats the milkman out of a quart of
milk or the peddler out of a paper of pins. When a boy undertakes to
look out for himself, he must learn to deal with these petty meannesses
in others or be continually deceived.
Austin met the world with no expectation of fraud or ill will, and
when he found these, he was surprized and grieved, and was quite
unprepared to cope with the situation. His first summer's work was to
teach him a rather severe lesson in human nature. Farmer Coles knew the
boy and that he was a good worker, and deliberately planned to get a
farm-hand at a very reasonable rate. He was careful to see that Austin
earned fully every dollar he received all the summer through, but he
had no intention of keeping him during the winter. When school began
the first of September, there was yet much to be done in the fields,
and Austin consented, at the farmer's suggestion, to keep at his work
for another month, but the first of October he quit and started to
school.
From the time he entered school, the atmosphere about the home, and
Mr. Cole's attitude toward his choreboy, changed completely. Where he
had been pleasant, he now was surly and cross. He found fault with all
that Austin did, and it seemed impossible to please him in anything.
One evening Mr. Coles told Austin to get out the car and have it
lighted and ready, for he intended to go to a neighbor's. This Austin
did, carrying out with him a few matches to light the car-lamps. He had
intended to take the surplus matches back to the kitchen, but as Mr.
Coles came out ready to start, Austin forgot them. It was a thing
forbidden about the Coles' premises that a hired man should carry
matches in his pockets. Mr. Coles had been particular about this rule,
and thus far Austin had not offended.
When they were ready to start for home, Mr. Coles had trouble in
lighting his lamps, and his last match blew out. He was in the act of
going in for another supply from his neighbor when Austin remembered
those in his pocket and handed him one.
“Carrying matches, Austin?” asked the farmer sharply.
“No, not ordinarily, but I had two or three left from lighting the
car this evening and had not yet carried them back to the kitchen.”
“See that you dispose of them at once when we get back.” But it was
late and Austin was sleepy and again he forgot. He did not think of
them till early in the morning while he was helping with the milking.
His lantern went out, and he had started to the house for a match when
he remembered those in his pocket, and, taking one out, struck it and
lighted his lantern. Now the farmer had the excuse he was looking for.
He had no intention of giving the boy his board all winter. Far was
that from his mind. He had not liked to turn him out without a cause,
but rather to make life so uncomfortable for him that he would not
stay. Not till now had he found a real cause for an outburst of wrath,
and using his opportunity to its fullest extent, he railed out at
Austin, using abusive language.
“I am sorry, Mr. Coles, that I forgot to take the matches from my
pocket, but you know very well that I do not smoke and have no need of
them about me. Also you know how I came to have these at this time,”
said Austin hotly, for his anger burned at the language and accusations
heaped upon him.
Mr. Coles' retort had been more bitter than ever, and Austin picked
up the milk-bucket and lantern and walked out of the barn and to the
house. Here he strained the milk, put away the lantern, washed himself,
and went to his room, never saying a word to the farmer's wife, who
looked at him wonderingly because he had come to the house before the
chores were finished. He did not come down to breakfast, for he was too
angry to eat at the same table with Mr. Coles. A little later he was
ready, and coming down-stairs with his suitcase, he stopped to bid Mrs.
Coles good-by.
“Why, Austin, what does this mean? You are not leaving us!”
“Yes, Mr. Coles and I have had trouble, and I will not stay any
longer.”
“Come, come, Austin, you are hasty. You kept your part of the
agreement all summer, now do not leave as if we drove you off.”
“Mr. Coles knows he has been unjust,” said Austin going on out.
There were those who knew Mr. Coles to be the man he proved himself,
and were not surprized when Austin gave up the place. One person who
understood perfectly was Harry Coles, the farmer's nephew. He was a
young married man just starting in life. The help that Austin could
give night and morning was just what Harry needed with his milking and
other chores, and here Austin found a home at once.
This family was congenial, and Austin was soon settled and steady at
his school-work. He was made to feel that what he did fully paid for
what he received and that he was not in any way an object of charity.
As the weeks moved on so smoothly and pleasantly, Austin also made good
progress in school. But his very happiness made him more sad when he
thought of the children. How his surroundings contrasted with theirs!
While he was enjoying such kindness at the hands of these friends, he
knew they were being neglected.
Though he had never written home, and they knew nothing about him,
he kept in pretty good touch with their affairs through the letters the
girls wrote to their cousins. In every one they had spoken of him, and
when cold weather came on, the burden of their letters was for Austin.
After Austin left, his father had hired a woman to keep house for a
while, but she did not stay long. Help such as he needed was hard to
get, and he had not been able to procure another housekeeper. The girls
were hardly old enough to understand how to keep all the ends of the
housework going, and their father was as helpless as they. Home had
gone in a most haphazard manner. Mr. Hill had encouraged the children
to accept places to work as they had been offered. It was only
occasionally that they were all at home together. A sense of love and
loyalty for home was fading out of their minds, as was also the sense
of moral obligation. The younger children were becoming rebellious and
evil-minded. All this Austin read between the lines of the letters. His
heart ached as he thought of his dear mother and how different it would
have been had she lived. He would be jolly all the evening with Harry
and his wife, but when he lay upon his bed, his pillow was often wet
with his tears. As yet, though, he could not see it his duty to go
home.
“Where do you suppose Austin is? Does he ever think of home? I
wonder if he is yet alive. Have you heard anything of him?” wrote Amy
in one of her letters.
“Do not worry about Austin,” her uncle had written in reply; “he is
able to care for himself, and I am certain he is getting on all right.”
“Listen to what Uncle John says about Austin,” said Amy as she read
the letter, “I have an idea he is with Uncle John, else he would not be
so confident he is all right.”
Henry Hill read the letter carefully. He wanted Austin, he needed
him. He had his lesson and would not nag the boy any more. While Austin
was patient, it was plain to be seen that he would not stand to be
trampled on. Thinking it all over, he decided to send a letter to his
brother-in-law that would bring the boy home if he were there. It was
not to be a harsh or authoritative letter, but an appeal for the
children. He knew Austin would come home if he had assurance of better
treatment.
While these matters were being worked out in the Hill home, Austin
was tasting of pleasures which were to make him see life in a new
light. We can not always see the plan of the Master in all his dealings
with us, but afterward we look back and know that when the way seemed
darkest and the path before us the most dim, the hand of God was
guiding all the way.
Only those who have lived in a rural community can realize the place
in the social life of the people the revival holds. In the city and
larger town the movies and theaters with other places of amusement and
social activities fill up the time, but here the occasional picnic,
party, or dance is the only form of social diversion, and the younger
people become starved for somewhere to go and something to do. And the
older people, while they enjoy the spiritual enlivenment of the
revival, also come under the power of social enjoyment and give
themselves over to a season of communion together.
The little village at the edge of which Harry Coles lived was the
center socially of the farming region round about, and the little
church of the village the center of the village life. Joseph Bennet,
pastor of the congregation, was a spiritual-minded man who had the
interests of the people at heart. His life had been clean and sincere,
and every one had confidence in him, so when he planned to begin a
revival early in the winter, the entire community was ready to lend him
assistance with their interest and presence. From the first this
meeting gave promise of more than ordinary success. It was not a big
meeting because of the work of some talented and eloquent evangelist,
but was the joint effort of pastor and people striving under God's hand
to be a blessing to their community. The preaching was simple but plain
and earnest and carried conviction to the hearts of the hearers.
Pastor Bennet was a wise man in many ways, and to enlist the
interest and cooperation of the younger folk he formed a choir wholly
of young people and gave them a place in the front of the building.
This gave them a feeling of responsibility and overcame to a great
extent the possibility of inattention or irreverence on their part. He
thought it gave him a better chance of winning them for Christ, and
that was his special aim in the meetings, the winning of souls for
Christ.
Austin was interested in the meeting from the first, and was a
regular attendant. And when he was invited to join the choir, he
accepted, though he confessed himself a poor singer. Pastor Bennet was
interested in this quiet boy and spoke to him at different times about
giving his heart to God. Also Austin's Sunday-school teacher, who was
organist, was particularly interested in Austin and often spoke to him
of his soul's need. His place in the choir put him near her, and he was
often conscious of her prayers for him.
Though Austin had always been an obedient boy and was extremely
conscientious in all he did, he had never professed faith in Christ. He
had always been conscious of the will and desire of his mother and had
sought to walk pleasing to her, rather than to acknowledge his
allegiance to God. But in the perplexities of the past year since his
mother had been away he had often blindly called out to God for help
and had felt that God did help and strengthen him. But now, as he sat
under the preaching of God's word, he became conscious of a longing in
his soul that only acquaintance with God could satisfy. He desired with
all his heart to be a Christian.
But the same obstacles stood in his way that hinder the spiritual
progress of other boys. He was timid, extremely so, and the thought of
going forward and kneeling with the other seekers at the altar of
prayer frightened him. And he feared he could not hold out if he did
start, which would be worse than not starting at all. There was the
possibility of ridicule and mockery that he might receive at the hands
of others, which, made the way look fearful. So, halting between two
opinions, he waited from night to night before he at last made his
decision.
The meeting was the one great subject of conversation in the home
where he lived. Though none of the family were professors, all of them
were in sympathy with the meeting, all respected the pastor and wished
him success, and all honestly believed that it was better for any
person to “make a start,” as they expressed it. They were all genuinely
pleased when Nell Purdy's brother and John Finley's son, Sam, forsook
their wild ways and “joined church.” And they watched closely to see
who else of their neighbors and friends seemed to be most interested
and might before the meeting closed “make a start.” If one of them had
to remain away, he was always eager to inquire of the others how the
meeting was and who “went forward.” And the Coles home was a sample of
all the homes in the neighborhood. There was no doubt but that the
meeting was getting hold of the people in a way to bring lasting good.
One night Austin stood singing with the others the touching
invitation hymn, when he noticed that Theo Kelsey, who stood next to
him, was trembling violently. Austin's own heart beat faster as he saw
Theo thinking seriously of his soul's salvation. The organist, looking
up, saw the concern and interest written on each boyish face and
silently prayed as she played. Another worker saw, too, and came and
talked to the boys, but both shook their heads at her invitation;
however, when she was gone, Theo said in a whisper to Austin, “I will
go if you will.”
“All right,” said Austin, hardly thinking Theo would have the
courage to walk out past the others to the place of prayer. But Theo
was in earnest and hesitating but a moment he walked past Austin and
the others to the altar. Austin was a boy to keep his promise, and it
had been only timidity that had kept him away from the place of prayer
for several nights, and he too stepped forward just behind Theo.
He bowed himself at the end of the altar almost at his Sunday-school
teacher's feet, and she left her post at the organ at once and knelt
beside him. At first he was bewildered and could hardly breathe for the
wild beating of his heart, but in a little while he remembered why he
was there and the promises of God to those who come to him. His teacher
was by his side to instruct and teach him, and in only a short time he
felt in his heart that God had forgiven him for his past sins, and that
he was His child. A sweet sensation of peace and quiet filled his
heart, and he rose from his knees a new creature. Some who had been
converted had shouted aloud the praises of God, but he did not feel
like doing that. When the Pastor spoke to him a little later and asked
him if he had received that which he sought, he smiled and said he
thought he had.
“Then be ready to tell to others what God has done for you,” said
Pastor Bennet as he passed on to speak to another.
Before the services closed opportunity was given for those who had
found the Lord to testify of his love, and Austin, true to his natural
principles of honesty and sincerity, rose and, in very trembling tones,
told that he believed Jesus saved him.
Austin had been the only member of the Coles household to go to
church that night, and the next morning he said nothing to the family
about what had happened to him, but went on about his chores as usual.
When Harry, while they were busy milking, asked him who had gone
forward, Austin spoke of two or three whom he had seen go before he
went, but said nothing about himself. He was not ashamed, but he was
yet very timid. That night Harry soon saw that Austin was among the
converts. He chided him a little when they reached home again for not
telling him about it, but added kindly, “Stay with it, Austin. It is
the best thing any man can do.”
The meeting soon closed, but Pastor Bennet, being a wise man, as we
have said, set to work finding something for the young converts to do.
He did not find them all ready to begin active service, but in Austin
Hill he found a young Christian who, though timid, was ready to do all
he could for God's glory. The Pastor instructed him to use every
opportunity for prayer and testimony, and Austin, following this
advice, was soon bold to move forward when the others were yet standing
back timidly. His prayers and testimonies he knew to be often poorly
worded, and at times he was tempted with the thought that they did no
one any good, but he remembered that they were doing him good and
exercised himself accordingly.
At the first business meeting of the church after the new members
were taken in, Austin was elected as assistant class-leader. He did not
refuse the place, but went to his pastor puzzled.
“I am young, only a boy, and many in the congregation are old men.
How could I lead a meeting? It is all I can do to testify, and I am
afraid I will make poor success.”
“I know you are young, Austin, but you are earnest, and the Lord
will help you. All that is necessary on your part anyway is to be here
and see that the meeting starts on time, and read a portion of
Scripture, possibly with a few comments. You need not feel you must
preach a sermon. And, for a little hint—the best leader is the one who
can get others to do something,” said his pastor in reply.
The congregation in the village was not supplied with a pastor all
its own, Mr. Bennet also served another church. He seldom could be with
the village church on prayer-meeting night, so the responsibility that
fell upon the class-leader was increased. Also it so happened that the
man who was acknowledged as class-leader had fallen back in his
religious life until he needed the excitement of a big meeting to stir
him up to diligence. Austin already knew when he was elected as
assistant that to him would fall most of the meetings, for Deacon Bond
was seldom there.
The advice given by the Pastor was of great service to Austin, and
following it he sought out each week some one who was willing to read a
portion of the Word and give the few comments necessary. He was proving
himself a good leader for the meetings, and Pastor Bennet took a real
delight in him.
Before many weeks the time for the quarterly meeting had once more
rolled around, and the presiding elder was guest of the Pastor. He had
come in late on prayer-meeting evening and went with Brother Bennet to
the meeting. Both men had spent the day in travel and conversation and
were quite weary, and they knew the congregation was not expecting them
and had expected to have their meeting without the pastor's presence.
Therefore they insisted, when Austin came to them to offer them the
charge of the meeting, that he go ahead as had been planned, as if no
preacher were present.
Austin carried this word back to the old brother who had promised to
read the Word that evening, but he fainted in spirit at sight of two
preachers and would do nothing. There was no way but that the young
class-leader take the meeting, which he did with fair success and a
rich blessing to his own soul. This little incident was always a source
of much encouragement to Austin in his life as a Christian, for in it
he learned that if he did his duty, God would help him through.
It was perhaps March or April when Austin went to his uncle's to
spend a few hours. As soon as he arrived, they brought him Amy's latest
letter. It bore a special message for him.
“Is Austin there?” she asked. “If he is tell him to come home. We
all want him so much, and Papa says he wishes he would come,” and
continuing she told how much he was needed.
Austin listened while they read the letter to him, and all the
family watched his face to see what he would think about it. He sat
quietly a while, a great light coming into his face. This was what he
had been waiting for, and praying for—word that his father wanted him
to come. He knew that if he went home without such word, his father
would taunt him about it, but that if he waited till his father humbled
himself ever so little he would be spared that trial.
School-time for the spring was nearly over, and Austin, in the quick
mental survey which he took of his affairs while the letter was being
read, thought he could easily sacrifice the few remaining weeks. If he
could have followed his own impulses, he would have set off that night,
but such a step was not practical.
“I shall go home at once, Uncle John. I have thought for a long time
that I ought to go, and this letter makes me certain.”
“I am glad that is your decision, Austin, and while we shall miss
you, your aunt and I shall feel much better satisfied about the
children if you are with them. I have not liked the way Henry has been
managing them. It is not a good thing for children to have too many
homes,” replied Mr. Moore.
“I wish I could start tonight, but I can hardly do that. I shall
spend next Sunday with them, see if I don't,” said Austin with his face
beaming.
Strong as the home cords were pulling, Austin found it hard to say
farewell to his many friends where he was. Especially had his life in
the village congregation been most sweet. The Pastor had been
encouraging him in Christian service, and deep in Austin's heart was a
desire to be of real use in the Master's vineyard. He wondered if some
time he might not, like good Pastor Bennet, preach the gospel. His
efforts in the class meetings had given him a boldness and confidence
that was making him a leader among them in other ways. He had a
Sunday-school class, which would miss him very much. All these things
Austin considered that night after he had gone to bed, and found that
even his joy for going would be mixed with regret at leaving his church
home.
After talking the whole matter over frankly with Uncle John, Austin
had returned to his boarding-place in the home of Harry Coles and told
Harry and his wife his new plans. They sympathized with him, for they
had known something of his homesick longings, but they were sorry to
lose his comradeship out of their home, for they had grown to love him.
“You had better see your school term through. You may never have
another chance,” Harry suggested.
“I can not do it, Harry. I should be no good in school after this. I
must go at once. I would start tonight if I could get ready,” said
Austin, his face shining with animation.
His school-teacher was sorry to lose her earnest, faithful pupil and
told him so. He found himself regretting leaving her who had made his
path clear through the winter's study.
Saying good-by to Pastor Bennet proved to be quite an undertaking.
Austin did not realize how he had learned to love this friend, nor all
that his pastor had been to him; but now, as he stood before him for
the last time, his lips trembled and his heart sank. Who would give him
the advice and council so needed by every young Christian? To whom
should he go in times of spiritual darkness and perplexity?
“Austin, you will have peculiar trials in your father's home, for
you tell me he is not only unsaved, but a drinking man also. If you
settle it in your heart to be a bold witness for Christ from the
beginning, you will have little trouble with discouragements from him.
Be bold and determined and keep your faith strong in God, and you will
be able to meet the hardest trials.”
“Brother Bennet, Christ is needed in my father's house. I mean to do
my duty by the children, and if possible lead them to the Savior. I
will neither turn back nor give up, and by God's grace I shall be bold
to speak for Him when I ought. Pray for me that I may be able to prove
myself a real Christian.”
