Emilie the Peacemaker Part 7

He had no mother to come and watch beside that couch, no kind gentle sister, no loving father. He was an orphan, taken care of by an uncle and aunt, who had no experience in training children, and were accustomed to view young persons in the light of evils, which it was unfortunately necessary to _bear_ until the _fault_ of youth should have pa.s.sed away. Will you not then cease to wonder that Joe seemed to have so little heart? Affection needs to be cultivated; his uncle thought that in sending him to school and giving him a good education, he was doing his duty by the boy. His aunt considered that if in the holidays she let him rove about as he pleased, saw to the repairs of his clothes, sent him back fitted out comfortably, with a little pocket money and a little _advice_, she had done _her_ duty by the child. But poor Joe! No kind mother ever stole to his bedside to whisper warnings and gentle reproof if the conduct of the day had been wrong; no knee ever bent to ask for grace and blessing on that orphan boy; no sympathy was ever expressed in one of his joys or griefs; no voice encouraged him in self-denial; no heart rejoiced in his little victories over temper and pride. Now, instead of blaming and disliking, will you not pity and love the unlovable and neglected lad?

He had not been long under Mr. Barton's care, and after all, what could a schoolmaster do in twelve months, to remedy the evils which had been growing up for twelve years? He did his best, but the result was very little, and perhaps the most useful lesson Joe ever had was that which Fred gave him about the Dahlias.

CHAPTER TENTH.

EDITH'S VISIT TO JOE.

Fred and Edith were sitting in the Canary room one Sat.u.r.day afternoon, shortly after the event recorded in the last chapter; Edith listening with an earnest interest to the oft-repeated tale of the fall in the wood.

"How glad you must have felt, Fred, when you thought he was dead, that you had not returned his unkindness."

"Glad! Edith, I cannot tell you how glad; but glad is'nt the word, either. On my knees that night, and often since, I have thanked G.o.d who helped me to check the temper that arose. Those words out of the Bible did it: 'If any man smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also.' Emilie told me that text one day, and I said I did'nt think I could ever do that, but I was helped somehow; but come, Edith, let us go and see Emilie Schomberg, I have'nt seen her since all this happened, though you have. How beautifully you keep my cages Edith! I think you are very clever; the birds get on better than they did with me. Is there any one you would like to give a bird to, dear? For I am sure you ought to share the pleasures, you have plenty of the trouble of my canaries."

"Oh, I have pleasure enough, and their songs always seem like rejoicings over our reconciliation that day ever so long ago; you remember, don't you, Fred? but I should like a bird _very_ much to give to Miss Schomberg; she seems low-spirited, and says she is often very lonely. A bird would be nice company for her, shall we take her one?"

"It would be rather a troublesome gift without a cage, Edith, but I have money enough, I think, and I will buy a cage, and then she shall have her bird."

"We will hang it up to greet her on Sunday morning, shall we?" Thus the brother and sister set out, and it was a beautiful sight to their mother, who dearly loved them, to see the two who once were so quarrelsome and disunited now walking together in _love_.

Emilie was not at home, and they stood uncertain which way to walk, when Fred said, "Edith, I want some one to teach poor Joe love; will you go with me and see him? You taught me to love you, and I think Joe would be happier if he could see some one he could take a fancy to. Papa said he might see one at a time now, and poor fellow, I do pity him so. Will you go? It is a fine fresh afternoon, let us go to Mr. Barton's."

The October sky was clear and the air bracing, and side by side walked Fred and Edith on their errand of mercy to poor neglected Joe, their young hearts a little saddened by the remembrance of his sufferings, "Is not his aunt coming?" asked Edith.

"No! actually she is not," replied Fred. "She says in her letter she could not stand the fatigue of the journey, and that her physicians order her to try the waters of Bath and Cheltenham. Unfeeling creature!"

Thus they chatted till they arrived at Mr. Barton's house. Mrs. Barton received them very kindly. "Oh, Miss Parker, she said, my heart aches for that poor lad upstairs, and yet with all this trial, and the wonderful providential escape he has had, would you believe it? his heart seems very little affected. He is not softened that I can see. I told him to day how thankful he ought to be that G.o.d did not cut him off in all his sins, and he answered that they who tempted him into danger would have the most to answer for."

Ah, Mrs. Barton, it is not the way to people's hearts usually to find fault and upbraid them. There was much truth in what you said to Joe, but truth sometimes irritates by the way and time in which it is spoken, and it seems in this case that the _kind_ of truth you told did not exactly suit the state of the boy's mind. Edith did not say this of course to the good lady, whose intentions were excellent, but who was rather too much disposed to be severe on young persona, and certainly Joe had tried her in many ways.

"I will go and see whether Joe would like to see Edith may I, madam, asked Fred?" Permission was given.

"My sister is here, Joe, you have often heard me mention her, would you like to see her?"

