“At one time it was an even chance whether that
trouble sent David to ‘the devil,’ as
he expressed it, or made a man of him. That little
saint of a mother kept him safe till the first desperation
was over, and now he lives for her, as he ought.
Not so romantic an ending as a pistol or Byronic scorn
for the world in general and women in particular,
but dutiful and brave, since it often takes more courage
to live than to die.”
“Yes, sir,” said Christie, heartily, though
her eyes fell, remembering how she had failed with
far less cause for despair than David.
They were at the gate now, and Mr. Power left her,
saying, with a vigorous hand-shake:
“Best wishes for a happy summer. I shall
come sometimes to see how you prosper; and remember,
if you tire of it and want to change, let me know,
for I take great satisfaction in putting the right
people in the right places. Good-by, and God
be with you.”
Beginning again.
It was an April day when Christie went to her
new home. Warm rains had melted the last trace
of snow, and every bank was full of pricking grass-blades,
brave little pioneers and heralds of the Spring.
The budding elm boughs swung in the wind; blue-jays
screamed among the apple-trees; and robins chirped
shrilly, as if rejoicing over winter hardships safely
passed. Vernal freshness was in the air despite
its chill, and lovely hints of summer time were everywhere.
These welcome sights and sounds met Christie, as she
walked down the lane, and, coming to a gate, paused
there to look about her. An old-fashioned cottage
stood in the midst of a garden just awakening from
its winter sleep. One elm hung protectingly over
the low roof, sunshine lay warmly on it, and at every
window flowers’ bright faces smiled at the passer-by
invitingly.
On one side glittered a long green-house, and on the
other stood a barn, with a sleek cow ruminating in
the yard, and an inquiring horse poking his head out
of his stall to view the world. Many comfortable
gray hens were clucking and scratching about the hay-strewn
floor, and a flock of doves sat cooing on the roof.
A quiet, friendly place it looked; for nothing marred
its peace, and the hopeful, healthful spirit of the
season seemed to haunt the spot. Snow-drops and
crocuses were up in one secluded nook; a plump maltese
cat sat purring in the porch; and a dignified old dog
came marching down the walk to escort the stranger
in. With a brightening face Christie went up
the path, and tapped at the quaint knocker, hoping
that the face she was about to see would be in keeping
with the pleasant place.
She was not disappointed, for the dearest of little
Quaker ladies opened to her, with such an air of peace
and good-will that the veriest ruffian, coming to
molest or make afraid, would have found it impossible
to mar the tranquillity of that benign old face, or
disturb one fold of the soft muslin crossed upon her
breast.