“Another thing, Austin, seek out some spiritual people and meet with
them regularly. It is far more difficult to live a Christian life
without the encouragement of fellow travelers in the way.”
“I promise to do that, and to get the children into Sunday-school as
soon as I can,” replied the boy.
There was to Austin a great deal of satisfaction in the fact that he
should go back to his father with good evidence of having taken care of
himself. He left home with only the clothes that he had put into one
small suitcase; he returned with two suitcases well packed. Besides
this, he had money for his fare home and a goodly sum besides. That
this money would go for the needs of the children he very well knew,
and possibly for that reason he had been a little more lavish in buying
for himself now, while he had it.
Besides thus providing himself with means and clothes, he had been
able to get almost a full winter's schooling. This afforded him
pleasure, for he realized to some extent the handicap it is to any man
to lack in learning. He would have liked to continue in school a while
longer, but to him the path of duty pointed plainly back to his charge.
Now he had lost the vision of his mother to urge him on to duty and had
in her place the will of his God. He possessed a deep feeling of
reverence and love for God, and went back to his place of
responsibility resolved not to let the influence of unholy surroundings
hinder him in the service of his Savior.
The evening came that he was to start for home. Time had slipped by
quickly, for he had been careful not to give himself more time than was
actually necessary for his preparations. He stood again at the same
little station with Aunt Tillie and Uncle John. Less than two years had
passed since he, with the children, had stood there before waiting for
the train, but it seemed to him he had lived many times that long. Then
he had gone with a child's trust into the unknown future, now he knew
to some extent what the trials were before him. Then he had only the
vision of his mother as a star to lead him on, now he had the blessed
Son of God as his Example and Pattern.
The writing of the letter to Uncle John in which they had so urged
that Austin come home had been a great joy to Amy. After she had sent
the letter, she began a rather impatient wait for the reply. She
believed Austin would come if he was really at Uncle John's, but how
could she be sure he was there? For several days her heart beat very
fast when she saw the mail-carrier coming, and drooped again when he
had gone by without leaving the letter.
They had moved from the place where they had lived when Austin went
away and were instead in a house near a thriving town not very far
distant. I say they were living here, but in reality the family was
broken up, for Henry Hill had fulfilled Austin's greatest fear, and had
allowed the children to become scattered till there were none of them
at home. Some of them had places to work, while others were staying
with friends for accommodation's sake. But the children while they were
in the little wayside house had enjoyed it much better than the lonely
spot near the oil-fields.
At this time Nell was with a farmer helping his wife in her work.
She was given the care of the small children. Harry was working for
another farmer, doing what he could to pay for his board.
Amy helped a lady in town part of the time. The little ones were
cared for by strangers. Will had come to his father, and the two men
worked most of the time, but spent what they earned as rapidly as they
earned it. It was hard now to get the drink they both loved, for their
State had gone dry. Altogether it was a torn and scattered family
Austin was to find on his return.
Amy had not made the best of a success as housekeeper. She hated
work in the house, cooking and dish-washing especially. If her father
had been more kind, she would have done better, but he was quick to
criticize and slow to approve, and she had been glad to see the family
scattered that she might be free from the drudgery. Though she was glad
for the freedom from responsibility, yet she did not like being drifted
about, and longed for Austin. She knew he would lift the load and make
it easier for all of them.
One day a young fellow alighted from the passenger-coach with a
suitcase in each hand and a look of eagerness in his face. He set out
at once to find the little wayside house, and came to it only to find
it a bachelor's camp, there being no children about. He inquired and
learned where he could find Amy and the little ones.
“Austin! Amy, Amy, look! Isn't that Austin coming?” Lila's excited
little voice rang with joy. Amy rushed to the door in time to see the
little ones well down the street where a tall man was receiving them
with open arms. She knew him at a glance and ran to meet him as fast as
they had run. It seemed that she could never take her arms from about
his neck. Doyle and Lila were clinging to him, and he was trying to
greet them all at once. None of them could get through pressing their
rosy lips to his cheeks. If he had had any misgivings as to his
welcome, they were quick to dispel them.
“Where are Nell and Harry?” asked Austin when he could get his
breath.
“Nell is caring for Mrs. Blaine's children, and Harry is riding Mr.
Smith's lead horse,” promptly explained Doyle.
“Papa found places for all of us, and we like it better than staying
at home alone. It is so lonely without you, Austin. Now we can all come
back home again,” and Amy's eyes were filled with tears as she looked
into her beloved brother's face.
“Well, do not cry now, Sister, for I am at home and to stay. I will
not leave you any more. Let us all get on out home and begin
housekeeping again,” Austin said bruskly to cover his feelings. Tears
were on his cheeks, and a choke in his throat as he looked at the
little motherless children so joyful to see him. He looked up with a
new feeling of responsibility to God, whom he believed was pleased to
have him again take the children.
In the next two hours the children tried to tell him all that had
happened in his absence, while he listened half abstractedly, trying to
plan the course he should take. He could not set up housekeeping
permanently without his father's consent and support, but he felt
certain that his father meant to do his part. Before the day was done,
he had etablished himself in the little house by the side of the road,
and had the three children with him.
“I hear that Austin is home, Nellie,” said Mr. Blaine an evening or
two later, after he had returned from town.
“Mr. Blaine, is that true? I want to go home right away. I want to
see him! I must see him! Are you sure he is home?” and the little face
looked up into his tremulously.
“I see I have made a mistake. Mrs. Blaine will be after me for
making her nurse-girl dissatisfied,” laughed Mr. Blaine.
“I have to see him!” and the child began to cry.
“There, there, don't cry, Nellie. I will be going over that way one
of these days and will take you over,” soothed the man.
“I can't wait a day or two. I want to see him now. I'll walk home in
the morning, I will. I have to see Austin.” Nellie had dried her tears
instantly at the thought of being put off a few days. Her black eyes
were snapping.
“Well, we shall see about it in the morning,” and the man passed
into the kitchen to wash in preparation for supper.
Nellie's fears were high that Mrs. Blaine might object to letting
her go and demand that she remain longer, for she was really needed;
but so determined and defiant was she that she would have gladly
undertaken the walk across the prairies to her home rather than remain
away from her brother.
But Mrs. Blaine understood how Nellie felt, and let her go, and Nell
rode with Mr. Blaine, who passed by the Hill home on his way to town.
His children's little nurse fairly flew up the path into the house and,
bouncing in, sprang into Austin's arms. She sobbed out her joy on his
shoulder. Dear little Nell! Austin loved the others, but already he had
seen in Nell something of the same devotion to duty and to the younger
children that had filled his own heart. Home would mean little to him
without her.
Before the week was out Harry had heard and came home to be with
Austin. He had them all together again. Home had a new meaning to all
of them now. Austin wept with joy at their present happiness and with
pity for their past neglect This was his work, his place in life. He
would stay at home now through rough and smooth sailing. They should
not be left alone again as they had been. Many were the vows he made in
those first few days after his home-coming.
His father had received him kindly, with no reference to his hasty
departure nor the cause of it. He seemed satisfied that Austin should
take the reins of home government again, and did not openly oppose him
in any way, neither did he lend him assistance nor encouragement. Will
came over to see his brother, but they had so little in common that he
did not remain very long.
Austin found his days filled with active service. He had little time
for reverie; but at night when all was quiet, he lay and mused and
planned. He was now almost sixteen. He marveled at his undertaking the
care of the children as he did when he was but thirteen. The
responsibility looked greater to him now than then. He had thought only
of their physical comfort then, now he began to consider their
spiritual training also. Would he be able to lead them to Christ? What
ought he to do first? He looked back over the months since his mother's
death and saw that God had led him all the way, and he reached out to
his heavenly Father now for guidance and grace.
He remembered his promise to Brother Bennet, and even at their first
meal had bidden the children to stop while he asked God's blessing on
the food. The children had looked at him curiously. It had been a
little difficult to bow and thank God at the first meal after his
father was with them. Henry Hill was not a reverent man, and while he
had not openly opposed his son in this pious act, he had gone ahead as
if no blessing were being asked. And always since he had ignored
completely the fact that Austin said grace at meals. The children
waited without prompting for him to finish his prayer. To establish the
family altar had been even more difficult, yet he had found time to
read and pray with the children. They lent themselves to his ways, for
they were glad to have him with them again. But the new order of things
in the house proved in time to be very vexing to Henry Hill. Every word
and act of his godly son was a stab in his conscience, and as he had no
thought of turning to God, he hated accordingly the one who caused his
uneasiness. Wilbur laughed at Austin for his queer ways, as he called
them, and scoffed and mocked, yet down in his heart respected him. He
would not have had his brother different.
There were many changes to be made in the Hill household before it
could be running smoothly. The children's wardrobe was low, their
father being a careless buyer and the girls being inexperienced in
making and mending garments. Austin had anticipated this state of
affairs when he had so carefully saved his own wages till he should
come home. It was not long till his little hoard was gone. He had also
had to buy a number of things for the house to make it comfortable and
at all homelike.
Henry Hill had a most comfortable feeling to know that there was
some one at home who was responsible for the children, so he took many
opportunities to be away. In fact he felt better away with some of his
friends than when at home with Austin. It is not a pleasant thing for
any father to feel that the serious eyes of his own son rest upon him
in disapproval and reproof. Every sight of the boy made him feel
uncomfortable and as if he did not come up to what was expected of him.
Austin was not a fellow to speak out his reproofs, but he thought them
and his eyes told what his heart was saying. Every week found him and
his parent farther and farther apart—if possible.
Austin expected no sympathy and asked for none from either his
brother or father in the way he was taking. He perhaps went to the
opposite extreme and was so indifferent to what they thought that it
had the effect of antagonizing them. It is at least a fact that there
was no feeling of sympathy nor cooperation between them, and that
antagonism grew until it was almost open warfare between him and his
father. He felt such a repugnance toward his father and a hatred of the
way he was taking that it continually showed out in his attitude toward
him. In later years Austin could understand, but now he was doing only
what he believed necessary to protect his own soul from the
discouraging influence.
Partly because he always liked to shirk responsibility, and partly
because he and Austin had so few thoughts and feelings in common, the
father stayed away from home more all the time. To this Austin was not
averse, for it gave him more time with the children.
While Austin had been gone so long, his father had been in the habit
of inviting in men like himself, and they had often played cards and
drank till far into the night. Frequently the wee small hours of
morning had found them still busy with their cards and bottles. When
Austin came home, he could hardly endure to have a thing like this
happen with the little children in the house. He had no right to forbid
his father, but he did let him know how he felt about it. The result
had been that the father felt most uncomfortable to have his associates
gather at his home any longer.
Austin usually retired early with the children, and his father
became aware of this. He had missed his social evenings with his
friends, and wished to have them again, so he had invited three of the
“boys” to come rather late, after all the children were in bed, and
spend an evening together. It happened that Austin had gone out that
evening and did not get back till late. When he came in, he was much
surprized to find the four men occupying the kitchen-table with their
cards. They had also in some way obtained drink.
With a quick searching glance at the table to see if there were
signs of gambling, Austin went upstairs without a word. But so strong
was his influence and disapproval that it killed all the interest, and
the men all left.
Mr. Hill sat alone, after they had gone, with the same feeling he
used to have when his father had caught him doing something mean. He
rankled at the thought of this boy setting himself up as judge. He
thought he ought to be the master of his own house. He did not reason
that Austin had said nothing, that he was only battling with the boy's
thoughts. That night he determined that Austin should learn to keep his
place. It was preposterous, he thought, that he could not entertain his
friends as he pleased.
Austin's feelings after he had reached his room were as serious and
positive as his father's, but he took an entirely different view of the
whole matter. The question with him was how he should put a stop to
such carousing in the house. He wanted to bring up the children in
right paths, and how could that be done if they had to be thrown into
such influence? It would be a matter of only a short while till Harry
would be old enough to begin enjoying these evil associates. So while
his father was contemplating how he should show Austin his place,
Austin was wondering how he should be able to get to his father's
deceived heart something of what his duty was.
“You thought yourself pretty smart last night,” he said to Austin
the next morning in his surliest voice.
“I was not spying, but was only out to prayer-meeting and came in a
little late,” answered the boy.
“Looks like a man ought to have a right to entertain his friends in
his own house without being ordered about by a boy,” continued the man
in a growling manner.
“Nobody was ordering you about, so far as I know. I am sure I said
nothing,” Austin replied.
Now was his time, Austin thought, to explain himself. “I do think it
is no example for you to set before the children to have such a crowd
in,” he said.
Here the conversation stopped for the time, but the feeling of
antagonism only grew by the encounter.
Mr. Hill had promised to support the family; but Austin, when he had
gotten everything to going smoothly, saw no reason why he should not
work also, rather than stay at home all the time. With his help morning
and evening it was not difficult for the girls, now fourteen and twelve
years old, to do the work nicely.
This was a welcome decision to his father, and soon it was the old
story, Austin working and giving all his wages to the support of the
family, and his father helping only as was positively necessary.
It was not many weeks after Austin's return home (for changes came
rapidly in this household) that the father had forsaken his job and was
again wandering about, leaving the family on Austin. It was a serious
outlook for the boy. No longer did he entertain the optimistic view of
life that he had held in the beginning of his experiences. When he was
fourteen, he felt as if he should be able to support the family like a
man, now at sixteen he knew that he could never do that and keep them
together in the home besides. It took too much of his time and ambition
trying to train the children and direct their minds in the right
channels. His father was drinking all he could obtain and that was
liquor of a very bad kind. In all, the outlook was serious as the
summer drew to a close. Just what the winter would bring for him and
his charges he hardly knew.
He had followed the advice of Pastor Bennet and had sought out a
congregation with whom he met in worship. He had passed by the richer,
finer church, and sought to find among the more humble congregations
one that would be spiritual. Also he wanted to go where he could hope
to take the children and have them look presentable. He hardly hoped to
be able to dress them for a wealthy place. Every week showed Austin
more clearly the battle that must be waged, not of fists or of tongues,
but of wills, in the home. The children were growing older, and they,
too, had lost for the father that feeling of reverence and respect
which is right. They had been more than a year away from Austin's
influence and restraint, and while they out of sheer thankfulness
yielded themselves to him when he returned, yet as the weeks went by
Austin saw that he should have a very big undertaking on his hands just
to hold them in control. Besides this was his father's antagonism. The
men did not quarrel, but cutting and sneering remarks, indifference to
his wishes, and a general atmosphere of hostility prevailed in his
father's presence, while Austin stood against all this determined to
hold his points and if possible keep the home clean. Gradually Austin's
influence in the home prevailed, and because of this, no doubt, his
father was found more often away.
When David roamed over the hills of Bethlehem feeding his father's
sheep, he occasionally had to lead them into new pastures. He knew that
sheep to thrive must feed on rich grasses and drink of living waters.
When he sought out these feeding-places, he took into consideration the
needs of the sheep, finding pasture where the young could feed as
safely as those who were stronger.
God's people are compared to sheep and their pastors to shepherds,
and the Word of God preached to them is compared to the good pastures.
Austin found himself a lone sheep separated from his flock and away
from his shepherd with the responsibility of seeking out his own
pasture. But you may be certain that he asked the guidance and
assistance of the Chief Shepherd.
“Seek out as soon as you can, Austin, a spiritual people and worship
with them regularly,” Pastor Bennet had said in his farewell counsel,
and these words kept ringing in Austin's ears. To a boy of less timid
nature this would not have been so great an undertaking, but to Austin
it was a serious problem. In the first place his knowledge was limited.
His religious experience had been bounded by life under the care of
Pastor Bennet, and he did not realize the great difference between
church and church. That some churches were richer than others he knew,
and that some Christians were less humble than others he was also
aware. He was certain that the people who attended the larger churches
would dress too fine for him and his family, and he would feel neither
welcome nor comfortable. He therefore must hope to find his pasture
among the smaller and more humble congregations. Pastor Bennet had
expressly advised that he find a spiritual people. Why were not all
Christians spiritual? Were they not all serving the same God!
The first Sunday he went alone to seek out his place. There were two
reasons for this, first that he could go in and out with less notice
and also listen with less distraction, and the other reason was that
the children were without suitable clothing to go with him. They wanted
to go, but he put them off with a promise for the future. He had been
making inquiry about a place to worship and had learned of an earnest,
zealous people who worshiped in a small building on a side street. From
what he had heard, he felt attracted to this place. It seemed to have a
reputation for earnestness and spiritual advancement more than any
other.
He entered among the other worshipers and took a seat well back, and
watched to see how the service was conducted and to compare this
congregation with the one he had left. The people came in quietly and
seemed humble and sincere. He found himself entering into the spirit of
the meeting. The Sunday-school was not large, but was interesting, and
he thoroughly enjoyed it. When the minister rose to speak, he had a
message that cheered the hearts of his hearers. Austin sat attentively
listening, his serious eyes dwelling on the face of the speaker. Pastor
Gray was soon attracted to the earnest young listener, and when the
service closed, hurried back to grasp his hand and speak to him. Others
of the members also made him welcome with pleasant greetings and hearty
invitations to return and worship with them again. Austin left the
house cheered and comforted, with thankfulness in his heart that so
soon he had found a feeding-place.
He told the children where he had been and that by the following
Sunday he wanted to have them all ready to go with him and enroll in
the Sunday-school. This was to be a new experience for the children,
for they had been out of Sunday-school so long that the younger ones
hardly knew what it would be like. All of them from Amy to Doyle were
glad to make ready for the new experience.
The next Sunday morning was a busy one, but in due time Austin with
his little flock about him walked down the dusty street to the place of
worship. He was met at the door by the superintendent and made welcome,
and the children were placed in their proper classes. When it came time
for the study of the lesson, Austin took an active and interested part,
which pleased his teacher very much and attracted the attention of the
superintendent. They had been needing a teacher for the boys' class,
and at once that worthy person thought she saw in Austin just what was
needed.
“Brother Hill,” she asked him after Sunday-school, “have you ever
taught a Sunday-school class?”
“Yes, I had a class before I came here,” he answered.
“We are needing a teacher for a class of boys. Would you be willing
to take it?”
