Medoline Selwyn's Work Part 31

That day I betook myself to the Mill Road with a good deal of expectancy.

I was anxious to see the look of recognition in those once sightless, disfigured eyes, and to hear how the long-concealed delights of a visible world once more appeared. As I was walking rapidly along the street, I saw, approaching me on the Mill Road, one whom I had never noticed there before. He walked with a quick, energetic step, as if existence was a rapture and yet I saw, beneath the soft felt hat, gray hairs that betokened him a man past the prime of life. Strange to say, I did not recognize the pedestrian and was surprised to see him pause, and hold out his hand uncertainly, as if he were hardly sure of my ident.i.ty.

"I think this is Miss Selwyn." Swiftly the a.s.surance came to me that this was Mr. Bowen.

"Is it possible you should first recognize me? I did not for an instant think it was you."

"I had the conviction all along that I should know you, no matter where our first meeting might take place."

"Persons are generally disappointed in the looks of their friends after sight has been restored. You must be an exception to the general rule, or else your perceptions are keener than the average sufferers from loss of sight." I looked closely into the eyes of my companion, and saw that they were unusually fine and expressive. He turned with me, saying, with a beautiful deference:

"May I walk back with you?"

"I shall be disappointed if you do not give me a little of your time. I only heard to-day that you were at home, and have come on purpose to see you. My curiosity has been extreme to know how the world looks after your long night."

"Nearly everything is changed, but mostly man and his works. When the bandages were finally removed, and all the other necessary restrictions, I asked to have my first glimpse of the outer world into the starry night. I do not think our language has a well deep enough to express what I felt in that first glimpse. But the human faces are sadly changed.

Poverty and care, I find, are not beautifiers. My own daughter looks a stranger; only when I hear her speak. My own face surprised me most. It is changed past recognition."

He spoke a little sadly. I could think of no comforting words. After we had walked on some time in silence, he said:

"I do not think the revelations after death will be any stranger than those of the past few weeks. My blindness and restoration to sight have, in a measure, antic.i.p.ated the full return of all the faculties that death, for a brief season, takes from us."

"Do you think any experience we have in this world touches on those mysteries of the first hours of immortal life? I cannot imagine any sensation that will be common to the two existences."

"There is certainly one--probably very, very many. I cannot believe there will be much change in the relationship that exists between the consecrated soul and its centre of attraction. Deepened, intensified, it no doubt will be; but not radically changed."

My thoughts instantly turned to the words the oculist had written. No wonder a man living so far within the confines of the unseen should be able to exercise almost superhuman patience under the most trying exigencies of life. When we reached the broken gate leading into the house, he paused and turned to me. He was silent for a few seconds, and then said, apparently with an effort: "I want to thank you for what you have done for me. Last night, on my way home from the house of prayer, I was hunting up the constellations that once I loved to trace and call by name, and, in some way, you were brought to mind with all that you have generously done for me; and then, and there, I tried to frame some words of grat.i.tude by which to express what I felt. In Heaven I may be able; for only there we shall have language for our utmost stretch of thought."

"Perhaps before we meet there, as I pray G.o.d we may do, I may have more reason for grat.i.tude than you. Have you not told me that your daily prayer is for my salvation?"

I said good-bye hurriedly without waiting for a reply, and turned my face homeward. Gradually there was coming into my heart the hope that ere long I might come into the same wealthy place where he walked with such serenity even amid life's sore trials.

CHAPTER XVII.

CHRISTMAS-TIDE.

