Hesper, the Home-Spirit. Doten Lizzie
I had.” She stretched out her hand again for her handkerchief, and Mr. Byers made a simultaneous movement for his hat. Then, as if by mutual and silent understanding, they both withdrew their hands, and the good lady resumed her knitting.
“I only hope and pray,” she continued, “that he may not fall into bad company and evil ways. Verily, it would be much better, Mr. Byers, to hear that he was dead.”
“Very much, Mrs. Dorothy.”
“But O! to think of such a dreadful thing as hearing of his death!” and there was an obvious tremor in her voice, highly suggestive of tears. She winked and swallowed hard, however, and continued —
“I read my Bible often, Mr. Byers, and – “ Here she made a significant pause.
“Yes, yes,” said the old gentleman nervously, as he seized the open volume from the stand; “I have no doubt you do. Let’s see, where is it, and what is it about?” He drew his time-worn spectacle case from his pocket, and taking out the big, clumsily-bowed glasses, placed them upon his nose.
“It’s what the Apostle says about charity, Mr. Byers, and I should think by the way it reads that it was a very good thing.”
“Excellent! Excellent, Mrs. Dorothy, when taken in its right sense; for look you, my good woman – ” Here Mr. Byers extended his right hand, with the fore finger up, and regarded his auditor over his spectacles with a look of profound wisdom – “it’s love the apostle means – love of the first quality. A kind of love, Mrs. Dorothy, that won’t give up, not break down, nor back out, however much it gets – gets snubbed – excuse the word – or pestered, or imposed upon; but like gutta percha, can be crowded into a very small space, or drawn out to any extent without snapping asunder. It’s the very cream of life, Mrs. Dorothy, mingled in with honey and the otto of roses, and we should all be brute beasts without it.”
“Yea, verily,” responded the good lady, with great earnestness.
“And I can truly say, Mrs. Dorothy, that if these words were all that my Bible contained, I would not part with it for the wealth of the Indies; for is it not a comfort, in this crooked and cross-grained world, to find something that will not fail us? We can’t all be Daniels or Isaiahs, or have the wisdom of Solomon or Paul, but the simplest one among us knows how to love. Prophecies shall fail, and knowledge vanish away, but charity never faileth. Mrs. Dorothy, I’ll thank you for a glass of water.” No sooner had the good lady arisen to comply with her visitor’s request, than Mr. Byers drew the letter from his pocket, slipped it between the leaves of the Bible at his favorite chapter, and closing the volume, laid it upon the table.
“Thank you, Mrs. Dorothy. It is not often that I preach a sermon, but when I do, it is because the spirit moves me, as your people say, and this portion of Scripture in particular, always loosens my tongue and puts words into my mouth, whenever I am reminded of it. I would not like to intrude anything more upon your notice at present, but I do wish, my good woman, that after I am gone, you would look at the preceding chapter, and see what an excellent preface it forms to the Apostle’s remarks on charity.” Mrs. Dorothy reached immediately for the volume, but Mr. Byers laid his hand upon it.
“Not now, if you please. The Apostle first goes on at some length to speak of the supernatural powers and miraculous gifts of the times, which caused the whole world to wonder, and exalted those who were thus favored, almost to the rank of gods. Yet, even while confessing that such things were by all means desirable, and to be sought after most diligently, he says, ‘Covet earnestly the best gifts; and yet show I unto you a more excellent way.’ Then he goes on at once to his unequalled discourse on charity – a simple thing in itself, which you, and I, and the smallest child among us can possess if we will, and which shall make us of more worth in the eyes of God and his angels, than all the professors and doctors, and wonder-workers, that the world ever knew. It is beautiful, Mrs. Dorothy! beautiful!” and the enthusiastic old man rubbed his hands together, with an expression of great inward satisfaction, as he rose to depart.
“I must go now,” he continued, glancing at the clock, “for it is about eight, and I have several more calls to make. Doubtless you will hear from Harry before long, so don’t be discouraged. Meanwhile, read your Bible and trust in the Lord, and above all things, don’t forget to look this very night at the chapter which I mentioned. You will find something there worth thinking about, and excellent to sleep upon.”
“Yea, verily, I will, friend,” replied the good lady, “and I thank thee much, also, for thy pleasant discourse, although my disappointment at not hearing from Harry has somewhat troubled and confused me.”
“And what would you have done, Mrs. Dorothy, if, upon my entrance, I had taken a big letter at once from my pocket, directed in Harry’s own hand, with a foreign post-mark upon it?”
“Done, Mr. Byers! I should have shed tears of gratitude and joy over it.”
“Very likely; and this is exactly the reason why I should not like to be such a messenger. Good night, Mrs. Dorothy.” After the door closed behind him, Mr. Byers did not proceed directly on his way. Once more he stopped beneath the window, and looked through the overshadowing vines into the room. He saw the good lady re-seat herself by the stand, open the sacred volume, and then heard her quick, joyful exclamation of surprise. It was quite enough for him. Smiling; and rubbing his hands with heartfelt satisfaction, he bent his steps down the lane, in search of some other place and opportunity for the exercise of his active benevolence and ready sympathies.
CHAPTER II.
THE “LITTLE WIFE.”
“Come hither, Bose,” said Aunt Nyna, shortly after the departure of Mr. Byers, “I am minded to talk with thee.”
The faithful old house dog, who lay dozing in the chimney corner, opened his eyes sleepily and drew a long breath. He rose up, and shaking his rough coat, came and sat down beside his mistress – rested his fore paws upon her knees, and gazed up into her face with a knowing, expectant look.
“I am mindful that thou art but a poor, dumb beast, without a soul,” continued the good lady, “yet nevertheless, as I have no other friend in my loneliness, I would fain speak with thee. Dost thee remember Master Harry, Bose? and dost thee know, too, that here I have a letter from him – the first since he left us three months agone? Look at it, poor creature! It is brim-full of hope and affection, and there are even words of kindly remembrance for thee, which would make thy old heart leap for joy, could they be spoken in his own cheery tone.”
She held the closely written sheet before the face of her faithful companion, but he only winked at it with an unconcerned look, as any dog might be expected to do. Suddenly, however, he started up, wagging his tail, scented the letter keenly, and rubbed his head against it, with a quick, low cry.
“Lord bless his dear old heart,” exclaimed the good lady, with a gush of tears. “He knows all about it. What wonderful gifts the good Lord has bestowed upon his dumb creatures! and she glanced up reverently, with clasped hands, in silent acknowledgment of the wisdom and goodness of the Creator. Again and again did she read over this welcome missive from the only remaining one of the little band which had once gathered around her. Then she placed it once more as a sacred keep-sake between the lids of the Bible, and folding her hands meekly, leaned back in her chair. Her face was turned towards the window, where she could see the clear moonlight falling upon the hills and corn-fields – the locust trees and vines which grew by the cottage waving in the wind, and far out beyond, the village church, with the little grave-yard about it, and the white stones gleaming in the moonlight. Then the faces of her loved and lost, whose mortal remains lay buried there, seemed to look kindly down upon her with the faces of angels, and as they faded away she sank into a deep and quiet slumber. As she sat thus, the door was gently opened, and a young girl entered – a fair, round-faced girl, with rosy cheeks and bright eyes. She wore a checked handkerchief tied over her head – a little brown sack – a short striped dress – blue stockings fitting very closely to her legs, and stout leather shoes. Bose raised his head quickly, but upon seeing who it was, he got up and wagged his tail as if she were an old acquaintance.
“Good evening, aunty,” said the girl in