Immediately Austin thought of Pastor Bennet's instruction to his
young converts, to take hold of any work that might be given them to
do. Besides, he longed to be useful.
“I should be glad to do so,” was his answer.
This class of boys was a real blessing to Austin all through the
summer, and he found himself taking each one into his heart. He wanted
to be able to lead them also to his Savior. Soon he began going out to
the evening services and to the midweek prayer-meetings, and found
himself one of the little flock working for the Master. It was with
gladness that he was able to write back to Pastor Bennet that he had
indeed found a real home. So the summer wore away. Austin was as busy
and as happy as he had ever been in his life. To be with the children
and to feel he was being a blessing to them brought gladness to him,
and added to this was the association with the little congregation of
spiritual people. His heart swelled with thanksgiving to God.
Every boy with ambition in his heart feels great longings to be
useful in this world, to accomplish something. According to each boy's
talents and inclinations these longings take different forms. One
pictures himself a successful business man, another rises high in some
of the professions, yet another becomes in his dreams a man who
understands the sciences, or who digs deep into the mysterious things
of this world. Every real boy has his dreams, and Austin was not an
exception. He would not always be with the children. In a few years
they would be grown, and he would be free. Then, oh, then he would go
forth to his achievements! But when he looked forward, there was a
broad expanse of years. And already his wings began beating against the
bars. He longed to be out, to be free.
Again he found that the things which boys like appealed to him.
There were outings and sports he would have liked to take part in, but
his home responsibilities hindered him. He wanted often to do things
which under other circumstances would have been all right, but by the
doing of which he would lose influence with the children. Often he
would have to steel himself against those things his boyhood called for
and be as one much older. This gave him a manner rather stern and
grave, and made him unlike other boys. It shut him off from those of
his own age, and to a great extent made him unable to fully sympathize
with his sisters in their girlishness. It seemed to him they ought to
be steady and serious like himself, and often he gave them sharp
reproofs, which were hard for them to bear. In later years they saw
that he had more to carry than nature had made a boy ready for; and he
realized that often he had asked too much of them.
The days were full of perplexities for Austin. The children had been
left to themselves and had worked out their own problems, each in his
or her own way, and the result was that they had lowered in moral tone
and were in many instances crafty and deceitful. Austin was left alone
with them for long periods at a time, and to bring the obedience that
was necessary for the governing of such a household he had often to use
sternness and even to chastise some of the younger ones. He must teach
them some of the principles of obedience.
“Austin,” said his father one day, “I have a contract for putting up
hay that will give work for all of us for six weeks or more. How would
you like to load up the family and enough cooking-utensils for use in
the camp and go out with us? Amy and Nell could do most of the cooking,
and you could have wages just as I shall give Wilbur. We shall be in
camp steady till the work is done.”
Austin considered this proposition, and accepted his father's offer.
It would be a change for all of them, and he had always been fond of
outdoor life. If the contract was properly fulfilled, it would net a
good sum of money for the family purse, which meant a great deal. All
the children entered into the plans for their outing with enthusiasm.
To live like Gipsies for a few weeks would be great sport they were
certain.
They were to go to the hay-fields about the first of October, and
the work would keep them a full six weeks, during which time they
wished to remain constantly in camp. They would go to the more distant
part of the fields and work toward town. The grass was upon hilly
ground, making the work somewhat tedious in places. As the country was
only thinly settled, they would be the entire time away from all social
life. The camp would be moved several times, each time being pitched
nearer town.
It would be a full day's drive from home to the place for the first
camp, with the wagons loaded as they would have to be, therefore all
preparations for the start were made the day before. The bulky
machinery needed for haying was loaded upon wagons, while the
camping-outfit, bedding, clothing, and all things for family use were
put upon a separate wagon, where the children were to ride also. Austin
was to be the driver of this wagon, and from the first be given the
oversight of the children. The party would consist of Mr. Hill, Wilbur,
Ned Bailey (who had been hired to help on the job), Austin, and the
children.
In gathering together the implements needed, some one had to make a
trip across a small pasture-field from which the scrubby timber had not
been cleared. Will had hitched a team of young mules to one of the
wagons and gone on this errand. The mules were frisky fellows and
enlivened this little journey by running away. Wilbur got them under
control with little trouble, but it was noticed afterward that one of
the wheels of the wagon had been injured by striking against a tree.
Because his load would not be so heavy as the others, Austin was given
this wagon.
The morning they were to start every one was up early and eager to
be off; but as is always the case at such times, they found more to do
than they had supposed, and it was nearly noon when they left the
house. They stopped in town to get groceries and a few things needed
for the work, and were off again. Only Mr. Hill knew where the
hay-fields were located, and as the road led through a rough country,
he took the lead, the others following, making a jolly little caravan.
They had not gone far on the way when all the joy of the trip was
taken away for Austin. He saw a suspicious-looking brown bottle pass
between Ned and Mr. Hill. Too well he knew what that meant, and how
unreasonable and inconsistent his father would be when his brain should
be fired by the bottle's contents. In only a little while the silly
jokes and ribald laughter of the two men floated back to those in the
last wagon. Austin looked on the children in pity and was sorry that he
had consented to take them on such a journey. But all they could do now
was to go ahead, fare as they might.
Henry Hill still had a conscience, and at every draft from the
hottle it lashed him harder, but he mistook it for Austin's accusing
thoughts. He felt the serious, reproving eyes of his son rest upon him
every time he took a sup, and to avoid this unpleasant sensation he
drove to one side, and when Austin came along by him, he ordered that
he go to the lead.
He knew that dim as the road was and rough, Austin would have all he
could manage with his driving and could give no time to what was going
on behind him. Austin protested against this arrangement, for he did
not know the way nor the condition of the roads. There were a number of
small streams to be crossed, none of which had bridges, and all of
which had treacherous quicksand beds, and he hated to drive first with
the children. But his father was already past reasoning with and
motioned Austin on with an imperative flourish of his hand. After
getting the directions as well as he could Austin drove ahead.
Presently they came to one of the little streams, the banks of which
were steep and sandy, but by paying strict attention to what he was
doing, Austin got into the water and out again on the other side
without accident. The other wagons were not so fortunate, for one of
them tipped over and spilled the machinery into the stream. It took
some time to get everything out and on the wagon again, and the
combined strength of the men was needed to accomplish it. To cheer
themselves on their way Mr. Hill and Ned took several more drinks from
the brown bottle. Fortunately for Austin and the children Wilbur was
not drinking at all.
They had not gone far when Austin allowed his wagon to strike
against a stone. Unfortunately it was the injured wheel that received
this jolt, and it gave way. Here was a worse predicament than the first
accident had been, for the wagon could not go at all. They unloaded one
of the other wagons and reloaded it with the things from the one Austin
was driving. It took some time to do all this, especially since half
the men were almost past helping; already it was late. Mr. Hill had now
come to the disagreeable stage of drunkenness and was furiously angry
at this delay, especially because it had been Austin who had occasioned
it. He did not think it best to vent his anger upon his son, so took it
out upon the team. Talking loudly and swearing profusely, he stepped up
to one of the horses and gave it a smart kick. This blow was unexpected
by the animal and entirely uncalled for, and was spitefully
resented—no sooner had the blow fallen on the horse's side than it
wheeled and kicked back viciously. The blow struck the man on the
thigh, and he gave a loud yell of pain. The pain was as severe as if
the leg had been instantly broken by the contact, and no doubt that is
what Mr. Hill thought had happened.
The children, already excited over the accidents, were now thrown
into great alarm at the scream of pain from their father, and began to
cry with fright. But Austin felt a wave of gratitude to the fiery old
horse for punishing the foolish man.
“Hush, children! he is not seriously hurt, and the pain will sober
him so that he can tell us where to go,” said Austin with a good deal
of inward satisfaction. As matters then were he had gone as far as he
could without further directions, and his father was past giving any
sensible orders. It had begun to look as if they must camp on the
prairie till the man could sober up.
The boys helped the wounded man into his wagon and made him as
comfortable as they could with some pillows and a bed-quilt, and went
on with their work. Austin's guess had been right, for by the time the
boys were ready to start on, Mr. Hill was able to tell them where to
go.
The accidents had hindered the little caravan so much that they did
not reach their destination till long after dark. They were to camp
that night in the yard of the man for whom they were to work, and it
was very late when they drove in and gave the customary call. Mr.
Jenkins came to his door and in a few minutes was out in the yard with
them. Will and Austin were out of their wagons and explaining how they
had been delayed. Mr. Jenkins looked about in some perplexity.
“Where is Hill, the man I contracted the work to?” he asked. “Father
is yonder in the wagon. He had an accident on the way and is not able
to get out of the wagon by himself,” explained Will.
Mr. Jenkins walked around to where Ned and Mr. Hill were nodding
drunkenly, and turning to the boys he said, “Been drinking I guess.”
The boys said nothing, for both of them were heartily ashamed of their
father's condition.
Mr. Jenkins, who had a kinder heart than tongue, said some very hard
things that night to the stupid men, but helped the boys to get them
off the wagons and into bed.
“If a man has no respect for himself, he ought to have some for his
children. Think of your dad being out with his little girls on a trip
like this and getting into such a condition,” stormed their host. The
boys made little reply, for nothing they could say could mend matters
nor make them less mean. As for Henry Hill, he was past all feeling or
consideration, being as stupid as if he were not a man at all. He
hardly knew when he was placed in his bed.
There was little room in the ranch-house, and beds had to be piled
upon the floors of some empty bins in the barn. Here the weary children
were soon in sweet, forgetful sleep. When Austin lay down to rest, with
his little sisters sleeping near by, he thought soberly and earnestly.
His lot had been cast among the wicked, but by the grace of God he
meant to make the best of it anyway, and do what he could for the
little ones. It was hard to have as kind a feeling toward his father as
a Christian should, but he was able to conquer himself and keep peace
in his soul. Never will he forget the battle he fought that night with
apprehensions, discouragements, and evil feelings toward his parent.
Lying there in the dusty granary with the mice scampering about, he
prayed, “O God, give me grace to feel toward Father as I should. Help
me in the coming weeks to always do right. Show me how to protect the
children, and forgive me for consenting to bring them on such a
hazardous journey.”
Morning came at last, bringing light and warmth, and the children
were up and ready for the remainder of their journey. Mr. Hill and Ned
were sober now, and luckily the bottle was empty. They were very cross
and out of sorts from the effects of their drinking, but able to help
with the work. Mr. Hill could limp about on his injured leg, and so
they were soon off to their first camp.
At last they drove to the place that Mr. Hill had previously chosen
to set up camp, and soon the tent was up and the stove ready for the
fire, and the few cooking-utensils in place. While part of the company
were doing this, one man had already gone to the field, and the sound
of the mower, as it cut the fragrant grasses, came in a merry tune to
their ears.
Since the brown bottle that had caused them so much grief on their
journey was empty, things went on very smoothly in camp. The girls did
very well with the cooking, with Austin's ever-ready help when they
were in perplexity. Everything took on a more hopeful air.
“I am not going to work today, Father,” said Austin quietly the
first Sunday morning.
“Not going to work! Are you sick? What is the matter with you?”
gruffly answered his father.
“This is Sunday, the day set for worship, and I wish to have it for
study and prayer even if I can not go to church.”
“We have no time for sentiment here. This work must be done in the
quickest time possible. We are all going to work today the same as any
other day,” said Mr. Hill decidedly.
“Do not count me in for today. I shall not work,” said his son just
as decidedly.
Henry Hill looked at his son in a puzzled manner. He wanted to force
him to do as he had bidden him, but he remembered another time when
Austin had said just as decidedly that he would not do as he had been
told, and the consequence of trying to use force. So without a word he
turned about and went on to his work.
Austin thought a principle was at stake in this. His father had no
sympathy with his desire to serve God and would have been glad to
hinder him from careful obedience. If he gave in to ignore what he
thought to be the teaching of the Word and to ignore the dictates of
his own conscience in working on Sunday while he was here in the
hay-field, he could not hope to have freedom in service to God in other
things. He remembered how his first pastor had warned him to be bold
and fearless in his home in serving God and he would keep the victory.
When Mr. Hill had gone out, Austin helped the girls get their morning
work done and dinner planned, then with his Bible in hand he strolled
off to the shade of a hay-stack and spent a profitable season in study
and prayer. The days had been so full that he had had little
opportunity for communion with God during the week, and this was very
refreshing to his soul.
“I see where you have the best of us,” said Ned at the dinner-hour,
“for you get a day's rest, and we do not.”
“My team and I can work all the better tomorrow for our rest today,”
said Austin with conviction. “My father will lose nothing by my keeping
Sunday. Man and beast need one day of rest out of the seven on a job
like this.”
Austin was to see many trying places where neither his father nor
his brother would be any help to him in his service to God, and it is
well for his future progress that he learned right at the first to
stand by his convictions. But it is not more true in his case than in
the case of every young Christian. Those who will stand faithful in the
tests of life are the ones who gain the crown at last. While it is true
that God has promised to keep his children in the most trying
circumstances, it is also true that the child must put his trust wholly
in God and live obediently. The Christian can go through any dark place
and endure any hardness if he keeps a firm trust in God and, his
purpose strong and true, but he will falter in the smallest trials if
he is not firm.
The young Christian need not hope to be always surrounded by those
who are in sympathy with his religious life, but each must learn to
serve God in spite of circumstances and surroundings. And the service
of God is not a thing to be hidden away. If a man is a Christian, he
will show it out every day. It will make a difference in his whole
life. There will in all that he does and says be an influence for God
and good. This is especially true of the young man who is thrown among
those who are sinful and rough. The difference in the tone of his life
and theirs is a constant reproof to sin that will, as in the case of
Austin and his father, bring embarrassment to the sinner.
The days moved by in quick succession, with very little variation in
the order of the day's work. They rose early and worked late. Three
meals a day were waiting for them in the tent, prepared by the faithful
little cooks. Only on Sunday was there a variation in the routine, and
on that day Austin refused to go to the field at all.
The hay had been finished around the first camp and they had moved
back to another good center, only in a few days to move again. Now they
had come to their last camp, which was but ten miles from town. Another
week or ten days would let them out of their job and they could go
home, but often the last week is the longest week when one is isolated.
Austin longed to be back to his Sunday-school and to meet again with
the congregation at the little chapel.
“Father,” he asked on Saturday evening before the sixth Sunday out,
“may I have a horse to ride to town tomorrow?”
“What do you want to go to town for? We are not especially needing
anything,” ungraciously replied his father.
“Tomorrow is Sunday and one team will be idle. I want to get back to
my Sunday-school class and to meet with the people in church once more.
I will not ride fast if you will let me have a horse.”
“No, you can not have a horse. I have them out here for work, not to
run about,” snapped the man.
Austin said no more and went quietly back to his reading. Mr. Hill
thought he had scored a victory and felt elated accordingly, but Austin
was only waiting to consider what his duty might be. In the morning he
rose before day and prepared himself for a journey. He took nothing to
hinder his progress, but with his Bible under his arm he set out for
town. If he had no bad luck, he could get a part of the Sunday-school
and all the preaching service.
“Where is Austin?” asked his father at the breakfast-table, for his
place was vacant.
“He started for town before we were up. He wants to get there in
time for church,” said Amy.
“Ten miles to church. That is a record and no mistake,” laughed Ned.
Wilbur and his father joined him in the merriment, but Mr. Hill felt a
twinge of conscience. “I might have let him have a horse if he was so
determined to go,” he said.
“I wonder how Austin made it this morning. Wonder if he will be back
for work tomorrow,” remarked Wilbur at the dinner-table.
Austin was entirely unmindful of these remarks. He walked the full
ten miles to town and arrived in time for about half the Sunday-school.
He was too late to teach his boys, but promised to be with them the
next Sunday. He went out to the house and rested during the afternoon
and remained in town for the night service. He rose early the next
morning and started back to his work, but this time he did not have to
walk the whole way.
“Good morning, Parson, want a ride?” a cheery voice called. Austin
looked up, a little abashed at being addressed as Parson, but glad for
the offer.
“Thank you, sir, I should be glad to ride,” he said, climbing in.
“I took you for a parson when I saw that book under your arm, but
you look too young for the part,” said the man looking at him
curiously.
“No, I am not a preacher, but a hay-hand from Jenkin's ranch. I
walked in to church yesterday, and am just getting back this morning.”
“You are more serious about such things than some people I know, to
walk that far to hear a sermon,” laughed the man.
“Perhaps, but I find it worth being serious about,” good-naturedly
replied Austin.
The ride carried him within a short distance of his work, and he was
ready to be in his place when the grass was dry enough to cut. He felt
none the worse for his journey, and greatly refreshed in spirit for
having met with the people of God.
Before the week was out they had finished the last acre of cutting,
and topped the last stack. It was a thankful family of sunburned people
who retraced their steps to their home at the edge of town.
It was now the middle of November, and the children were not yet in
school. Austin's first duty after coming back from the hay-fields was
to get them ready and started in for the rest of the winter. He himself
would have to work every day to help with the support of the family. No
time now for him to think of going to school, but the younger five
should have a better opportunity than he had been given. Such was his
vow as he started them off the next Monday morning. The children were
delighted to be back in Sunday-school and to begin their school-year.
The time spent in the opens had greatly increased their appreciation of
home.
But troubles were ahead. The warfare between Austin and his father
waged harder than ever. They had no common point of contact in their
natures. Austin had a clear, definite conception of duty and right,
while his father's conception of such things was unusually dim and
vague. Austin not only saw and understood his own duty, but he saw with
equal clearness his father's duty. Though he was not a boy to nag, yet
so strong was his personality that his displeasure was keenly felt.
Thus Henry Hill felt continually under criticism. He was lashed for
every slip and lapse from duty by the unspoken condemnation of this
clear-eyed, strong-souled son of his, and made extremely uncomfortable.
Austin was almost as restless as his father. He had continually to
fight a disgust and hatred that should have no part in a Christian's
emotions. And he longed to be of service in the world. It was the call
of youth in his veins that stirred these restless longings, but Austin
had no one to explain this to him. It is not nature that a boy should
settle down to carry a man's responsibilities, and any boy who has it
to do will either become a drudge or will suffer with restless longings
that can hardly be controlled.
