Cora and The Doctor Part 39

Emily was married this morning, and has gone to Waverley. The cottage is closed, and mother will spend the winter with us. Emily and I have had our first quarrel, on the question who shall have mother. I think, however, though she will make visits to Emily, that she will live here, because this has for so long a time been her home.

_Tuesday, November 10th._

Mrs. Benson and her husband have changed characters since I first introduced them to you. Emily is very frank and free with her husband; and does not hesitate to show him that she loves him, while he is quite reserved, though exceedingly tender in his attachment to her. She is perfectly satisfied that he has given her his whole heart, and a very warm one.

Caesar drove mother, Pauline, Nelly and myself over to the parsonage this afternoon. I could hardly realize that we were not at the cottage, everything looked so natural. Perhaps I did not tell you that the furniture was removed from that place to their new home; and sister has been very anxious to make it look as much like the old one as possible.

Waverley people have very generously presented their pastor with a handsome buggy, (he already owned a horse,) that he might have no excuse for not bringing his wife when he comes to see them.

There are nearly two acres of land belonging to the parsonage; and Mr.

Benson has promised sister a fine flower-garden next summer.

I must not forget to tell you the appropriate gifts they have received from Mr. Karswell's family. Enclosed in a kind, fatherly note from Mr.

Karswell, Sen., was a bank-bill of one hundred dollars to replenish Mr.

Benson's library, with an addition of fifty from the son for book-cases, pleasantly remarking, that he had noticed there were none in the study.

A large box accompanied the note, with a handsome service of plate for the young housekeeper. The latter was from the Misses Karswell.

CHAPTER XXIX.

"Domestic happiness, thou only bliss Of paradise, that hast survived the fall!" COWPER.

_Friday, August 9th, 1844._

Since the receipt of your last letter, I have had serious thoughts of taking a trip to England. From what you say of father's health, I fear he is failing fast, and my heart yearns to see him once more. My dear husband sympathizes fully with me in this desire, and were my own health confirmed, he would urge me to go; but since the birth of my little Frank, my health has been very delicate, and he fears the voyage with the children would be too much for me. He did once suggest my leaving Pauline and Nelly, and taking only the baby with Ann. But I was decided in refusing to leave them. Franky is now six months old, and appears to be a very healthy child. I think, he will resemble his father more than even our dear little Walter did. Mother Lenox has now five grand-children, three of mine and two little ones at the parsonage. The Doctor brought the news of the arrival of the little stranger only two days ago. I sent Emily word this morning, that the baby must be named for me. The eldest is Susy, or Susan, for mother. Mr. Benson is very proud of his babies, and thoroughly appreciates the n.o.ble qualities of his wife. He was quite pleased this morning with the name, I had proposed for the little one, but said, he always accorded to Emily the privilege of naming her babies.

Mother has been with sister since June, and will probably remain until cold weather. Frank is not willing to have her away in winter, as she has of late years been subject to a cough. I wish sister Nelly could now see Pauline. The dear child is within an inch or two of my own height, and was eleven years of age last June. Never was a mother blessed with a more dutiful daughter. She has a most delightful influence over her sister, and indeed in her quiet way over the whole household. Phebe, (who has become very "weighty," as she expresses it,) often quotes Miss Pauline's remarks as testimony which no one would dare to question. A few days since she went to the village on an errand in company with Nelly, and on her return I saw her leading a poor, ragged, dirty child, while the woman whom I supposed to be the mother followed a few steps behind.

Leaving her little charge at the kitchen door, she flew up to her room, and then into the nursery; "mamma," said she in an animated tone, "are you willing I should give my birth-day money to a poor little girl who was crying in the street. She has no clothes, and she is very poor. May I, mamma?"

I arose and went below to ascertain the cause of the poor woman's poverty. Pauline followed, whispering, "Mamma, I had much rather give my five dollars to her, than to buy the work-box, because my old one is very good." I found the woman was a Canadian, and belonged to a company of beggars, who go about with a wagon, once every year or two, collecting clothes and money, while they procure their daily food from house to house. I directed Phebe to give them a comfortable meal, but was sorry to be obliged to refuse my dear Pauline the luxury of clothing the dest.i.tute child. I was so much touched by witnessing her tears of disappointment, that I called her to her room, and selected a calico dress, ap.r.o.n and shoes from her wardrobe and allowed her to present them to the child. She hastily thrust her purse of money into my hand, and ran below, where beckoning the poor beggar into the shed, she soon transformed her into a neatly dressed girl. I endeavored to improve this opportunity to explain to my daughter the necessity of discrimination between the really necessitous, and impostors. It was very hard for her to believe that any mother could be so depraved as to permit her child to appear so ragged and dirty if she could possibly avoid it.

_Sat.u.r.day, August 16th._

During school hours this morning, the thought of the Canadian girl so troubled Pauline, that I was obliged to give her the lesson to review, as it was so imperfectly recited, which is a very unusual event. She is generally very prompt in her recitations, and already is a proficient in music, both vocal and instrumental, for which she has a fine ear. I prophesy that she will by and by far surpa.s.s her teacher.

This afternoon I was reading in the library, when she came running in from her walk, in a state of great excitement. "Oh! mamma," said she, bursting into tears, "I have seen the little girl again, and now I'm sure she has a bad mother, for her nice clothes were taken off, and she wore the same dirty, ragged ones as she did before. I don't think," she continued, "that the little girl is wicked, because she hung down her head and was ashamed to see me; but her mother came out of a house with a large bundle under her arm, and pulled her angrily away." As I saw this had made a great impression upon Pauline's mind, I determined to say no more at the time, but take her with me more frequently than I had done of late in my visits to the poor and distressed.