"Oh, I don't know, my back is so bad. Oh dear me, and your father tells me I am to lie flat in this way, months. What am I to do all through the Christmas holidays too? Oh! dear, dear me. Well, yes, she may come up."

With this not very gracious invitation little Edith stepped upstairs, and being of a very tender nature, no sooner did she see poor Joe's suffering state than she began to cry. They were tears of such genuine sympathy, such exquisite tenderness, that they touched Joe. He did not withdraw the hand she held, and felt even sorry when she herself took hers away. "How sorry I am for you!" said Edith, when she could speak, "but may I come and read to you sometimes, and wait upon you when there is no one else? I think I could amuse you a little, and it might pa.s.s the time away. I only mean when you have no one better, you know."

Joe's permission was not very cordial, he was so afraid of girls'

_flummery_, as he called it "She plays backgammon and chess, Joe, and I can promise you she reads beautifully."

"Well, I will come on Monday," said Edith, gaily, "and send me away if you don't want me; but dear me, do you like this light on your eyes?

I'll ask mamma for a piece of green baize to pin up. Good bye."

As she was going out of the room Joe called her back. "I have such a favour to ask of you, Miss Parker. Don't bring that preaching German lady here of whom I have heard Fred speak; I don't mind you, but I cannot bear so much preaching. Mrs. Barton and her together would craze me." Edith promised, but she felt disappointed. She had hoped that Emilie might have gained an entrance, and she knew that Emilie would have found out the way to his heart, if she could once have got into his presence; but she concealed her disappointment having made the required promise, and ran after her brother.

"I don't like going where I am so plainly not wanted, Fred," said she on their way home, "Oh, what a sad thing poor White's temper is for himself and every one about him."

"Yes Edith, but _we_ are not always sweet-tempered, and you must remember that poor White has no mother and no father, no one in short to love." Edith found at first that it required more judgment than she possessed to make her visit to Joe White either pleasant or useful.

Illness had increased his irritability, and so far from submitting patiently to the confinement and restriction imposed, he was quite fuming with impatience to be allowed to sit up and amuse himself at least.

How ingenious is affection in contriving alleviations! Here Joe sadly wanted some one whose wits were quickened by love. Mrs. Barton nursed him admirably; he was kept very neat and nice, and his room always had a clean tidy appearance; but it lacked the little tokens of love which oft-times turn the sick chamber into a kind of paradise. No flowers, no little contrivances for amus.e.m.e.nt, no delicate article of food to tempt his sickly appet.i.te. Poor Joe! Edith soon saw this, and yet it needs experience in illness to adapt one's self to sick nursing. Besides she was afraid, she did not like to offer books and flowers, and these visits were quite dreaded by her.

"Will you not go and see Joe, Emilie?" asked Edith, one day of her friend, as she was recounting the difficulties in her way. "You get at people's hearts much better than ever I could do."

"My dear child," said Emilie, "did not Joe say that he begged you never would bring the preaching German to see him? oh no, dear, I cannot force my company on him. Besides you have not tried long enough, kindness does not work miracles; try a little longer Edith, and be patient with Joe as G.o.d is with us. How often we turn away from Him when He offers to be reconciled to us. Think of that, dear."

"Fred is very patient and persevering; I often wonder, Miss Schomberg, that John, who really did cause the accident, seems to think less about Joe than Fred, who had not any thing to do with it."

"It is not at all astonishing, Edith. It requires that our actions should be brought to the light of G.o.d's Word to see them in their true condition. An impenitent murderer thinks less of his crime than a true penitent, who has been moral all his life, thinks of his great sin of ingrat.i.tude and unG.o.dliness."

CHAPTER ELEVENTH.

JOE'S CHRISTMAS.

Christmas was at hand; Christmas with its holidays, its greetings, its festive meetings, its gifts, its bells, and its rejoicings. That season when mothers prepare for the return of their children from school, and are wont to listen amidst storms of wind and snow for the carriage wheels; when little brothers and sisters strain their eyes to catch the first glimpse of the dear ones' approach along the snowy track; when the fire blazes within, and lamps are lit up to welcome them home; and hope and expectation and glad heart beatings are the lot of so many--of many, not of all. Christmas was come, but it brought no hope, no gladness, no mirth to poor White, either present or in prospect. The music and the bells of Christmas, the skating, the pony riding, the racing, the brisk walk, the home endearments were not for Joe--poor Joe. No mother longed for his return, no brother or little sister pressed to the hall door to get the first look or the first word; no father welcomed Joe back to the hearth-warmth of home sweet home. Poor orphan boy!

Joe's uncle and aunt wrote him a kind letter, quite agreed in Mr.