“I am out of work again and do not know where in these parts I can
get the kind I want. While you are here to stay with the children, I
believe I will get out and look around a while. Maybe I can locate
something more suitable in another town,” said Henry Hill to his son
one day.
It was the same old story. Restlessness, dissatisfaction,
wanderlust, irresponsibility, shirking of duty. Austin's lips curled
just a little in scorn before he answered his father.
“Better get you a steady job here and settle down and keep the
children in school. Even if you can not get just what you might want,
you can have plenty of good-paying work, and be at home. Something
brought in every week for the support of the children is needed here
more than anything else.”
“I can not see my way clear to do that, Austin. While I am sticking
with a poor job here, the very kind I want might be getting away from
me. The thing to do in a case like this is to get out and hustle and
find what you want,” reasoned the father.
“Well, as you will. But I shall need help to get on with the
children. I can not do my duty by them and yet fully support them.”
“Do not worry about that. I usually keep up my part of everything,”
said the father.
But he went away leaving practically nothing with Austin for the
care of the children, and he was not seen in those parts again.
Occasional letters came from him, and sometimes a little money
accompanied these letters, but for the most part it was the labors of
Austin's hands that kept the wolf from the door.
It was the beginning of winter, the season when household expenses
are the highest, and it was a hard struggle for the boy to carry the
whole load all the weary weeks. The care of the children also was
great. The irresponsible nature of their father ruled in some of their
natures, and to Austin it at times seemed there was no use trying to
make good citizens of them. But he remembered his mother and how hard
she would have struggled to keep them together, and what efforts she
would have made to bring them up right, and for her sake he struggled
on. He hoped for nothing from the older boys, for they paid little
attention to him and the children.
“Is Hill about anywhere?” asked a rough voice at the door.
“No, sir, he is not at home. Is there anything I can do for you!”
asked Austin politely.
“No, perhaps not. I wanted to see him. He justly owes me a sum of
money, and as I am needing it now I wanted to see if he would come
across with it,” answered the man gruffly.
Austin had not known of any such debt and now inquired of his caller
until he had the man's side of the story. Later he investigated the
matter until he was satisfied that it was a just debt. His father had
left in his care a few hogs, and their sale would pay the debt and
leave a little over. Austin was confident that his father would never
come back and had intended not to pay the debt at all. He did not want
such a blot on the family name, so determined to sell the hogs and pay
the debt.
This he did, writing his father of the transaction, and receiving in
reply a scorching reproof for his forwardness. He could not hope to be
in his father's good graces for a long time after this deed. “If he
does not want straight dealing, he had better not leave his business in
my hands,” was Austin's mental comment as he read the letter. Austin
was free also at this time in writing very pointedly to his father of
the family needs and to insist that more money should be forthcoming to
meet current expenses. He had none of those lofty feelings that had
stirred his young breast when he worked in Mr. Long's garden. He felt
that he was being imposed upon.
At last the father sent the word that he had located the good job
and was now ready for the family. He told Austin to dispose of the
household goods and bring the children as soon as he could. But there
was nothing to cheer Austin in doing this. It meant only another few
months in a strange locality and then on again somewhere else. The only
way for his father to settle down at all seemed to be for him to have
the full responsibility of the children where he could not get away.
Austin determined to give him a new lesson.
He disposed of the household goods, packed the bedding and things to
be taken to the new home, and, putting the children on the train, sent
them to their father; and he staid on with his work, for he had a good
place. The children were unwilling for this, but Austin's patience had
worn out, and he felt he could not carry his father's burden any
farther.
Henry Hill was quite chagrined at the turn Austin had taken. He did
not suppose the boy would leave the children again. But there was
nothing else to do but take his load and carry it. Those weeks of
waiting during the winter had been fruitful in the hearts of his
children in developing in them all a genuine disregard for their
father. Austin had not the ability of his mother to lead the children
away from him and his influence. He had been so vexed with his father's
behavior that he had lent an influence of disrespect to the children.
Now that they were under their father's government, they grew every
week more unruly and disobedient to him. He had no control over them.
Even his dull eyes saw the danger into which Amy and Nell were drifting
in the careless, unrestrained way they were taking. So in his
helplessness he could only turn to Austin. Writing him something of his
difficulties, he said: “I shall have to give up housekeeping entirely
if you can not come, for the girls will get into trouble. They need
some one over them who can manage them. They will not obey me at all.”
It had been a number of weeks since he had sent the children away,
and in that time Austin had been far from happy. He felt that he was
not doing his duty, yet he could not under existing circumstances feel
that he should take the entire care and support of the children. But
this S. O. S. aroused him to a knowledge of the present duty, and he
went directly home.
The change which had taken place in the children in the weeks he had
been absent amazed him. There had been something about their new
environments that had developed the worst that was in them. They now
lived in town, and the girls had been running about at their will. They
had fallen in with companions who were not doing them any good, and at
the present rate of speed would soon be past any control at all.
Austin took up the home cares as well as he could, though with a
sinking heart. He was terribly alone and helpless. And again he was
plucked up from his church-home, a sheep out on the barren mountains,
it seemed to him. And in looking ahead he could see nothing bright to
work toward. But he did not lose hold of the throne of God and did not
forget to seek comfort and strength in prayer. And God helped him in
those days.
He had been out from the house a short while one evening, and when
he came in, his father said, “I wish you would go and find the girls.”
“Why are they away? I did not know they intended going out,” said
Austin in some surprize.
“Well, they are gone and would tell me nothing about where they were
going. They dressed in their best and set off down the street,”
answered the father in a worried tone.
Austin set out, praying as he went. He had no idea where he was to
go nor how he should find them, for the town was large and just at that
time was filled with visitors attending some sort of circus just at the
edge of the town. Tonight large crowds were going out there, and for
several nights the conduct in and about the tents had been boisterous.
It was no place for two little girls to go unattended. Toward this
place Austin made his way, praying earnestly. And down the street he
saw Amy and Nell drifting with the crowd and having the best of times.
Hurrying till he overtook them, he touched them on the arms gently and
said, “I have come for you girls. It is time you were at home.”
They looked at him in surprize for an instant, and while he met
their eyes without flinching, he cried out to God from his heart. If
they would not obey him he was helpless. But they obeyed without
protest and went home with him. He questioned them a little and found
that they had gone out without planning, just dressed up and gone out
for what good times they could find. He explained to them something of
the dangers of such a course, and they listened to him courteously.
This incident gave him both courage and uneasiness. Courage to hope
that he might be able to govern them, but uneasiness about their sudden
whims and turns. If he had been instructed of the changes in
disposition that overtake all children at their age, he might not have
been so troubled, but to him it seemed that his little sisters had
suddenly determined to take the wrong course in spite of everything. He
saw more plainly than ever that his father had trifled away his chance
of influencing his children for good.
“Nettie,” asked Mother Hilman in her even, placid tones, “what do
you think of that young madcap Wilbur Hill?”
Mother Hilman sat at the kitchen window of her comfortable, country
home busy with some household duty, while her daughter was preparing
dinner. Mrs. Hilman was one of those fortunate souls whose spirit is
like the calm, unruffled sea. She had a trust in God and a love for
mankind that kept her heart continually at peace. And her question now
was spoken in tones much more kind and benevolent than her words.
Nettie already had gray hairs about her temples, so answered her
mother's question without any maidenly embarrassment. “I think him more
likable than reliable.”
“I think so. I do like the boy, yet he is one to make a good mother
worry. How he reverences his mother's memory! It seems too bad that she
had to be taken from him right when a boy needs a mother the most. She
must have been a good woman. I should like to meet the brother of
Will's he spoke of the other day.”
“Didn't Will say that his father and the younger children are living
in town now?”
“Yes, I believe so. Let us ask him when we see him again about his
family, and especially that brother. I believe he would tell us all we
wish to know.”
“Will,” said Mother Hilman when again she had opportunity to speak
to her neighbor's hired boy, “Nettie and I have been speaking about
your family. Did we understand you to say that your father and the
children are living in town now?”
“Yes, ma'am. The girls keep house for Father.”
“And where is the brother of whom you spoke the other day?”
“Austin? Oh, he did not come with the rest, but remained at his old
job. Father, you know, has not been here a great while, and the
children came only a month ago.”
“Who was with the children while your father was away?” asked Mrs.
Hilman with keen interest.
“Austin. He is like a mother with them. Austin is a queer fellow,
not like another boy I know in the world,” and Will looked up with an
expression that invited confidence.
“What makes him so different?”
“It is his religion mostly. He is just like an old person, does not
care to go anywhere but to church and Sunday-school. He seems to enjoy
staying at home with the children, and does so months at a time. I
should die if I had to tie myself down as he does, yet he seems as
cheerful as any one,” said Will frankly.
“Perhaps your brother has been converted.”
“Yes, that is the very word he uses,” replied Will. “He tried to
tell us all about it, but we could not see through it. He says he does
not care for the things of the world, and he means by that that he
cares nothing for any of the good times out with the boys. And he
certainly acts as if he did not care, and prays and reads his Bible!
Says grace at the table like a preacher. I admire his pluck.”
“What church does he belong to?” asked Mother Hilman, her admiration
increasing for the boy under discussion.
“That is another of his queer notions. He passed by all the fine
churches and hunted up a little baud of people who have a mission on a
side street there, and worships with them because he says they are more
spiritual.”
“We have such a band of people here.” “Have you? I will tell Austin
when he comes, for he will not stay away from the children long. I
think it is the mission that keeps him there for one thing. He hates to
leave the people, and he has a Sunday-school class.” “Do tell him to
come. We shall be glad to have him with us.”
“Mrs. Hilman, Austin is here already. I saw him over in town last
night and told him about your meeting, and he said to tell you he would
be there without fail next Sunday,” said Will, when he saw her a few
days later.
When the Hilmans went to church the next Sunday, they saw a strange
young man in one of the rear benches. At once they recognized him as a
brother of Wilbur Hill. As it was early, not yet time to begin the
service, they went to him to make his acquaintance.
“Is this Austin Hill?” asked Mother Hilman in her kindest tones.
“Yes, that is my name,” answered Austin.
“My name is Hilman. Your brother Will has been telling me about
you,” she continued in her friendly tones.
“Yes, he told me some of the stuff he has been telling you. It makes
me feel foolish. But I am glad to meet you anyway,” said Austin,
blushing.
“You have your brother's confidence and that is a good
recommendation for any Christian,” said Mrs. Hilman, pleased with his
humility.
“He said you were a believer in spiritual Christianity.”
“Yes, I have been worshiping with a band of spiritual people, though
I joined and still have my letter with the church where I was
converted.”
“Can you take dinner with us today? If you can, we might talk of
some of these things,” said the kind old lady.
“Thank you; I shall be glad to do so,” said Austin, whose heart
longed for just the kind, Christian counsel he believed this mother
would give.
The past week had been a weary one for Austin. He had found it
harder than ever to get along with his father. The conflict between
them became more marked all the time. They did not quarrel, but the
father let no opportunity pass to give Austin to understand his
disapproval of and disdain for his religion, while Austin had to fight
continually the feeling of disrespect and contempt for his father. The
family was preparing to move to the country. This was welcome news to
Austin, who found managing them in town more than he could do. He was
almost discouraged with trying to teach the children right. His visit
with the Hilman's was a great pleasure. After the good Sunday dinner
Mother Hilman sat down with her young guest in the front room, and they
talked of those things that were nearest both their hearts.
“Austin, it affords me much pleasure to see you serving God in your
youth. In giving God your service now you are giving him the best of
your life, and missing much that is sinful in the world.”
“I thank God,” said Austin, “that I have learned to know him. I do
not know what I should do if I did not have him to comfort me, for many
things perplex me.” “I gather from what your brother says of your
home-life that your father is not a servant of God.”
“No, my father has never been converted. I long to see him have a
change of heart. His influence would be so much better with the
children. But he seems to care nothing for the things of God, and it is
a vexation to him that I am a Christian.”
“I am sorry that it should be so in your family,” said Mother
Hilman, sympathetically, adding, “but of course you will stand true to
God; for God makes all such things a help to his children if they will
in faith look to him. Read your Bible much, Austin; and pray fervently,
both for yourself and for your poor father. If you pray for your father
with a loving heart, it will help you to bear more easily the
conditions he causes in your home. And I am glad you find such joy in
associating with spiritual people; many young men, and young women too
for that matter, are led astray by wrong companionships.”
“Mrs. Hilman,” broke in Austin, “I enjoy the association of young
people, and the friendship of godly young people is to me sweeter than
any other earthly tie. But if the young people are not spiritual, then
I find more pleasure in the company of older people who are spiritual,
such as I find at the mission we attend. God is very near and dear to
me, and so are his children; my only preference for the young people is
because of my own youth.”
Mother Hilman noticed the degree of wisdom Austin showed in his
conversation. She found him willing to take advice from one older in
the Christian way, too, which, as she was wont to say, “means much to
new hearts under young heads.”
Thus they talked of the deep personal experiences of grace and peace
that are the Christian's birthright. The things that were said were an
uplift to Austin; but it was the sweet influence of love and confidence
which helped him most. His heart was sore with contention and strife,
and a day in this peaceful home did him good like a medicine.
Sometimes the waves of trouble roll over the soul like billows.
There is no time for even a breath of quiet between the overflowing
waves as they roll high over the soul. Austin had entered into such a
season of tempest. He tried to reason out his duty, but could come to
no satisfactory conclusion. He had promised God, the children, arid his
own soul that he would never desert the home again; but now he found
himself facing the issue once more. So hard had come the battle between
his father and himself that he was at a loss to know whether either
duty or wisdom demanded of him to remain. Contention and strife were
most distasteful to him. Yet it seemed that for him to maintain any
degree of self-respect or to hold to any of his religious duties
brought upon him such taunts from his father that the boy was at his
wits' end. And his father's attitude snowed itself more and more in the
children. Besides, he felt the call of youth in his nature, and he
longed to get away from it all and fill his life with those things that
his heart craved to do.
At last he decided that he was wasting his time trying to stay in
the turmoil, and abruptly left his father's home. Going to town he
obtained a boarding-place and settled down to work. This course again
failed to bring the desired results; and he found himself as restless
and unstrung as when he was at home. He was not happy, could not feel
he was doing his duty, and carried about with him an atmosphere of
despondency that gave his friends alarm. They sympathized with him in
his difficulties, but none could help him. He was face to face with his
opposing giant and must fight his battle through alone.
Over and over he studied the situation as he sat alone in his hired
room in the evening. The children needed him, he had promised to stay
with them, he desired to do them good, he did not want to forsake his
post, to be a deserter; but against all this was his father's
opposition. Ought he to force himself upon his father? When he was made
to feel so unwelcome and detested, should he still remain? After all,
the children were his father's, not his. At last he decided to remain
away until he should again, as twice before, be called home.
Now was the time for his youth to assert itself, for if he could not
keep the children, why should he not prepare himself for the place in
life he most wanted to fill? He wanted to be of service in the Master's
vineyard. There was never a youth with a call to the sea or the plains
who longed to follow the bent of his own heart more than did Austin. So
we find him a few weeks later safely enrolled in a small school where
he might prepare himself for the work of his choice. He knew how bitter
his father would be about this, but he did not care. He was now in
entirely new environments. Instead of opposition and contradiction, he
found himself surrounded with people who were eager to help him on in
his service to God. He was under the care of a man who recognized both
the ability and the faithfulness of the boy and never lost an
opportunity to encourage him. But in spite of all this the billows of
trouble rolled high above him. In the midst of the kindness shown him
he seemed to see the faces of his little brothers and sisters in their
unfavorable surroundings. He felt like a renegade from duty, and
something very like remorse beat hard against his heart.
Unable to endure the agony of spirit, he obtained permission to
visit his home and find out how everything was. He found the children
already partly dispersed and the father seeking places for the others.
When the children knew he was again at home, they came back
immediately, and their home-life was once more set up. Everything went
quite smoothly for a few weeks, then the old antagonism began to assert
itself and Austin found it impossible to live peaceably with his
father. When there was much friction between the two, it was hard to
control the children, and soon he was meeting his old obstacles. His
victory had not yet come. He remained with the children two months at
this time; but finding it as unpleasant as ever, he again returned to
the school. As soon as he was gone the children were again scattered
about and the home broken. They would write him long letters, begging
him to do something for them; but he did not know what to do, for he
could not support them and take the oversight of the home in every
other way also.
In weeks of uncertainty the time went by, eking out to the harrowed,
homesick boy but a mere existence. What would in other circumstances
have been a pleasure every day was now a torture to him. When he would
study, he saw the faces of the children between him and his book. When
he went to prayer, they alone stood before him, and when in the course
of his work he tried to visit with those who might need his help, he
saw only the children's outstretched hands before him. The soul can not
stand such torture always, so finally Austin gave up trying to study
and went out and found a job of work, determined to get a neat sum
together and, when he had enough to be of some assistance, go to the
children and help them.
It was the evening of only his first day's work that he returned to
his room to find a letter from Nell.
“Dear Austin: Come home just as soon as you can. Papa is making
arrangements to have strangers adopt the little ones, and we can never
have them again. I can not stand it, and I know you will not want it.
Amy and I are so tired of living away from home. We want a home again
and we want all the children in it. It would never be home without our
Doyle and Lila. You will do something, will you not? You will not
forsake us now? Come, please come quickly.
“Your little sister,
“Nell.”
Austin stood trembling with the letter in his hand, and he could
almost see blood before his eyes, so great was his agitation. The
thought of giving up the two precious little ones forever into the
hands of strangers almost made him wild. Before the morning sun arose,
he was on his way home. He could hardly wait to get there, though it
was to find the home broken and the children scattered. Nell, who had
been suffering almost as keenly as Austin about the little brother and
sister, was almost overjoyed at his arrival, and took heart again. The
protest that the two of them put up against their father's arrangements
forever put an end to his plans. In another day that danger was past.