Christmas was rapidly approaching, and the pleasant English custom of celebrating it with good cheer, and in a festive way, Mrs. Flaxman told me, was a fixed rule at Oaklands. The dinner provided for the master's table was sufficient in quant.i.ty for every member of the household to share, down to the ruddy-haired Samuel. In addition to this, Mr. Winthrop remembered each one of his domestics when distributing his Christmas gifts. Mrs. Flaxman confided to me that Samuel was consumed with a desire to have his gift in the shape of a watch. I proceeded forthwith to gratify, if possible, this humble ambition, and first went to the different jewelers' establishments in Cavendish to see how much one would cost. On careful examination I was surprised to find a fine large watch could be got so reasonably. At the time I was as ignorant as Samuel himself of the interior mechanism of these clever contrivances to tell the hours. The day before Christmas I presented myself as was always the case, with some trepidation, before my guardian, following him into the library shortly after breakfast, even though I knew it was his busiest hour.

"I wish to consult with you about a couple of my Christmas gifts," I said directly, "if you have leisure to give me a few moments."

"I am never too busy to hear anything you may wish to say, especially anything in connection with your benevolent projects," he said, quite genially.

"Are you going to buy the stable boy a watch?"

"Certainly not anything so unnecessary for that wooden-headed youth. I doubt if he could make out the hour if he possessed one."

"Oh, yes he could. Boys are not nearly so stupid as you might imagine," I responded a.s.suringly. "He is very anxious for one. I have been examining the jeweller's stock and can get a very nice-looking watch for five dollars. I was surprised, and think they are marvels of cheapness."

"You go entirely by looks, I see, in the matter; but that is all that bright-hued youth will require. Yes, by all means get the watch. Thereby you will add considerably to the pile of human happiness, for a short time, at all events."

"Would five dollars be too high to pay for one?" I asked doubtfully.

"If you can secure one at a lower price do so by all means," he said with apparent sincerity.

"There were some for two and a half dollars; but they looked rather large for a boy of his size."

"The less boy the more watch, I should say; but be sure and get a large chain. If the watch gets to be trying on his nerves, he can use the chain to put an end to his troubles."

"If he needed them, there are plenty of straps and rope ends about the stable; but Samuel enjoys life too keenly to be easily disconcerted at a few trials. I was looking at the chains too. I did not know before that jewelry was so low priced."

"Yes?" he responded, more as a question than affirmation.

"I saw elegant watch chains at one of the stores for fifty cents. I told the clerk who I wanted them for, and he very kindly interested himself, and showed me some that he called 'dead bargains.'"

"Go then, by all means, and secure a bargain for the boy. I will advance the money."

"Oh, thank you, I prefer making the gift myself. I want also to get something for Thomas, and I cannot think of anything but a gun or a book.

Do you know if he likes to shoot things?"

"If Thomas developed a taste for fire-arms he might take to shooting promiscuously, and life at Oaklands would no longer be so safe as at present. I should certainly advise a book."

"But some of them say he cannot read."

"It is high time, then, for him to learn. Thomas is a marvel of thrift, and he won't be satisfied to have the book bring in no return. A school book would be a judicious selection."

"I saw a book down town about horses and their diseases and treatment.

Cook says, 'Thomas dearly loves to fix up medicines for his horses.'"

"Very well. Now that matter is settled, have you any further inquiries to make about Christmas presents?"

"Not any more, thank you."

"Then I will tell you a bit of news. I expect Mr. Bovyer here this evening. It is a great favor for him to confer on us at this season--coming to brighten our Christmas."

"I fancied we had the prospect of a very joyous Christmas without help from abroad. To look at the pantry one might imagine we were going to entertain half of Cavendish to-morrow."

"I noticed a wistful look on your face when you came in that the purchase of a gun and watch could not wholly account for. Tell me, what is it?"

"Mr. Winthrop, can you really read my thoughts?" I exclaimed, in genuine alarm.

"Suppose I try. You would like to have a spread for your Mill Road pensioners; possibly at the Blakes or among some of them, and thereby utilize our overplus of provisions. Have I read aright?" My face flushed hotly, for this certainly had been in my mind for days; but I had not courage to make the request.

"You do not answer my question," he said, after awhile, seeing me stand silent.

"One cannot be punished for their thoughts, Mr. Winthrop."