_Wednesday, August 21st._

The Doctor requested me this morning to prepare a basket of food for one of his patients; and I determined to take Pauline with me, and deliver it in person to the family. I knew nothing of their circ.u.mstances, only their name, and a description of the small house which they occupy.

Caesar readily found the place. Mrs. Fuller, the wife of the sick man, was washing out a few clothes in an open shed back of the building, while two children, of about five and three years of age, played in the dirt before the door. The eldest stopped her play to gaze at the carriage as we drove up, and ran to call her mother. We entered the dilapidated building, where a man lay sick of a fever. He was moaning sadly when we entered, and seemed hardly conscious; but his wife a.s.sured us he was so, and that he kept moaning and muttering something to himself all the time.

From the wife's account I found that Mr. Fuller, at the time she married him, was a mechanic in good business, and that they lived comfortably for two or three years, though her husband did not seem happy as at first. He gradually grew more and more idle, neglected his business, and would sit moping in the house from morning till night.

"Was he intemperate?" I inquired. "None to speak of," she replied. "He never took to drink." After conversing with her for a short time at the door, I gave her the basket of provisions, and asked her if she were at present in special need of anything. She was very grateful, and said the Doctor had provided all that was necessary, and I took my leave, promising if she would send for it, to supply her with milk for the children.

_Friday, August 30th._

The Doctor says Mr. Fuller is much worse, and that he has something upon his mind which troubles him. He is not at all inclined to answer questions, but to-day when Frank went silently in, and bent over him, thinking him to be sleeping, the poor fellow said, "that's all I remember, there's no hurt in that, and if there is, I'm not answerable, 'twas nothing to me."

Frank put his fingers upon the pulse, when the sick man turned upon him with a terrible oath, and said wildly, "What did you hear? I said nothing. You can't take me up for that."

Frank soothed him by saying he had heard nothing of consequence, and feeling much interested for the sufferer, who appeared struggling with remorse of conscience for some crime, he sat long by him, endeavoring to point him to the Saviour, who can deliver from all sin.

Mr. Fuller listened as if for his life, and muttered two or three times, "If I could only believe it! _If I could but think so!!_" The Doctor prayed with him before he left. When he called Mrs. Fuller to the door, and related to her what he had heard, she burst into tears, and told him that for years past, he had at times said over and over the same words, to which she could attach no meaning; but she clasped her hands in agony, "Oh, dear," she said, "I am afraid he has been guilty of some dreadful crime, and that's what harrows him up so!"

"The cause is conscience;--Conscience oft Her tale of guilt renews!

Her voice is terrible, though soft, And dread of death ensues."

CHAPTER x.x.x.

"For G.o.d unfolds, by slow degrees, The purport of his deep decrees; Sheds every hour a clearer light In aid of our defective sight; And spreads, at length, before the soul A beautiful and perfect whole, Which busy man's inventive brain Toils to antic.i.p.ate in vain." COWPER.

_Wednesday, September 4th._

How true is the old adage, "Murder will out." It has certainly been verified in our village. But I will not antic.i.p.ate. It was hardly light this morning, when the Doctor was summoned from bed to Mr. Fuller, who was dying, and had been calling for Dr. Lenox all night. At length, he became very urgent, and said, he could not die in peace till he had confessed the great sin that troubled his conscience. I waited with no little impatience for Frank's return; but nine o'clock came and there had only been a messenger for Caesar to drive the buggy to the office.

It was long past the usual dinner hour when Frank returned. When he did so, I saw that something very unusual had taken place, for he hardly spoke, but frequently ceased eating, though he had taken no breakfast, and sat resting his head upon his hand.

Leaving the dining-room hurriedly, he said, "Cora, will you come to me in the library as soon as possible." I left Pauline with the little ones in the nursery, and followed him directly. He silently beckoned me to a seat near him, when he related as follows the scenes of the morning.

"Cora, do you remember the account I gave you years ago, of the setting up of the will of Joseph Lee, before the Probate Court?"

"Perfectly," I replied.

"Well, Fuller, who died this morning, was a witness, who testified that the business transacted by the lawyer, was merely a deed of gift to a poor widow. By his dying confession, however, he has unfolded a horrid plot of villany. Squire Lee at that very time made a _second_ will, which no doubt was in Lucy's favor. He did indeed convey away the cottage at the same interview; but that was only a secondary part of the business." I sprang to my feet, and clapped my hands in an ecstasy.

"But what possible motive could he have had for perjuring himself?" I asked eagerly.

"He was hired to do so by the lawyer. I immediately sent a neighbor who was watching with my patient to a magistrate, and he took down the poor man's confession, together with many circ.u.mstances relating to the subject which will throw light on the villany. A writ was at once made out and served upon Joseph Lee and Oscar Colby, for conspiracy, and before nine o'clock, they were before the justice, by whom they were committed to jail to await their trial at the next term of the Criminal Court."

When the sheriff went to arrest them, Joseph was sleeping off the effects of his intoxication; and when dragged from his bed, and made to understand that he was arrested, he swore and raved so shockingly, that the sheriff told him, he would put him in irons if he was not quiet. Mr.

Colby was different; he looked ghastly pale, while his eyes rolled from side to side; but he made no resistance.