But Henry Hill was not ready to settle down, and he had no idea of
undertaking housekeeping again. He was just at this time in a merry
mood about going to another part of the State to work during the autumn
months, as the farmers of that region were calling for help. He asked
Austin to accompany him, and promised that if he found a suitable
location he would again get a home for them. Under existing
circumstances this seemed the only thing to do, so after finding places
for Nell and Harry, they set out upon their new expedition with Amy and
Doyle. Lila was left with a kind friend who would look after her.
When they arrived in the town for which they were bound, each of
them found places to work, Doyle remaining in the family where his
father was working. But conditions were not what they should have been
for any of the children, and to Austin the whole arrangement seemed
like a horrid dream. In a few weeks Nell came to them, and a place was
found for her with another household. Poor little scattered orphans,
how dark their way looked before them at this time! When Austin is
gray-headed, he will yet remember with a pang his feelings during those
weeks. His father made no effort to get them a home, and Austin knew
not what to do. He saw that he would have to do one of two things:
either take the whole responsibility of the children, or keep his hands
off and let their father dispose of them as he saw fit. Neither he nor
they could any longer stand this uncertainty.
At last his decision was made. He would swing loose from his father
entirely and take the children himself. He believed that if he could
get the cooperation of the girls in just the right way, it would be
possible for them to get along. He did not doubt his ability to support
them if they could keep up the housework. But he would have to depend
upon them for that and he would go out and do a man's part. It would
then be, not the children, but their father, who must look out for
himself, for this new home was not to be his in any sense of the word.
When he had decided to undertake this responsibility, he went first to
his father. “Father, something has to be done for the children. I
believe I can support them myself. Will you be willing to release to me
all right to the children if I will take them and make them a home
asking nothing of you? I want to get them together once more.”
“You will find it quite an undertaking, but if you want to try it, I
have no objection, and will not hinder you,” was the answer.
The next step would be getting the cooperation of the girls. Without
their willing assistance he could do nothing, and it would mean much
for them to take the responsibility of home-keeping entirely upon
themselves. Fortunately for Austin, he had learned how to carry all
these burdens to One who was stronger than he, and to rely on his God
to go before him and prepare the way.
The girls, as well as Austin, were busy during the week, but they
had Sunday afternoon to themselves. They were in the habit of spending
this time together, and it was with both hope and fear in his heart
that Austin went the next Sunday afternoon after his talk with his
father about the children, to see his sisters. Amy had come over to see
Nell and the two were waiting for Austin, eager for the opportunity of
pouring into his sympathetic ears their story of heartaches and
struggles of the week past. They were both on the porch of the
farmhouse to meet him, and as they were alone this big quiet porch was
a suitable place for their talk.
Austin had not been with them long before he began the subject that
lay closest to his heart. He had grave doubts of Amy's willingness to
undertake housekeeping; for she had had experience enough to know that
she thoroughly detested housework. But if Nell would put her little
shoulder to the wheel he would be satisfied. They sat together in
earnest conversation as they reviewed the whole situation. Austin was
only eighteen but seemed fully twenty-five years of age. Amy was a
pretty, slender girl of sixteen, full of life and spirit, but gay and
thoughtless. Little Nell was only fourteen, and slight for her years,
but with a quickness and decision that added to her attraction.
“Girls, it is our only hope,” Austin said. “I do not believe Papa
intends to do one thing. He will let things drift along and in time we
shall lose Lila and Doyle entirely. We ought to have a home where the
childien can have a chance. But see how things have gone for years.
When I stayed at home Papa opposed me and made it hard for us all, and
when I left home he scattered the children.”
“If we are to have a home we must stay by it all the time. I can not
do it alone, but if you girls will stand back of me and take the
responsibility of the housework, I believe I can support the family.”
“I have talked the matter over with Papa, and he is willing that we
should try this plan out, and has even promised to help us when he can.
We might as well look at things as they are. None of us could be
care-free like other young people, but instead we should have to settle
down and keep things going. There are many things that we could not do,
lest our good be evil spoken of. We would not dare to act in any way
that would bring reproach upon us. It will be a serious undertaking,
and I want you to be sure that you wish to do it. I am willing to do my
part if you girls will help me.”
The girls listened soberly, and when he had ceased speaking, they
both waited in silence. At last Amy looked up with a mischievous smile,
seeking to throw off the serious mood into which Austin's speech had
put them. She was always afraid of a really serious mood.
“It is no fun keeping house. I do not know whether I want to attack
a job like that till the children are grown up or not. You will have to
give me time to study about it,” she replied.
“How can we bear to have Lila and Doyle knocked about as they are
now and have been?” asked Austin with reproach in his voice.
Nell looked up an instant and saw the look of pain in her brother's
face which Amy's words had brought, and said quietly, “I will do my
part the best I can, Austin.”
There are times when words are insufficient to express one's
feelings. Austin found himself at one of these places. His heart had
been almost broken with sorrow for the shattered home circle, and the
deepest desire of his heart was to gather the children together again
and if possible build for them a home where they could have a chance
for home influences and comforts. That he could not do this without
cheerful cooperation from his sisters he knew. So Nell's simple little
answer sent a thrill of joy and hope too sweet for words to the very
depths of his heart. This promise from her was all that he asked. He
knew that she would stand by her vow. Years afterward when telling a
friend of this incident, Austin said it was one of the sweetest moments
of his life when he looked into the face of his sister and heard her
tender promise. The two of them, for Amy was strangely left out now,
talked the rest of the afternoon making plans for their future, hope
springing higher every moment. But they were not undertaking something
new, for well each of them knew what they were doing. They knew that it
meant years of toil, care, and responsibility; but for the sake of home
and the little brothers and sister, they were willing to do their part.
At last the evening shades came creeping over the fields and they must
part. Bidding Nell a loving farewell, Austin and Amy walked across the
grassy meadow to the farmhouse that was Amy's temporary home, and
leaving her there he hastened back to his place with a lighter heart
and step than had been his for months. As yet they were but hired
servants; but soon, soon they would have a home of their own. “Nell,”
he had said on parting with her, “I know you will do your part, and
with Amy's help—for she will help, we know—we shall get along very
well.” Nell and Amy slept that night with a sense of coming happiness
and hope that they had not felt for a long time. Though they lacked the
strength of character that was Austin's heritage from his mother, they
were home-loving as well as he. The main question with them was,
“Where?”—what place would be best for them to begin all over again?
The girls favored going back to the old home town; but Austin doubted
the wisdom of this, for the girls had associates there who would do
them no good. He craved new and better environments for them. Besides,
he had suffered so much anxiety and disappointment there that he felt
it could never be home to him. He favored a new town where there would
be no influence nor prejudice against them, where they could make a new
start entirely. At last he brought the girls to see the reasonableness
of his view; but no definite plans could be made just yet. “Please do
not stop in this part of the country, for I am so discouraged with
everything that I do not know what to do,” pleaded Amy.
“I know just how you feel, Sister, and I will not settle here. There
is nothing here for us anyway. We must find a town where I can get
paying work so that I can keep the bread and butter coming,” he
answered. “I have been thinking of Weston. The Baileys live there, and
we have promised to go to see them some time. That is a thriving town,
and perhaps I could get work. Besides, it is not far away and would not
cost us so much in moving there. What do you say to my writing to Mr.
Bailey inviting ourselves to visit them for a few days soon, and while
there see what we can do?” was Austin's proposition to the girls one
day.
“That sounds pretty good. At least we shall have a good time
visiting with the girls,” they answered with spirit.
“Here is a letter from Austin Hill,” said Mr. Bailey a few days
later. “He wishes to find a location here and asks to bring Amy and
Nell with him for a little visit while he is prospecting. It will be
convenient to have them, will it not?” he asked.
“Yes, certainly. I shall be glad to get in touch with Austin again.
I have often wondered lately how he is solving his many problems. How
soon will they be coming?” was the answer of cheerful, mother-hearted
Mrs. Bailey. Austin was wise in seeking to place the girls where they
might have her good counsel.
It was not a week later when Austin and the girls arrived in Weston,
and before three days had gone by Austin had obtained a position that
would bring him a good livelihood. He was certain that God had favored
him in obtaining such a place, and did not want to look any farther.
The girls were not so favorably impressed with the surroundings, but
were for looking elsewhere. They, poor homesick children, longed still
for the old home town. Austin was firm, nevertheless, in his decision
to stay by what he had found. “We have friends here who make us
welcome. We need not feel that we are utterly strangers. I have a good
job and it would be foolishness for me to look farther. Let us not
quibble any more. If we are going to make a home for the children, let
us get at it,” he said in ending the contention. “If you girls wish to
go on down home, or anywhere else, visiting, do it now before we start
in. I want you to be satisfied, but I can not give up my position.”
“No, we will not go anywhere now. If this is to be our home, we will
get it started as soon as possible,” was the answer of the girls.
It was at this juncture that they realized how little they had to go
to housekeeping on. A house was out of the question. One month's rent
in advance was more than they could spare and yet have enough to get a
little furniture to put in it. The best they could do was to rent two
empty rooms, furnish them with such things as they could buy at a
second-hand store, and then get along on what was left till first
pay-day.
The rooms were not in every way desirable, and it was with
misgivings that the girls went with Austin to buy the furniture. They
were beauty-loving girls, and their dreams of a new home had been rosy.
It was hard to begin housekeeping with the things they would have to
get. But when they considered that all they had to go on was the little
that Austin had saved while he had been working on the farm, they knew
he was doing his best. When the things were bought, Austin ordered them
hauled to the rooms already engaged, and when the man went away, the
three young people looked at their few possessions in their little
home-to-be with varying emotions. Austin was hopeful. He could look
away from that which was drab to the brighter side. Just to have the
children together with a chance to give them. Christian training was
all he could ask. He was willing to live in the plainest circumstances.
Amy looked on the homely pile of second-rate goods and made some
light, frivolous remark about their beautiful home. She was ready to
laugh off in such a manner all her serious thoughts. Nell said nothing.
She was a girl of fourteen, with all of a girl's love of beautiful
things. She wanted a pretty home, with dainty furnishings and bright
colors. Ever since she had promised to be Austin's housekeeper she had
been building air-castles of the house they would have, and the home
she would make. But she had not counted on such a beginning as this.
She was too disheartened to think or speak. She passed by the pile of
household stuff and her brother and sister, into the other room, and
shut the door with a bang. She would have to have time to locate
herself before she could be cheerful. Just now her heart was too full
of dismay.
Austin and Amy went to work and put things in order so that they
could cook supper and all lay their weary bodies down to rest. They
were young, and soon their trials were forgotten in a sweet, refreshing
sleep. Nell had regained her composure enough to help them the next
morning, though she was yet very quiet when Austin went off to his
work.
When Austin came home that evening, he found his sunny Nell of old
at work in the rooms. She was improvising a curtain of some kind, and
as he came in she was standing off to study the effect. She had managed
to make the room look pretty. Amy acknowledged that she herself had
thought the case hopeless all the time, and had made up her mind not to
expect any beauty, but that Nell had transformed things. “Nell, you are
a treasure. I am surprized that you could bring such order and beauty
out of the chaos I left this morning,” said Austin in his heartiest
tones. And the words of cheer and praise brought a happy shine to the
little girl's eyes, while her heart beat in happy contentment.
The three of them were soon living in peace and contentment in their
own little home, making ready as fast as they could for the coming of
the others. It was necessary that Austin get a better start with his
wages before the family increase very much.
They talked and planned for the future. This was not to be at all
permanent; just as soon as one month's wages were in hand a house
should be rented, and they would furnish it as they could. As soon as
they had enough together to care for the children, Lila and Doyle
should be brought to them. And until the time when they could afford
better, they all covenanted together to live as economically as
possible. And as soon as the house was in proper condition for living,
the two girls started to school.
“How would my birds like to find a new nest?” asked Austin one
morning not long after he had received his first month's pay. “We shall
be only too glad to get out of this little place into a whole house,”
answered both the girls at once. “May we hunt one to suit ourselves?”
“You may, only remembering that we dare not go very high in rent,
for the house has to be furnished also, and we have our winter clothes
to buy,” cautioned Austin. A house was found on a shady street, and was
engaged at once. Before the week was out they were safely settled in
their new quarters, and with a few more articles of furniture than had
been possible at first. Mrs. Bailey had given them a few things to add
to the homelikeness of their living-rooms, and they were quite
comfortably settled, and getting along as happily as could be asked
for. “I am going to quit school and get me a job,” announced Amy with
decision one morning before cold weather had set in. “Winter is coming
and I have nothing decent to wear. I am ashamed to go out, and I am
tired of the sneers of the girls at school.”
“No, Amy, do not do that. I will give you money for clothes just as
soon as I can. You need the schooling more than you can need clothes.
Be brave and do not give up,” urged Austin.
“I have made up my mind, so you need not try to turn me. I shall not
go another day,” she said. “Amy, it was my motive in getting our home
started again, to get all of you children into school. Your clothes are
as good as many of your schoolmates', and I can not give my consent to
your leaving school now. So put it out of your mind.” Austin said this
in a paternal way particularly provoking to the spirit of the girl.
“Who was asking your consent? I am sure I had no intention of doing
so. I simply announced that I was going to work, and that is what I
intend to do,” she answered hotly.
“Amy, you heard what I said! You can not quit school. I forbid it.”
Amy's eyes blazed fire, and her slender shoulders shook with rage.
“Austin Hill, you are not my father that you may order me about! Two
years do not give you such authority over me. I am not going to school,
and you might as well understand it!”
Austin's lips set in two straight lines that meant battle. If the
children were not going to yield obedience to him, he would not be able
to keep the home together. Amy ought to see this. He said no more, and
left the house without a word of good-by.
Amy, angry and rebellious, did not prepare for school nor did she do
her share of the morning work. Nell left the house for school all
fretted and angry that Amy had shirked her part. So all three of them
were thoroughly unhappy all the day long.
Austin's lips were still in their straight lines when he came home,
and Amy just as defiant. He ignored her the entire evening, though he
spoke pleasantly to Nell, and helped her with the work. Amy was unhappy
and miserable, and the next day ungraciously enough prepared and went
to school. But the battle was not done.
“I have a letter from Papa saying he will be here with the children
this week. We must have everything ready for them,” announced Austin a
few days after his conflict with Amy. And when the day came all three
of them were at the station to welcome them. Lila and Doyle were wild
with delight to be again with their brother and sisters, and wound
their little arms about their necks in the most affectionate manner.
Henry Hill looked on with complacency, for he felt that he was
bestowing quite a favor upon his children in giving them such pleasure.
The children were well pleased with their new home, seeming not to
notice the bareness of it; but their father noted it all, and said to
himself, “Austin has undertaken more than he can handle. I thought he
would find out there is something to supporting a family.” But he did
not divide his summer's wages.
“Girls, I have had a rise,” said Austin one evening, and sat back to
enjoy the expressions of pleasure from his sisters.
“But there is another side to it. I will have to work nights. I
shall have long hours and be away every night but one each week. How
will that suit you?” he added.
“We shall not be afraid,” said Amy and Nell together.
“But I shall not be here to take you out of evenings. It will not do
for you girls to be running about alone, and I fear the time will hang
heavy on your hands.”
“We shall get along all right. You need not worry about us,” said
Amy with more cheerfulness than was really necessary.
The new arrangement had not been in force long till reports came, in
one way and another, to Austin's ears. There were fragments of
conversations that floated into his bedchamber as he was trying to coax
sleep to his weary eyes when the children were all home, bits of
information that made him fearful that Amy was taking advantage of his
absence at night to follow out her own plans.
“Amy, where were you last night?” he asked one day after he was
certain he had some facts.
“Minding my own affairs,” was the lofty reply.
“Were you out with Herb Wilson?” he asked again.
“I was out a while in the evening, if you must know, and Herb was in
the crowd,” she answered insolently.
“Do you not know that he and his crowd are not the kind of people
you should be with?” he asked severely.
“Are you their judge that you can so sneeringly speak of them?” she
asked as the angry blood rushed to her face.
“I am not sneering at them, but I do wish to protect the good name
of my sister, and I will have to forbid your going out with them
again,” he said decidedly.
“There you go, ordering me around like a little child. You expect me
to obey you like Lila does. I will not, and I shall go out with whom
and when I please,” was her defiant reply.
Austin's lips again formed the straight line that meant battle. Amy
felt a shudder of apprehension go through her being; but the same
fighting blood was in her. She thought that he was encroaching on her
rights, and she was set not to submit. He saw the danger she was in,
and, besides that, the baleful influence she would have over the
younger children if she so set his authority aside, and he felt that
his home was again in jeopardy. So far as he was concerned, there would
be no giving in.
“I am going to get me a job, and take care of myself,” she flung at
him as she read the decision in his eyes. “I will not be kept under in
the way you want to keep me. I am almost as old as you, and able to
judge who is fit company for me.”
“No, Amy, you are far from able to choose your own company properly.
You need some one over you all the time. You must listen to me. You
will bring reproach on yourself and on us. You are not doing well in
school, and I will not forbid your getting work; but if you stay at
home you must be under the same rules as the rest. I can not have you
running around nights in evil company. In this I shall not yield. You
must obey me.”
“I will not stay with you if I have to be bossed around,” she said
with all the spirit she could master.
“Very well. Nell can keep the house going, with Lila's help. If you
can find a suitable place to stay, and wish to take the responsibility
upon yourself, I shall not hinder you, but I can not have you here
disobeying the rules I must make for the good of the family,” he said
firmly.
Amy had meant what she said, and Austin was just as far from
speaking jestingly. So Amy found work that took her out of the home for
a while. But her freedom was not all happiness, and she found hardships
that were just as trying as Austin's attitude at home.
There was a meeting in progress in a neighboring town, and there
Austin had gone for a day or two. The services had been very refreshing
to him, and he longed for his sisters to come under the sweet influence
of the people attending. So it was with pleasure that he carried to the
girls a hearty invitation to come down and spend the last two days of
the assembly. They accepted, glad for the change, and for the
opportunity of visiting friends there.
