Father Brighthopes Part 27

"But the flowers fade, the leaves fall, the fruit drops off and decays, and the tree is a naked, desolate object, when the storms of winter wheel and whistle around it," said Chester, darkly.

"Not so with the TREE OF LIFE," cried the old man, with fine enthusiasm.

"Earth is but its nursery. In his own good time, the Husbandman transplants it into the pure soil of his eternal gardens."

"And the weeds are burned in everlasting fire!"

"The _weeds_--yes; let us hope so! Let us pray that the good G.o.d will deliver us from the weeds of all base pa.s.sion, which continually spring up in the most carefully tended soil of earth. What remembrance do we need of this swamp-lot, when we are once out of its mud and mire?"

"I mean," said Chester, "those trees which the weeds do choke,--those wild crabs which bring forth no good fruit,--_they_ are cast out."

"And can the good Husbandman plant them side by side with the better trees, in his garden?" asked the clergyman. "Indeed, would they flourish in a soil so different from that they loved here too well? Nor would they choose that soil. If they are not prepared for the companionship of the cultivated grafts, other and lower places will be found most appropriate for their unsubdued natures."

Chester remained very thoughtful. By this time they had come in sight of Mark's house,--a wood-colored building, situated on a pleasant rise of ground, in the midst of an orchard. Mr. Royden and Mark were already climbing the fence built about the inclosure, in the midst of which stood the barn and stables.

XXII.

THE FIGHT AND THE VICTORY.

Father Brighthopes and his companion found Mr. Royden examining the injured eye of the sorrel colt, which Mark held by the halter in the yard.

"Can anything be done for it?" asked the jockey, anxiously.

Mr. Royden shook his head, with a pained expression. He loved horses above all other domestic animals, and a fine colt like Mark's he regarded almost as a human being. He could not, it seemed, have felt much worse, had he witnessed the effects of a similar injury upon a fellow-mortal.

"Spoilt, an't it?"

"Yes," said the farmer; "I see no help for it."

"I know," rejoined Mark, "the sight is ruined. But is the eye going to look very bad? Will he show it much?"

"Ah, Mark!" said Chester, rather harshly, for a fresh suspicion had entered his mind; "that hurt can never be covered up. You can't trade him off for a sound horse, if you try."

Mark turned upon him, with a fierce oath.

"An't it enough for me to know it, without having it flung in my teeth?"

he demanded.

"You deserve it all," retorted Chester, kindling.

"I do?" muttered Mark, with clenched fists.

"Oh, I am not afraid of you," said Chester, turning slightly pale, but not from fear.

His lips were firmly compressed, and he fixed his fine dark eyes upon the jockey, with a look of defiance.

"Boys, boys!" exclaimed Mr. Royden, impatiently, "what is all this about? Chester, leave the yard!"

"If you say so, I will go."

"I say so, if you can't stay and be on good terms with your neighbor."

"I only tell him calmly what I think," said Chester, with a resolute air.

"And if older persons had not been present," cried Mark, with another oath, "I should have flung you over the fence, like a puppy,--as you are!"

"Be calm, my son! bridle your tongue," said the clergyman, gently, to Chester.

But the young man's pride was touched and his wrath enkindled. He did not pause to consider the consequences of a rash word.

"I should really have liked to see you try that game!" he replied, with cutting sarcasm in his tones.

The jockey uttered a stifled growl, like an enraged bull-dog, and, flinging the halter over the colt's neck, aimed a blow with his fist at Chester's head. But the latter was not unprepared. Avoiding the attack, he skillfully took advantage of Mark's impetuosity, grappled with him, and flung him almost instantly to the ground.

The jockey came down with a tremendous jar, Chester falling upon him. In a moment the latter was upon his feet; when his father, alarmed and highly displeased, seized him by the collar.

"Let go!" muttered Chester, in an excited manner, but not disrespectfully.

"What are you going to do, you foolhardy boy?"

"Nothing; unless I am compelled to. You will let me defend myself, I hope? I don't want to hurt Mark Wheeler; but then Mark Wheeler must keep off."

Meanwhile Mark Wheeler had regained his feet, mad from the fall. His red-burning eyes were like a wild beast's. Father Brighthopes took his arm with a mild and soothing word; but he shook him off, fiercely.

The jockey was a much stronger man than his quick and determined adversary; but either he feared the latter's agility, or blinding pa.s.sion made him forgetful of every feeling of honor and humanity. His eye fell upon a dangerous weapon, a fragment of a hickory fork-handle, that lay within his reach. He made a spring for it; but the clergyman had picked it up before him.

"Give it to me, old man!" Mark muttered through his teeth.

"Nay, my friend, you must not have it," replied Father Brighthopes, firmly, but kindly.

"I must not? You mean to govern me like a boy, on my own ground?" hissed the angry man. "Let go your hold!"

"I entreat you, pause one minute to consider," said the clergyman, meekly. "Then you shall have the club, to use it as you please."

His words had no effect, except to turn the tide of Mark's fury against him. The angry man raved at him with a tempest of oaths; shaking his fist in his face, he swore that, were it not for his white hairs, he would have crushed him beneath his heel.

"G.o.d have mercy on you!" said Father Brighthopes, with solemn earnestness, and with tears.

"None of your pious nonsense here!" thundered Mark, convulsed with pa.s.sion. "Let go the club, or I shall break your arms."

"You will not break an old man's arms," replied the clergyman, with sublime energy. "No, Mark Wheeler! I know you better. You cannot injure me."

The strong hand of the jockey seized the old man's shoulder. The latter seemed but a frail child in his grasp; but still he did not shrink, nor loose his hold of the club. To Chester and his father, who sprang to rescue him, he said,

"Do not touch him. I am not afraid. He dare not hurt me. _I am in the hands of my G.o.d._"