Parker's opinion that a journey into Lincolnshire was, in the state of his back and general health, out of the question, were fully satisfied that he was under the best care, both medical and magisterial, (they had never seen either doctor or master, and had only known of Mr. Barton through an advertis.e.m.e.nt,) and sent him a handsome present of pocket money, with the information that they were going to the South of France for the winter. Joe bore the news of their departure very coolly, and carelessly pocketed the money, knowing as he did that he had a handsome property in his uncle's hands, and no one would have supposed from any exhibition of feeling that he manifested, that he had any feeling or any care about the matter. Once, indeed, when a fly came to the door to convey Harcourt to the railway, and he saw from the window of his room the happy school-boy jumping with glee into the vehicle, and heard him say to Mr. Barton, "Oh yes, Sir, I shall be met!" he turned to Fred who sate by him and said, "No one is expecting _me_, no one in the whole world is thinking of me now, Parker."

Fred told his mother of this speech, a speech so full of bitter truth that it made Mrs. Parker, kind creature as she was, shed tears, and she asked her husband if young White could not be removed to pa.s.s the Christmas holidays with them. The distance was not great, and they could borrow Mr. Darford's carriage, and perhaps it might do him good. Mr.

Parker agreed, and the removal was effected.

For some days it seemed doubtful whether the change would be either for poor White's mental happiness or bodily improvement. The exertion, and the motion and excitement together, wrought powerfully on his nervous frame, and he was more distressed, and irritable than ever. He could not sleep, he ate scarcely any thing, he rarely spoke, and more than once Mrs. Parker regretted that the proposal had been made. In vain Edith brought him plants from the little greenhouse, fine camellias, pots of snow-drops, and lovely anemones. They seemed rather to awaken painful than pleasing remembrances and a.s.sociations, and once even when he had lain long looking at a white camellia he burst into tears. It is a great trial of temper, a great test of the sincerity of our purpose, when the means we use to please and gratify seem to have just the contrary effect. In the sick room especially, where kind acts, and gentle words, and patient forbearance are so constantly demanded, it is difficult to refrain from expressions of disappointment when all our endeavours fail; when those we wish to please and comfort, obstinately refuse to be pleased and comforted. Often did Fred and Edith hold counsel as to what would give Joe pleasure, but he was as reserved and gloomy as ever, and his heart seemed inaccessible to kindness and affection. Besides, there were continual subjects of annoyance which they could scarcely prevent, with all the forethought and care in the world.

The boys were very thoughtful, for boys; Mrs. Parker had it is true warned them not to talk of their out-of-door pleasures and amus.e.m.e.nts to or before Joe, and they were generally careful; but sometimes they would, in the gladness of their young hearts, break out into praises of the fine walk they had just had on the cliff, or the glorious skating on the pond, of the beauty of the pony, and of undiscovered walks and rides in the neighbourhood. Once, in particular, Emilie, who was spending the afternoon with the Parkers, was struck with the expression of agony that arose to Joe's face from a very trifling circ.u.mstance. They were all talking with some young companion of what they would be when they grew up, and one of them appealing to Joe, he quickly said, "oh, a sailor--I care for n.o.body at home and n.o.body cares for me, so I shall go to sea."

"To sea!" the boy repeated in wonder.

"And why not?" said Joe, petulantly, "where's the great wonder of that?"

There was a silence all through the little party; no one seemed willing to remind the poor lad of that which he, for a moment, seemed to forget--his helpless crippled state. It was only Emilie who noticed his look of hopelessness; she sat near him and heard his stifled sigh, and oh, how her heart ached for the poor lad!

This conversation and some remarks that the boy made, led Mr. and Mrs.

Parker seriously to think that he entertained hopes of recovery, and they were of opinion that it would be kinder to undeceive him, than to allow him to hope for that which could never he. Mr. Parker began to talk to him about it one day, very kindly, after an examination of his back, when White said, abruptly, "I don't doubt you are very skilful.

Sir, and all that, but I should like to see some other doctor. I have money enough to pay his fee, and uncle said I was to have no expense spared in getting me the best advice. Sir J. ---- comes here at Christmas, I know, to see his father, and I should like to see him and consult him, Sir, may I?" Mr. Parker of course could make no objection, and a day was fixed for the consultation. It was a very unsatisfactory one and at once crushed all Joe's hopes. The result was communicated to him as gently and kindly as possible.

Mrs. Parker was a mother, and her sympathy for poor Joe was more lasting than that of the younger branches of the family. She went to him on the Sunday evening following the physician's visit to tell him the whole truth, and she often said afterwards how she dreaded the task. Joe lay on the sofa before the dining room window, watching the blue sea sit a distance, and thinking with all the ardour of youthful longing of the time when his back should be well, and he should be a voyager in one of those beautiful ships. He should have no regrets, and no friends to regret him; then he groaned at the pain and inconvenience and privation of his present state, and panted for restoration. Mrs. Parker entered and eat down by him.

"Is Sir J. C---- gone, Ma'am?"