The preaching was convincing, and the Spirit of God was there to
talk to the hearts of sinners. Amy and Nell both felt His wooing
presence with them, and yielded to the importunity of the good people
about them, and took on themselves vows of loyalty and love to God.
They were young, but really meant to be true, and came home to Austin
with the happy news.
The joy of his heart was almost unbounded. That they would not be
like himself, true to God from the beginning of their service, never
occurred to him. He felt that his hardest trials were over, and that
their home-life would not be any more darkened by contention. It seemed
so good to have Amy back with them, and to him their taking part in the
family worship seemed very precious.
“Amy,” said Austin one day, “where were you last night?” “What
difference does it make where I was?” she answered evasively. “That is
not an answer to my question. I want to know with whom you spent the
evening, and where you were.”
“I went out a while with friends, and did nothing that I need to be
called to account for. You are always forgetting that I am not a child,
to be dictated to. I suppose some one has been running to you with
tales,” and Amy's face showed all of its old-time defiance.
“Not exactly, Amy,” he answered. “I heard a bit of conversation
between a couple of your acquaintances that made me doubtful, and then
some of the conversation between Nell and you has floated in to me. I
wish to know if you disobeyed and went out again in forbidden company.
Is it true, Amy?” and the pain in his voice should have touched her
heart. To him it was the keenest disappointment that she should fail,
not him alone, but her vows to God.
“Yes, if you must know, I went out with the crowd you are determined
to hate. And I will not have you talking against my friends.”
“But, Amy, what about your influence as a young Christian? Besides,
will their association build up a good reputation for you?”
“I suppose I shall have to leave home to have any liberty. I simply
will not be dictated to. Austin, you are too overbearing for anything,
and I can not stand it,” and angry tears were close. “Amy, I have not
relented in my decision that if I make a home for you children you must
live orderly, quiet lives. It is useless for me to work and labor for a
home, and have it spoiled by evil associates. If you live with us you
must abide by the rules.” That look that meant, without wavering, he
would have his way, was in his eyes; and while the girl would not
relent her decision to choose her own associates, she knew he meant
exactly what he said. “You will get on very well without me. Nell is
your housekeeper anyway. She wants to boss everything in the house. I
can easily make my own way, and have a good time besides.” “Amy, this
is your home. You are as welcome as any of the children. I shall
require nothing of you that I would not of Nell. But I must have it
understood that you will have to recognize the rules of the home. I do
not want you to feel that I am driving you from home, but that I am
only giving you a reasonable choice.”
“It is not much of a home you offer. Work hard all the time and
never go anywhere. You expect me to be as old-acting and old-feeling as
you are. You never were a boy. I am going to have my good times, and
neither you nor anybody else shall hinder me!”
Austin contended no more, but left her with that set look on his
face that meant war to the end. Too many years he had contended with
contrary elements in the home to now know how to yield a point to what
he believed would be wrong. His integrity of life had depended on his
stedfastness, and in that he would stand.
Most of the time from this on the home consisted of only the four;
for Amy, according to her vow, was seeking her own way.
A year had passed since Austin had begun work in Weston and the
three of them had set up housekeeping, and he was to have his first
vacation. There had been many changes since that year began, mostly for
the better. The cottage was now quite comfortably and prettily
furnished throughout. To accomplish this had meant much hard work and
little recreation for both Austin and Nell. Amy had never entered into
the home-making with the ardor of her younger sister, and much of the
time of late had been away. Lila and Doyle had now been with them a
number of months, and had thoroughly enjoyed and appreciated home
comforts and pleasures. Nell had been Austin's comfort and delight all
these months. Harry had not yet come to them. He had the same traits of
self-reliance and determination that had characterized Austin, and had
found himself, though so young, plenty able to support himself, and he
preferred to do it rather than to depend upon Austin. But only too well
Austin knew the small chance his little brother would have for
education in this way, and he longed to have him at home and in school
while he was of school age. But recently had come a letter from the
little fellow saying that he thought he would soon come to them, which
message had sent a thrill of delight around the little circle. They
longed to have it complete.
In planning his vacation, Austin had in his thoughts turned to the
associations that had been so very pleasant in those months he had been
permitted to spend in school. Here also was a man who had been more
than a mere friend to him, and who would be able, he believed, to give
him the counsel and advice he felt he needed just now with the care of
his family. A visit in the home of this friend would indeed be
enjoyable, and he might also meet with some others who had made those
months bright. And what was perhaps a greater factor in his choice at
this time was that the distance was not so great but what he could take
with him his sister Nell. She needed the rest and change as much as he.
He turned the plan over in his mind for some time, and when he thought
he could see his way clear for such an undertaking, he mentioned his
scheme to Nell.
“Oh, Austin, I should be delighted to go, but I should need new
clothes for such a trip, and are you certain we can afford them!”
exclaimed his little housekeeper.
“I have thought of all that, Nell, and I am sure we can manage,”
replied Austin happily.
“But, Austin, just my clothes is not all the problem. The children
are going to need many new things this winter. Lila has outgrown or
worn out nearly all her clothes, and Doyle is almost as badly in need.
And I need a number of new things about the house. But perhaps we could
get them cheaper while we are there in the city,” said the thoughtful
little girl.
“I had been thinking some about that; but I do not see how I can
spare scarcely a thing for them now. We can, perhaps, get them a little
at a time here as we must have them, but just at present I can not
raise the amount it would take,” answered Austin.
“Austin,” said Nell one day, “maybe Papa would give us enough for me
to do that shopping. He has not helped us a bit and he has had work all
the time. Let us count up just what we might need, and, when he comes
next week, let us ask him for the money. It is only right that he
should help you with the care of the children, and I want to get the
things right away.”
“Well, you make a list of all the things you want to get and we will
calculate the cost of them, and I will see what I can do with Papa. He
promised to help us, and perhaps he will do so now,” said the boy
patiently. He hated to ask his father for the money, but he hated worse
to see his sister deprived of this pleasure.
When the bill was made and culled to what they thought would not be
inconsistent to expect of their father, fifty dollars was the amount
they were going to ask of him. The thought of this sum in hand for
shopping-purposes made the heart of the little girl buoyant, and she
set about preparing for her journey with a very happy heart. It is
certainly strange the music the contemplating of new clothes puts into
the heart of a girl!
Mr. Hill came at the time expected, and was in the best of humor and
seemed delighted to find his children doing so well. Nell took
advantage of his good grace to explain about her trip to the city and
the things she wanted to get. She showed him what was needed in the
house to add to its comfort and beauty, and enlarged upon the
scantiness of wardrobe for Lila and Doyle. And apparently he fell into
her net without a misgiving.
“That will be fine, Nellie, and I will see that you have plenty of
money to get what you need. I hardly suppose that Austin can afford to
get all those things at once. It is fortunate that I came home just at
this time.”
“Thank you, Papa. We shall appreciate it much if you will help, for
Austin has had so much expense in getting everything started that he
can not let me have much just now. I think it will be just grand to buy
them in the city.” Nell's eyes shone with happiness as she spoke, and
her hopes rose even higher so that she dared to hope for some of the
pretty things her beauty-loving heart desired. She hurried about
getting the house in shape and her wardrobe ready with as high hopes as
ever a girl had. But the days passed one by one and her father did not
give her the money. She began to have misgivings, and went to Austin
about it.
“Austin, why does he not give me the money! Do you suppose he means
to go back on his word? Has he said anything to you about it?”
“I have not mentioned the matter to him. He promised you so fairly
that I thought best not to say anything. He will surely give it to you
pretty soon,” said Austin comfortingly, though with many doubts in his
own mind as to his father's intentions.
The morning of the last day before they were to start came and yet
not one penny had been given them, nor did their father make any more
mention of the matter. Austin promised Nell he would talk to him about
it that evening, thus giving him all the time possible.
When Austin came home that evening it was to face the angriest girl
he had ever seen. She was fairly bursting with indignation. Her black
eyes snapped and her face was red with suppressed emotion.
“Austin, Austin, what do you think! Oh, it is too awful that he
would be so mean! Papa gave me a little, old, ten-dollar bill! Think of
it, after all my plans, and he knows how much I need. I told him at the
first it would take all of fifty to get the things we really need. And
he gave this as though he was doing me a great favor,” and the girl,
unable longer to suppress her emotions, burst into a torrent of sobs,
and tears.
Austin stood without saying a word, looking at her. He felt stunned.
Though he had long ago lost faith in his father, yet he had not thought
he would be so contemptible as this showed him to be. His pity as well
as his love for the child before him was unbounded, and he sought with
all the tender words he could think of to comfort her. He promised to
add a little to the ten so that she might get a few of the things she
had hoped for, but he knew it was not much that he could do.
“No, Austin, I might as well give up the trip. With the little dab I
would have I could do nothing. Oh, I wanted to throw it in his face!”
and a fresh burst of sobs drowned her voice.
“Nell, you will not disappoint me like that. I have counted so much
on your company. Please say that you will go anyway, and I will go to
Papa and see if I can get him to do better,” pleaded Austin. “Well, but
he will not do any more. I know he will not,” she said. With a hasty
look upward to the One who can give grace to calm the turbulent soul,
Austin went to confer with his father. He set the matter before him in
all its pathos.
“Nell has worked hard, and been such a faithful housekeeper. She is
not wanting to buy extravagantly, and she ought to have all that she
has asked. I can't do any more, and I can hardly bear to see her so
disappointed. Can you not do better by her now?” he had pleaded,
humbling his own spirit in the asking, for he would rather have gone
bungry and cold than to have asked his father for a cent. But his plea
only succeeded in making his parent angry.
“You are both as ungrateful as you can be. The idea of a girl not
being satisfied with ten dollars to go off on a shopping-tour. She
needs to come down a bit. And if this is the way you appreciate what I
do for you, I shall pull out of here and leave you to yourselves. Do
not think I shall give another penny for any such a purpose.”
And, suiting his action to his word, Henry Hill began making himself
ready for his departure from the roof of his ungrateful children.
Austin went back to Nell to tell her that he had been successful
only in making his father angry.
“Let him be angry, and let him go. I do not care,” she said
spitefully.
“Nellie, let us make the best of it and go on our trip,” coaxed
Austin.
“I will do it for your sake, but all the fun of it is spoiled for
me,” said Nell with a sigh.
“Maybe not, sister. I believe you will enjoy yourself well with my
friends there, and we shall have enough money to take us sightseeing
all over the city. I will give you the very best time I can, and we
shall do our shopping as we have opportunity during the winter.”
So Nell was comforted and made willing to go with her brother. The
trip was, after all, a very pleasant one. She met a number of his
friends, and found herself very happy in the home of their host. Too,
it was pleasant to have cooking and housework off her mind for a week,
and to go about with Austin looking at the pretty things she could not
buy, and enjoying the beautiful parks and drives of the city. The
expedition was far from a failure to her, though of course her
shopping-excursion was spoiled.
School-days were at hand again, and it was with much satisfaction
that Austin saw the children back in school. Harry had kept his promise
and was now with them. He was a lad of thirteen, unusually tall and
well-developed for his age. There was much in his bearing and manner to
remind one of Austin, and he possessed a kindred spirit to that of his
brother. But in his knocking about working when and where he could and
“taking care of himself,” as he called it, he had been sadly missing
his chance for education. That he was now with them and busy in the
schoolroom gave much pleasure to Austin, who could appreciate the need
the boy would later find of learning.
“I got it today,” announced Austin at the supper-table.
“Oh, Austin! Will you have to go? What will become of all of us?”
and the young faces about the table looked the grave concern each one
felt. “I can not tell. I hardly think so. If having a family keeps a
man at home I think I can be exempted on that score,” and he smiled
cheerfully as he looked about him.
“But what should we do if they made you go? Who would take care of
us?” said Lila anxiously.
“Do not worry little sister. I shall not go and leave you without
protection,” comforted her brother.
While Austin and his family had been fighting their own battles in
life, many stirring events had been going on about them. There had come
the call to arms when the whole nation had been stirred from center to
circumference, and after that the sad, heart-rending times when the
boys had been called away to the camps and later over the sea to the
battle with their common foe. In all this Austin had been interested,
but had hardly seemed a part of it, so engrossed had he been with his
own perplexities. But now had come the call which included the boys yet
in their teens, and he was now in the draft age. Today had come his
summons from the Government to appear and be examined for enlistment in
the service.
When Austin appeared before the board they greeted him with smiles.
The manly form and apparent health of the young man appealed to them,
and his youth naturally proclaimed him a man without family cares.
“It is easy to place such men as you are,” said the officer.
“In what class do you think I should be placed?” inquired Austin.
“In first class, of course. You are in perfect health, and within
the age limits, and too young to have a family.”
“But what of dependents?”
“Dependents! Have you dependents?” asked the man in some surprize.
“Yes sir. I have a family of four or five entirely dependent upon my
labor,” answered Austin quietly.
“How is that? You stated your father was living,” said the man. Then
Austin explained his circumstances, and how he had been the sole
support of the family now for months, and would continue to be so till
they were able to care for themselves. The explanations were not at all
complimentary to the father, but the facts had to be faced as they
were. And later, as the children gave affidavit of their dependence
upon him, he was freely excused from military service. Not all the
brave soldiers went to the war.
The home that Austin and the children were making for themselves was
not in a general way different from others. There were some things of
necessity lacking which bless other homes. There was no mother in this
home, no one for the children to go to for comfort and counsel such as
only a mother can give. Amy and Nell were too young and inexperienced
to know how to give either comfort or counsel. Lila and Doyle missed
this part of normal child-life very much. The other children could
remember their mother; but these two were growing up without knowing a
mother's love and care. And the girls were passing through the age when
more than ever a girl needs a mother. They were not little paragons of
wisdom and understanding, never making mistakes, always doing just what
is right.
One of the problems of the family at this time was Harry. He had
been separated from the family so long, and in knocking about for
himself had built up a philosophy of life all his own. He was not a
rebellious nor disobedient boy, but he had learned to make his own
counsel and settle his own problems. It was hard for him to be under
the strict rules that Austin thought right for his family. He could not
feel that he was a perfect fit among the others. He was not a studious
boy by nature and, though so young, had been missing most of the
school-term for two years. It was bondage to him to sit all day in the
schoolroom, and harder yet for him to know that he was dependent upon
his brother for his support. Just as Austin had yearned for the feel of
money of his own earning, so Harry longed to feel that he was entirely
independent.
“Austin, I can not stand it any longer,” and the speaker stood
before his brother very straight and erect showing off to advantage
every inch of his height. Austin was no higher than the boy before him,
and they looked levelly into each other's eyes. “I do not like to go to
school, I hate books, and I feel in prison in the schoolroom.”
“But, Harry, you need the schooling very much. Think how you have
been deprived of the privilege all your life. You are almost grown, and
have never had a full term of school in your life.”
“I know, Aus, that what you say is all true, and that I need the
learning bad enough. But I can not stand it. I feel mean all the time.
Here I am as able to work as you are, and yet I am taking life easy
while you are bearing the whole burden.”
“Do not look at it in that way, Harry. I am sure I do not. It is a
pleasure to me to see all of you start off to school. That is the very
thing I have been striving for, to give you children a chance to make
good in life.”
“Where is your chance coming in, I should like to know? You have
kept the children most of the time since you were my age. It looks as
if I ought to take care of myself and help you some. Why should I have
a chance made for me while you make the chance for all the rest?”
“I am not complaining of my lot, Harry. I am only too glad to be
able to work, and that I have been favored with that which brings us a
good livelihood. I want you to stay in school. It is the thing you
ought to do. There will be plenty of time for you to help after you
have a few more years of school.”
“Austin, I am going. I have made up my mind and I will not be
turned. I shall get a job somewhere and look out for myself, and help
you when I can. Possibly I can find a chance to get a little more
schooling now and then, and yet not feel that I am a dead weight on
you. My mind is not on school now, and there is no use in my trying to
keep at it any longer.”
“Well, of course, Harry, if you have made up your mind like that, it
is useless for me to say anything. But I am certain you are making a
mistake, and you will see it some time. With the education you now have
you can do only the hardest and most unpleasant labor. The door of
opportunity will be closed to you on every hand, because you have not
the knowledge necessary to enter in. I have been endeavoring to help
you to prepare yourself.”
“I have had as much opportunity for school already as you ever had.
I shall be satisfied if I can make the wages you are making when I am
as old. Do you not think I can do as well for myself alone, as you have
done with so many to look after?”
“You will make good, Harry, I am certain of that. I did not mean to
speak as if I had a doubt of you, and I do admire your spirit. But I
know from experience that doors of opportunity do close in the face of
a boy who is unlearned. I wanted to give you a better chance than I
have ever had.”
“I do not feel I have a right to take it. As soon as I can I shall
help you care for the girls and Doyle. I say it is a shame the way
things have gone. I am not mad at you that I am leaving, and I am not
dissatisfied with what you have done for me. It is too easy a way for a
fellow who can care for himself. So I will get out and find work as
soon as I can.”
Austin went on to his work with a heavy heart. Would it be so with
all the children? Amy had treated the opportunity he had given her for
school so lightly, and had chosen rather the frivolous pleasures of
youth to a few years of application. Soon she would awaken to her
mistake, but it would be after her chance was gone. Now Harry was
flinging over his opportunity just as recklessly, though from a much
better motive. But his good motive would not put knowledge into his
head. That would come only by application to his books. Already Nell
began to speak of the time when she could be spared to go out to earn
money of her own. Oh, that he could make enough to keep them all
satisfied! He did not stop to reason that the same love of independent
earning had moved him in his earlier teens.
Harry found work with a farmer not many miles in the country, so
that many of their Sundays were made pleasant by his company. And Nell
rejoiced more than once in new clothes that his savings made possible
for her. “I am proud of Harry,” was the mental comment of Austin as he
watched the steady progress of the boy.
Austin heard all sorts of laughing, and sarcastic, tearful, and
mischievous remarks about something or other out in the living-room.
His rest was disturbed, and he went out to see what was the matter.
“Here is some news for you, Austin. Guess what it is.”
“Can't guess. You will have to tell.”
“You have a new mother.”
“A what?”
“A new mother. Here is a letter from Papa telling us about it.”
The expression on Austin's face would be hard to describe, while his
sisters were laughing at him. But what else could he expect? His father
had been homeless for a long time.
“I should like to see her. I have always wanted a mother. I should
like to live with them,” announced Doyle, to the astonishment of the
whole family.
“Are you not happy here, Doyle? Is this not a good home for you?”
asked Austin, who felt hurt at what the child had said.
“Oh, this is all right. But I want a father and a mother,” said
Doyle.
There is a longing in the heart of a child for the love and
protection of parents that no amount of sacrifice and devotion on the
part of another can fill. Doyle could not remember his mother, and had
little close association with his father. He loved Austin, but he could
not get away from his longing for his parents.
Austin's brow clouded as he heard Doyle's wish, and saw the
expression on the boy's face. It did not seem fair after the sacrifice
he had made all these years, the way he had given his youth for them,
that the boy should care more for his father and this unknown mother
than he did for his home and the one who had made it possible.
Lila saw the look of pain on her brother's face and, slipping her
hand into his, whispered, “I would never leave you, Austin. You are
more to me than any one else. I wouldn't have any home but this.”
Tears came to his eyes as he turned and gave the child a caress. He
had not realized how his heart did yearn for such words.
A hasty step outside and a quick rap at the door brought Nell face
to face with a messenger boy. He held a telegram in his hand, and
asked, “Is Austin Hill here?”
“Yes. Austin,” she called, for he was in the house. In a moment he
was beside her and had taken the message from the hand of the boy and
was reading it. After a hasty perusal he looked anxiously at Nell and
said, “It is from Uncle Philip Hill. Aunt Minnie died this morning.
There is no return message,” he said turning to the boy and paying him
his fee.
“Oh, Austin! Aunt Minnie dead! It can not be. Think of all those
little children. What will Uncle Philip do?” and Nell's face showed the
sorrow and concern she felt.
“It is certainly a shock. I did not know that she was ill. I do not
know, Nell, what he will do. He is such a helpless man, and has
depended on Aunt Minnie as Papa did on our mother. Poor Aunt! She has
carried her burden as long as she could, and had to lay it down before
her task was done. The poor little children have lost their best
friend.” Austin's face was grave and sad, for his heart was touched in
sympathy with the bereaved little ones.
“Six of them. Think of it, Austin! And Helen is not more than
thirteen. She is only a few months older than Lila. Little John can not
be two yet, and all of them without a mother!” Tears were bathing
Nell's face as she spoke.
“Nell, we must go. We will find places for Lila and Doyle to stay
for a few days, and we will hurry to them. Uncle Phil will not know
what to do. It will be a terrible shock to him. He will need my help,
and you can be a comfort to the poor children. How soon can you be
ready!”
“It will not take me long. How soon can we get a train?”
“We can be out of here in less than two hours. Can you make it?”
“Yes,” she said, and drying her tears she began her hasty
preparations. At the appointed time they were on their way.
A few hours later they stood by the bier of their aunt and looked
upon her toil-worn hands resting now so quietly, and touched
affectionately the cold brow wearing at last a look of peace and rest.
The years seemed to fall away from Austin and Nell and they were a
little boy and girl once more by the side of their own dear dead. How
it all came back to them; and with what sympathy they mingled their own
tears with those of the new-made orphans!
Philip Hill had loved his wife, and leaned upon her. She had been
strength and protection to him. Every perplexity and burden that had
ever en-tered the home had lain more heavily upon her than upon him. He
had been a careless man, and the poor little home and the roughened
hands forever still told a story of hardship and poverty which his
conscience told him might have been lessened. But it was too late now,
and he could only pour out his heart in tears and sighs.
He was glad to see Austin and felt that his capable hands would
remove from him present responsibilities till the dead was laid to
rest. And the children clung to both Nell and Austin as their hope.
It was soon over and the neighbors and friends gone. Austin and his
sister were yet in the home, and tonight were having a talk with their
uncle to learn if possible his plans.
“What will you do, Uncle? The children will need care and attention.
Helen is too young to take the place of housekeeper. Have you any plans
for the future?”
“Austin, I do not know. Everything is a blank, a wall of darkness
before me. I do not know where to turn, nor what to do. I hate to see
the children scattered, but I do not see how I can keep them together
as your father did you children. Can you give me any suggestion for my
first turn? What shall I do with the children now?”
Austin sat in deep thought. The idea of children being scattered
among strangers, never knowing family ties with their own, was like a
monster to him. What he had fought so hard to hold from his own, now
was being poured out upon his helpless little cousins. A thought of
help and succor came again and again to his mind, but he remembered how
frail Nell was for any added burden. Her sharp eyes saw the struggle
and doubt in his mind, and she knew his thoughts.
“Austin, couldn't we take the three little ones home with us? Uncle
could manage with the three older ones till he can make some
arrangements.”
“Nell, it would add much to your already full hands. It hardly seems
fair to you,” Austin said hesitatingly.
“I would certainly count it a great favor. As soon as I could I
would end things up here and come to Weston with the others, and
perhaps could find a way to care for them,” said their uncle.
“We can not go away and leave the little things without some one to
look after them,” said Nell decidedly. So it was planned that Austin
and Nell should take the three younger ones home with them. The oldest
of the three was only six, and the baby was less than two years old.
Nell did not realize then what she was undertaking. Their friends at
Weston lifted their hands in dismay when they saw the increase in
Austin's family. “Is the boy mad to undertake such a thing?” some of
them asked. But Austin and Nell plodded on doing their best with their
new responsibilities. It was already late in the week when they came
home. The next Sunday morning Austin came into his place in
Sunday-school with little John on his arm and with another tiny toddler
at his side.
A few weeks passed by and their uncle came with the three older
children. He seemed to drop them with a sigh of relief at Austin's
door. Though it had been understood that the arrangement was only
temporary, it was soon seen that Uncle Philip felt little more
responsibility when he once had the children under Austin's hand.
Now, Nell was an authoritative little body, bearing, as she had,
responsibilities all too heavy for a child. Lila and Doyle had found
that she was an exacting mistress, and often even Austin had been
puzzled to know how to curb and direct her authoritative inclinations.
The coming of the three little ones had not been so hard, for the
natural mother-instinct in her enjoyed caring for their helplessness.
But Helen and her two brothers was another proposition entirely. She
felt from the first that it was too much, and as her authority was
completely set aside by her mischievous young cousins, they kept her in
a continual ferment. Austin could not turn the children out of the
house, nor could he prevail on his uncle to find homes for them.
At last Austin saw that the burden was entirely too much for his
sister and that her health as well as her nerves and temper were
breaking under it, and he demanded action of his uncle.
“Something will have to be done, or my home will be broken up. I can
not keep house without Nell, and she will not stay with me much longer.
Helen and Lila can not get along, and the boys are a constant source of
annoyance to Nell. I can not be there and attend to my work also, and I
never leave the house but they get into some kind of a brawl. You will
have to do something, or I will.” This brought his uncle to action; but
a half dozen children are not distributed in a day, if proper homes are
found.
Austin could not even in his perplexity demand impossibilities of
his uncle, and must wait as patiently as he could till the six were
properly located. Nell wept at giving up the baby; but Austin saw it
was too much for her to try to keep him. At last they were alone again,
just the four of them about their home table. Sundays brought Harry and
sometimes Amy to dinner with them. Not many weeks passed that some of
Uncle Philip's children were not with them for a meal or two, for to
them Austin's house seemed home.
Austin hoped that now the storm had passed Nell would be herself
again. But in this he was mistaken. Her nerves had been under too great
a strain for her to regain her composure. It was evident that she
needed a rest and change.
“Nell, would you like to take a few weeks' visit somewhere this
summer, or a trip to some place of change and recreation?” asked Austin
kindly one day.
“Oh, yes! I should like to go anywhere that would take me away from
here. I want to be free of cooking and dish-washing for a while. If I
could only be a girl a while instead of a housewife! I am so tired of
it all that I can hardly stand it.”
“I see how you feel, Nell, and I have been planning a way for you.
The Freeman's have told me they would be glad to take you with them on
their trip this summer, and I should like to have you go, if it pleases
you.”
“But what will you do? Lila can not keep house. She is too young,
and she could not manage Doyle. He is all I can manage sometimes.”
“Doyle has never gotten rid of that desire to go to his father. It
occurs to me that he ought to have a chance to try it out. I could send
him down there for the summer, and Lila and I could make out very well.
If you wish to go, do so, and stay as long as you want to. Only
remember you have a welcome home whenever you want to come. So study it
over and tell me what you decide.”
“Lila, little sister, how would you like to be my housekeeper this
summer? I am thinking of sending Nell away for a good rest and change.
Amy and Harry will seldom be here, and you would have the house all to
yourself.” Nell was out for the afternoon, and Doyle was busy down the
street, leaving Lila alone in the house. Austin had chosen this quiet
time to have a good heart-to-heart talk with Lila.
“But Doyle! I fear I could not manage him. He does not like to obey
Nell, and I could not do a thing with him. He is a naughty boy when you
are away. I am afraid he would plague me nearly to death.” Lila spoke
frankly, not because she did not love her brother, but because what she
had to say was truth. Doyle was too active a boy to be shut up in the
narrow quarters his town home afforded.
“We could hardly expect Doyle to obey you who are so little older
than he. He does tease you and Nell dreadfully, I know; but he has so
little to occupy his mind, and he hates the housework Nell gives him to
do. No boy thrives on dish-washing. We will not blame him too severely
for his naughtiness. I am thinking of letting him go down to Papa's
this summer, and if he wishes to stay longer he may. He desires to go I
am certain, and on the farm he would have plenty to keep him busy. If
you also would rather go away for the summer, I think either Wilbur or
George would be glad to have you go to his home for a good visit. In
fact, ever since George made us that visit he has felt it would only be
right for him to have one of you girls. You would have a very pleasant
time in either home. But if you prefer to remain here with me, we can
keep house well enough. I can help you with the heavy work out of my
work-hours, and will arrange to have some one with you at night when I
have to be away. Besides, I intend to get a piano, and you may have
lessons on that while the girls are away. What do you say?”
“I will stay with you. And I shall enjoy the music-lessons. Are you
really going to get us a piano? I would rather be here with you than
anywhere else. And the housework will be fun when I can manage it to
suit myself. Nell always wants to boss it, and I almost hate it
sometimes; but I shall like to manage.”
Austin laughed at Lila's earnestness before he said, “I fear there
is a streak of bossiness in every one of us. I am well developed on
that line, Amy and Nell are my close seconds, and here you are getting
the same characteristic. Well, if you stay with me you can 'boss' to
your heart's content.”
“Austin,” and Lila spoke confidentially, “why does Doyle want to go
down to the farm? I do not want a new mother. She could not be like our
own mother. And I hardly know Papa.”
“Doyle does not remember his own mother at all, and he has longed
all his life for a mother's love. He wants a father and mother like
other boys have, and I can not blame him. Then he loves the farm and
would rather be there than anywhere else. All his talk is about a farm
and farm-work. I think it will be better for him to go. Papa is not
drinking now, and will do very well by him. We must not think that Papa
has no love for his children, nor that he would not have any of us with
him. He was lonely, and had much to discourage him in the past.”
“I had not thought of it in that way,” said Lila softly. “Perhaps
Papa does love us a little after all.”
“Doyle,” said Austin one day when they had a chance for a quiet talk
alone, “do you yet wish to go to your father and his new wife?”
“Yes, Austin, I do,” answered the boy earnestly.
“Why are you dissatisfied with your home here? Have I not made it
comfortable and homelike for you?” questioned Austin, who could hardly
help feeling that the boy's sentiments reproached him.
“It is not that, Austin. I am happy enough here, and satisfied with
all you have done for me. But I want a father and a mother. I see other
fellows with their parents, and it makes me lonesome. I feel as if I
were not getting my share. There can be no one to really take the place
of a fellow's father and mother, can there? I want to be with them and
call them Father and Mother.”
“You are right, Doyle. There can no one take the place of a mother,
and it ought to be that way with a father. I have tried to fill both
places to you children, but after all I am only a big brother. I have a
proposition for you. I will let you go to your father this summer as
soon as school is out, and you may stay till fall, and then if you like
it better than you do here you may remain with your father. You know
what life is here, and when you have tried that out, decide what you
will do. I shall hate to give you up, but if you want your father and
he wants you, I have no right to keep you apart.”
“Oh, Austin, thank you!” exclaimed the boy. “There is nothing in
town. I want to go to the country, where I can drive and ride the
horses and bring in the cows, and go hunting, and climb trees. There is
everything out there, and nothing here but to help Nell with the
housework, and I hate that.”
“You get tree-climbing here, if I may judge from your torn coats and
trousers; but of course the other things belong to the country. You may
try it out. We are going to give Nell a rest for the summer, and with
you gone Lila and I can make out very well. How do you think you will
like the new Mother?”
“All right. Harry has been down there, you know, and he says she is
nice, and wants me to come. Have you written Papa yet to know if he
wants me?”
“Yes, and he is eager for you to come. He gets lonely without any of
us children since he is settled in his new home. They will make you
welcome, and I believe you will like it.”
The little boy skipped off, eager to impart his good news to some of
his friends. He was going to have the dearest wish of his heart
fulfilled in going to his country home.
“Austin, here is a letter from Amy with great news in it. She is
soon to be married, and wants to come home to make ready. What shall I
tell her?” said Nell one day.
“This is Amy's home. She has the same right here as have the
others,” said Austin, adding anxiously, “I wonder what choice she has
made.”
There followed a whirl of busy days after Amy came home, then the
flitting of the young bride to her new home. Austin gave a sigh of
relief, as many a parent has done, when at last he saw his restless
sister anchored in a home of her own. He had followed her movements
anxiously, for he knew there were many temptations for her in the
care-free life she appeared to be living.
“What is your decision, Nell?” asked Austin one day some time after
they had talked over the summer's outing.
“I have decided to go with the Freemans. I do not know how long I
shall stay; but if I like it I shall stay all summer. I feel as if I
never wanted to come back to the round of housework and cooking. I am
so, oh, so tired of it all! But maybe I shall get homesick when I am
once away.”
The first of June came, closing the term of school, and the next day
Doyle was ready to start for the farm. So jubilant was he that he did
not see the pained look on Austin's face, nor for one moment saw the
wound it was to Austin that he could part with his home so easily.
Austin's whole life was bound up in his home. He had not the experience
to know that practically every boy of Doyle's age, and placed in the
same circumstances, would do as he did; nor did he realize that because
the children had been but the receivers of his gifts of love and
sacrifice, they could not comprehend what it had all meant to him.
After a while, when they had met life as all must meet it, they would
look back and understand what he had done, and what he had felt. This
home for the children had cost him his youth and youthful ambitions,
and to part with it would have been like giving up life and hope; but
to the children it was just home, and that a home with limitations.
A few days later Nell was off for her summer's outing, and Lila and
Austin were home alone. How quiet and calm it seemed! And how they
enjoyed themselves! Lila was busy with her music and the light
housekeeping necessary for the two of them, and Austin came and went to
and from his daily work with a heart freer from care than he had done
for a long time.
“Oh, dear!” sighed Lila over the contents of a letter in her hand.
“The summer is not half gone and Nell is coming back. I thought I was
to be housekeeper all summer. Oh, dear!”
“Surely my little sister is going to make Nell welcome! Think of all
that Nell has been to us and our home ever since we began it,” said
Austin soothingly.
“But Nell is cross, and she wants everything to go her way,”
protested Lila with a scowl on her face.
“I know, Lila, that Nell is impatient sometimes. But she has not
been well. She has had to work too hard, and we must be patient with
her. Let us make her welcome, and then I believe everything will go
right. Cheer up,” said Austin happily.
Nell had found her outing much different from what she had thought
it would be. She was a home body, and when she got away from the
familiar scenes, and rested a little from the heavy work, she began to
long for the dear home circle. Besides, she feared that Lila could not
keep up the housework as it should be done. So she had decided to
return long before the summer was ended.
In spite of Lila's protests, she took up her old responsibilities,
and left the little girl free for her music and recreations. Austin was
glad to have Nell with them again, for he had not altogether approved
of leaving Lila so much alone.
Autumn came, bringing a letter from Doyle saying that he had decided
to stay on the farm, assuring his brother that he was perfectly
satisfied with life as he found it there. Austin's answer was a
complete release of the child, so that he no longer was counted in the
family circle.
Harry was home very little, but when he came he brought good cheer
and comradeship with him. He was fond of Nell, and found pleasure in
spending a part of his means in buying her pretty clothes. Nell was
handy with her needle, and was wise in the choice of both materials and
styles, and so was able to go out carefully and tastefully dressed.
Home seemed to have settled once more into steady lines, with just
the three in the family. But as this was a bark that seldom rested in
quiet seas, another storm-cloud was seen arising, and it was larger
than a man's hand.
One day Austin sat in his room in deep and troubled thought. It had
been many months since such a burden lay on his heart. He was perplexed
as well as troubled. That there must be a way out of his trial he knew,
but where to find it was his problem. There had been many times in his
life when he had longed for some older and wiser one than himself to
guide him and his family through the rocks that threatened the little
bark, but never did he feel that lack as now. The very foundations of
his home were at stake.
Every home must have its breadwinner and its home-maker. Ever since
that day on which Nell had made her promise to stand by him and do her
best, she had filled the place of home-maker to his satisfaction. There
had been times when she had grown restless with the confinement of it,
and he had arranged for her to be relieved or to have a change of
employment for a time; but always she had come back with renewed love
and zeal for her home. He had expected her always to be so.
Austin was young in years, but his struggle with the real problems
of life had developed his nature until he thought and felt as a man ten
years older. In his mind his home was a permanent thing. There was, for
him, to be no leaving of the old home and going out to make a new one.
This was his home in as strong a sense as the word could ever be
used. Whatever threatened this establishment was placing his earthly
happiness in jeopardy. He was ready to rise and defend it with all his
strength.
With Nell it was different. When she had given her promise to Austin
to help him with the undertaking, she had felt the need of the shelter
home would give. She was a little girl then, now she was at the door of
womanhood. Instinctively she felt that this was not always to be her
home, and she had a longing for the freedom, that normal girlhood
feels, from responsibility and care. She longed to go out, as other
girls went, to face the battles and make the conquests of life. It
seemed to her that unless she made a bold dash for freedom her whole
life would be given up to dull household tasks.
These vague longings and dissatisfied thoughts caused Nell to lose
interest in her home duties. And in turning her attention to outside
affairs she, for lack of experience and of the wise, guiding hand of a
mother, began placing her affections and desires upon those things that
are very enticing to youth but which do not bring the best good. It
seemed to her that better clothes, more social activity, worldly
amusements, and entire freedom from restraint would bring her the
opportunities and the pleasures she craved. Since there was coming to
her, as comes to every girl, that indefinite time when she must “settle
down in life,” why should she not have her good times now!
Austin saw, or thought he saw, the course these “good times” would
take, and their final outcome. Nell was impulsive and strong willed;
she had no mother to guide her, and he feared the results of a period
of wildness. He needed her help in the home, help that she could not
give with a divided mind. He was a Christian at heart, one who had
covenanted to live by the Word of God, leaving all that was “of the
world” behind. He wanted his home to be in every sense a Christian
home. It disappointed him that Nell was choosing the world.
But Austin, sitting alone in his room, did not reason things out as
we have done here; he only felt and suffered. Nell, his strong right
hand, was failing him. She would defy his rules, close her ears to his
entreaties, and disobey his commands, going out when and where she
pleased, choosing her own company and keeping her own counsels. Not
understanding the nature of the change that had come over her, not
reasoning back to the real cause, he blamed her and censured her
actions. He had hoped to find in Nell one who would understand his
purpose in life, and who would fall in with his plans completely. It
was such a bitter disappointment to find her unwilling to do so.
Austin had much decision and real sternness in his make-up. Since
Nell would not yield to his entreaties, he felt he must compel
her to listen to reason. The methods he had used in times of rebellion
when the children were smaller were of no value now, and some new plan
must be found whereby he could humble Nell's heart and cause her to
walk the path he thought was best for her. He so much enjoyed their
mutual comradeship and cooperation, and he believed she set a high
value on them also. To refrain from talking with her, to keep a
reserved, austere silence toward her except when speech was absolutely
necessary, would surely bring her to her senses quicker than anything.
He was not angry with her, but came to this deliberate decision because
he believed it to be the best way to waken her to her errors.
One more serious talk with Nell, a defiant attitude on her part, and
he began his discipline. Then followed weeks of pain. Nell would not
submit, and Austin would not yield. It was a characteristic of the boy,
as we have already seen, to follow a course he believed to be right in
spite of all the opposition that might come against him. If he thought
a principle of right or justice was at stake, nothing could turn him.
The silence of the home was oppressive and more dangerous than words.
The girls misunderstood Austin's silence and called it anger and pouts.
Nell, who for a while forgot her old loyalty to Austin, spoke of his
behavior outside the family circle and caused evil reports to go out
about him.
There was one who was, perhaps, more concerned about their trouble
than any one else. She was a warm friend of both Austin's and Nellie's.
To her Nell unburdened her heart, and the strong, true heart of Bessie
Allison was stirred with sympathy and compassion for them both.
“Bessie, I can hardly stand it at home these days. Austin is
terrible. He pouts around and won't say a word, and has lost all his
love for me. Home will never be as it once was, for I will not give in
and mind him in every little thing as if I were only a child,” Nell had
confided bitterly.
“Don't Nell, don't talk that way. Austin is not pouting, as you
think, but he is trying to help you see your mistake. He means right.
You know that he does, Nell. Think of all the past, and how he has
stood by you.”
“Yes, I know, Bessie, that he has done nobly by us. But he does not
understand us girls, and thinks we ought to obey him like children. I
can't do it, and I will not.”
Bessie was a woman of prayer, and often she carried their troubles
to the throne of grace. She knew that Austin was making a sad mistake
in the position he was taking, that it was hardening Nell and Lila
both, and that it was bringing upon him criticism from their friends
and neighbors. She could not see how any good could come of it.
“Austin,” she had said one day, “can you not see that you are making
a mistake with Nell, and bringing on yourself needless criticism? Why
are you taking this course, anyway?”
“She must obey me,” he said firmly. “Nell taunts me with anger, and
says I am pouting, but I am neither angry nor pouting. I have decided
to keep this silence till she submits.”
“It is a great mistake, Austin. Nell will not submit. She
misunderstands your actions. You are driving her farther from God. I
shall pray our heavenly Father to give you humility to count yourself
defeated. Nell is not a child any longer, and you can not force her to
be obedient to you, not in this way at least, and you will prove my
words to be true. An example of humility from you now will heal matters
better than anything you can do.”
For years Austin, against the opinions of others, had resolutely
stood to what he thought was right. It was this stedfastness of
character that had brought him through many hard-fought battles. And
the process had developed tenacity and determination to what was out of
balance with his humility and consideration for the opinions and
consciences of others. From his point of view this affair was his and
Nell's, and did not concern his friends and acquaintances. His
fighting-blood was up. But the words of Bessie, spoken so sincerely and
kindly, began to reach his understanding, and at last he unbent.
“Nellie, I do not approve of your conduct. I am sorry for your
attitude in the home and toward its responsibilities. But I see that I
have gone too far in my attempt to force submission. I am sorry for the
mistake I have made.” This he said to her one day. So the long silence
was broken, but without any submission on Nell's part. Her heart was
just as restless as it had been before. It was plain that she could not
make herself willing to remain with her home responsibility. Someway
the burden of it had slipped from her shoulders.
Austin considered the turn his sister had taken; and while he could
not understand it, and in his heart censured her considerably, yet he
had his old desire to make her happy if possible.
“Nell,” he said, “I shall not hold you longer. I want you to feel as
free to go as the others have been. While I have tried to give you a
good home, and have done the best I understood in that endeavor, yet I
would not force it upon you. If you wish to visit your brothers or any
other of your relatives, I will provide means for you to make the
journey. Or if you wish to go to work downtown, you may do that. Do not
feel bound to the housework any longer, for my sake.”
“I do not know what I want to do. But I shall go somewhere soon. Do
not worry about me, for I can look out for myself,” she answered. Her
choice was to go on a long journey, to a distant State; and soon the
home circle numbered but two.
Amy Hill Morton sat in her little dining-room, her arms resting on
the table, and a letter before her over which she was poring with a
frown on her pretty face. The letter was from Nell, and set forth in
frank, girlish manner, her dissatisfaction with the home-management.
“You know how you felt, Amy, how you could not bear to be dictated to,
and you remember that Austin wanted to tell you where to go and who to
be with. You could not stand it, and I can't either. When I leave I am
going to let Aus know that I can look out for myself.”
“Oh, Nell! what ails you?” she half sobbed. “Poor Austin! I wonder
if every one of us children will be a separate disappointment to him! I
know I have been nothing else. If I could have it to do over again I
would let him see how much I do appreciate his sacrifice and devotion.
I do not regret getting married; but I never realized till now what it
has meant for him to settle down and give all his young life for us.
Ned and I have a time to keep our two selves going on his wages, yet
Austin managed to support all of us. I know he never had a care-free
day in his life. He knows nothing but responsibility. He never was
young. I am sorry for every unkind word and act I ever gave him. I am
going to write Nell a letter telling her just what I think of her
plans.” Suiting her actions to her words, she wrote a long letter to
Nell, pouring out her heart in sisterly fashion.
“What if Austin has made mistakes! Look over them. You can not
expect him to be faultless when we are so full of faults. Stay at home,
Nell, and make him a home as long as he needs you. He has done more for
you than has any one else. No one cares for you as he does. Do not
grieve him by your lack of appreciation,” were some of the things she
wrote. Nell was touched by the appeal, for she was tender-hearted; but
it did not change her purpose. She went on with her preparations, and
Austin was compelled to face the problem of life without her.
“How is life serving you these days, Austin?” asked his companion
quietly, for the expression of the young man's face showed that he was
facing some perplexity. He had sought opportunity for a confidential
talk with an older friend whom he knew was interested in all his
affairs.
“It seems my life is a long series of crises, and I face one now
that is exceedingly perplexing. I should like to lay the matter before
you and obtain your opinion as to what I should do. I have come to
where my path seems to break and I do not know which way to go, yet God
knows my heart, that I want only his will done in me. You have heard,
possibly, that Nell has deserted me? I do not blame her, poor girl, for
her part has not been an easy one. Then, too, the way I allowed her to
be overburdened when we had Uncle's children has been against her.
Though she was as willing as I was to help him out, the overwork was
too much for her nerves, and she has suffered from it. Besides that,
she seems to be filled with the same restlessness that attacked Amy. I
shall just have to let her face her own problems her own way, I
suppose,” and a sigh slipped from his lips. Where is the parent of
grown children who has not sighed the same way?
“I think, Austin, that you have expected both Amy and Nell to be
like your self in steadiness and singleness of purpose, when you have
not really had any youth. Possibly the very fact that you had to fight
off every youthful inclination and be a mature man before your time,
for the sake of your family, has placed you where you can not
sympathize with their fickleness. Really, Austin, they are girls, just
girls. You can not judge their actions by the standard with which you
judge your own, for your view-points are vastly different,” reasoned
his friend.
“I think I have expected them to fill the places of full-grown
women. I am certain much of our trouble has been right there. Another
thing I am thoroughly convinced of is that girls need the guidance of
an older woman. Both Amy and Nell have worked out problems in their own
way and come to conclusions that would never have been reached had they
been guided by an older and wiser person,” said Austin.
“Yes, you are right. A child can be cared for by nurses and
teachers, but when a girl reaches her teen age she needs a mother, or
some one who can take the place of a mother,” agreed his friend.
“Now you come to my point of perplexity. I think that in failing to
recognize this fact I have failed to quite an extent with Amy and Nell.
I can excuse myself because they were so little younger than I, and
were spoiled for lack of control when I took them. But with Lila it is
different. I have had her a great portion of her life, and I feel a
responsibility that I never did with the others. But she is just now
where she needs mother-care the most. Already I begin to see signs of
the same restlessness and wilfulness that has spoiled the other girls.
She is such a sweet child, and I want her to make good. But what am I
to do? Can you give me any counsel?”
“Do you and Lila expect to keep house the same as ever?”
“Ought we? She wants us to, and is distressed if I mention any other
arrangement. So far as the work is concerned, with my help she could
get along very well. But she would be alone too much for one so young;
and besides, she is not developing along the lines I wish to see her
develop. She is very enthusiastic just now over the idea of being my
housekeeper, and thinks it would be the best of fun. But she will in
time become tired of the responsibility, and I shall have the same old
trial over again.”
“Could you not secure a competent housekeeper who would be able to
take the oversight of the girl as well, and thus save the day?”
“I might, if such a person could be found. But it is a difficult
matter to find a person capable of coming into a home and taking the
reins in the manner you suggest. Such women already have their places.
Lila would not be easily managed, especially if she should be
approached in the wrong manner. She has a peculiar temperament, but is
tractable enough if one understands her. She would likely resent any
interference from one whom she would consider an outsider. I have no
idea where I could find a person who would answer the need.”
“That plan would depend entirely upon the disposition of the person
employed. It would indeed be hard to find one who would take a motherly
interest in the girl. Have you any other plans?”
“Yes. If I could find a home for Lila where she would be made
welcome and given kind, thoughtful mother-care, I should be glad to put
her in it. I should of course support her and pay well for her care.
What do you think of that plan?”
“What would you do, Austin?”
“I suppose I should have to close the house and board. Batching
would not appeal to me after having the family. I believe I should die
of loneliness. Even with Lila it is very trying for me at times.”
“That would be unfair to you. You are a home-lover. For a home you
have given all your young years, and now to be thrown out with no roof
of your own would be harder for you than you now imagine. Besides,
breaking the home now would be such a financial sacrifice. In a few
years you will wish to begin your home again from a different angle and
motive; for you will find you are not different from other men. It
seems such a loss and waste. I wish your home could be preserved,” said
his friend with marked earnestness.
“I have thought of all those things. So I am waiting to see what I
ought to do. I hate to give up my home, and I confess it looks dreary
ahead of me.”
Here the conversation was interrupted and never taken up again.
Austin returned to his cottage home to consider further his problem.
“Lila, would you like to have me find you a good home somewhere with
a woman who could give you more care than I am able to? You must get
lonely here, when I am away so many hours each day; and I can not feel
restful about you. Do you not think the other plan would be better?”
Austin questioned of his sister.
“No, Austin, I do not want you to do that. You are the only one I
want to be with, and this home is good enough for me,” she said
decidedly.
Again that sigh. What should he do? What was best? And all those
dreams and aspirations of a life of usefulness for God! Where were they
and what were they? Only imaginations? Or had he received a call from
God? A few more years at longest, and he should be free of his family
responsibilities, and then where should he turn? Questions, one after
another, forced themselves upon him; but he was powerless to answer.
Another plan sweeter and better than all the rest stood ever before
him; but he could not be certain it would be for the best. This plan
would not only bridge over the present perplexity, but it would change
his whole life. What if it should end in disappointment! But the plan
was ever before him. Why should he look for an elderly lady for his
housekeeper? There was Bessie Allison! With Bessie's strong heart and
capable hand the tangles of his home-life would unravel, and all would
go well. Besides, there was Bessie herself.
Austin was no longer a boy, and his heart yearned for something in
his home-life which his younger brothers and sisters could not give
him.
If Bessie was willing, and he learned that she was, his home would
be preserved in the happiest way possible. Besides, Bessie's interests
and energies were turned toward that life of usefulness for which he
craved. They would be one in their service to God.
When he had considered all this, and had learned that his plans and
hopes found a hearty echo in the true heart of Bessie, the clouds that
had been hanging so low were all cleared away, and life looked bright
and rosy again.
To these arrangements Lila gave a glad approval, and welcomed her
new sister warmly. Nell was glad also for the change in Austin's
affairs, for though she could not bring herself to be willing to take
up the burden of housekeeping, yet her conscience kept her continually
unhappy at the thought of his perplexity and trial. This was a happy
way out for all. Harry and Amy and Doyle all rejoiced with them that
the home had been preserved.
Thus with the clouds rolled away and the sunshine of love and hope
smiling upon them, Bessie and Austin began their life together.
“Austin and Bessie were married last evening,” remarked Parson
Hawley, one of Austin's well-wishers, to his wife as he stretched his
feet out at his own fireside.
“I am glad to hear it,” was his wife's happy rejoinder. “Austin is a
fine young man, and Bessie will make him a good, true helpmeet. May the
sun shine brightly on their lives all the way.”
“What is your prophecy on Austin's life, my dear?” the good man
continued. “We have watched him rear his family, and have noted many of
his cares and responsibilities, and have felt for him in his
perplexities and difficulties. Has he succeeded in what he undertook?
Have the results rewarded his sacrifice?”
“I could answer your questions better a few years hence. Look at our
own children. Did it always seem as if they were going to repay
us for the care and toil we gave them? When they were in the transition
stage of life, as Austin's children now are, did they show the effect
of our efforts as we wished them to? I think not. I remember sleepless
nights and care-worn days when it seemed that one or the other would
surely bring us sorrow. And there were two of us of mature years. Wait
till Austin's children have another ten years on their heads and then
you can better judge. This one thing I do know, that it is an
impossibility that boys and girls should live with a man who has lived
and is living as Austin, whose whole life has been one of unselfish
sacrifice and devotion, and not be the better for it.”
“You are right, Wife. We have all expected them to be just like him,
when that would have been an impossibility. But do the children
appreciate what he has done as they should?”
“Ah, Henry, what a question for a man of your age to ask! Do the
children appreciate what he has done! Did you ever see children in
their teens who appreciated what their rearing had cost, not in dollars
and cents, but in tears and prayers and pain? I think not. Just wait
till those children have felt the load of responsibility settle upon
their shoulders, fitting itself to their capacity; just let them shed a
few tears of sorrow and anguish, and let them sacrifice, as they will
do, for love's sweet sake—and then they will appreciate him and all he
has done.”
“That is so, Mother. We had to wait a while before our children
could understand the reason for some of our dealings with them. But now
we do not regret our toil and care, since we are rewarded by their love
and appreciation. Come to think of it, we did not have that object in
view in their training. It was not for our pleasure, but for their good
that we worked.”
“And so it has been with Austin. He gave his young life for them. He
has done his duty by them, and he is a better man for it. Even if he
saw no reward in them, what it has done for him has been worth it all.
See his strength of character, the earnestness and purpose of life;
look at Austin as we know him, and can we say that he is not already
reaping the reward of his efforts and sacrifice?”
“Character,” said the good man, after a while, “character is not a
gift but a growth. With Austin it found good soil to grow in, and he
has given it the right kind of cultivation—sacrifice, devotion to a
noble purpose, honesty, sincerity—to make it develop well. Yes, you
are right. It has paid. I was thinking of what he had given up for
them. The pleasures of youth, the fun and the frolic that other boys
get. But they are of lesser value, while he has tasted of the real
things of life. Yes, it has all paid well.”
“But let us not think that the children are even now ungrateful. Amy
is quick to praise him and what he has done; she sees many things in a
new light since wifehood and motherhood have come to her. And Harry,
while he never could bear to depend on Austin, realizes quite forcibly
what his brother has done. Nell is at her most thoughtless age, but
down in her heart she appreciates her brother; the stamp of his life
will be found in her, you may be certain. Lila is devoted to him. And
he has many, many friends and admirers.”
“What will his life be from now on? Will he continue to develop?
Will he realize those early hopes and desires? What do you say?”
“'I am no prophet, nor the son of a prophet,' so I shall not answer
those questions. But I know this, that he has chosen a helpmeet who
will be an encouragement and help to him in becoming all that God would
have him to be. The future lies in the hand of God. May he bless them
and make them all