CHAPTER I.
GRANDMA FROST.
“I’m glad that old woman don’t live at our house,” exclaimed Helen Dobbs, in a petulant tone. “Is she any relation of yours, or what is it makes you wait on her so?”
“Oh, there’s a sad story about her,” answered Jane. “I must get mother to tell you about her son.”
“Well, I know I wouldn’t be bothered with her. Just think how often she calls you to do something, when we’re having such a good time at our play.”
“Yes, I know; and I’m sorry to say that often I am angry to be interrupted. Then she is sometimes cross herself; and I have to think of all we owe her before I can readily oblige her. But mother says, instead of hurting me, all this discipline will do me good, if I keep my own heart right.”
“I’m sure, Jane, I don’t know what you mean.”
“Well, perhaps I don’t explain it right. But I’ll try to tell you. One day, Grandma Frost—we always call her grandma, though she’s no relation to us—was sick, or nervous, or cross, and as I was going down stairs I heard her speak quite sharply to mother. I was real angry; you know, I have naturally a very passionate temper, though I do try to control it, so I ran right into the room with my face as red as fire.”
“’I shouldn’t think you would speak so,’ I exclaimed, ‘when mother does nothing but wait upon you from morning till night.’”
Helen laughed aloud. “That’s right! What did the old woman say?”
“No. I knew I was doing wrong; at least as soon as I had spoken. And when mother fixed her eyes upon me in such a grieved way, I was sorry enough to bite my lips off. ‘Go out of the room,’ grandma said. I ran to my chamber, and had a great cry. Then mother came in and sat down by me, and talked, oh, so beautifully! I cried harder than ever, but I wasn’t angry then; and ever since, when she asks me to do something which I dislike I have only to stop a moment and call to mind what mother said, to be ready to do anything grandma asks.”
“Well, you may do it if you like,” cried Helen, her nose turned up in a most contemptuous manner; “but I shan’t be such a fool as to humor all her whims. All I can say is, that if such an old woman were at our house I’d soon make her mend her manners or I’d contrive some way to be rid of her.”
“You wouldn’t say so, if you knew how she came to be here,” was the tremulous reply. “I can’t tell you, for I always begin to cry, but mother will; I’ll ask her this very evening.”
Company called, however, which prevented this; and a day or two of Helen’s visit passed, without her learning the reason for Mrs. Dobbs’s great kindness and forbearance with a woman, evidently from a low station in life, and who exhibited no gratitude for such favors.
One morning Mrs. Dobbs accompanied her husband to the city, about four miles distant, and Jane was away on an errand. Helen, therefore, was left to amuse herself as she pleased. She read in the library until she was tired, and then sauntered through the hall up-stairs to her own chamber.
As she passed Mrs. Frost’s room she heard a querulous voice, calling, “Miss Dobbs!” “Jane! Jane!”
Helen, naughty girl that she was began to laugh. “Now I’ll have some fun,” she thought.
She kept quiet, and the calling ceased; but the moment she began to make her boots squeak, the old lady cried, “Jane!” “Miss Dobbs! I want yer.”
“I have a great mind,” said Helen to herself, “to go in and give her a real blowing up. I’m sure she deserves it, and it’s somebody’s duty; for she does abuse, Mrs. Dobbs shamefully.” She started to go into the room just as the old lady began to sob out, “I might as well be dead and laid by the side of Jotham; for nobody cares for me now.”
“What are you crying for?” inquired Helen, walking toward the bed.
“Where’s Miss Dobbs?”
“Gone to the city.”
“And Jane, too?”
“No; Jane has gone down to the store.”
“They might have told me they were going,” faltered the old woman, beginning to cry again.
“’Tisn’t very likely Mrs. Dobbs would ask your leave every time she wished to go out,” answered Helen, her anger getting the better of her prudence. “I think ‘twould appear much better in you to be thankful that you have a good home here, instead of finding fault all the time as you do. I’m sure everybody sees how Mrs. Dobbs and Jane make slaves of themselves to put up with your whims.”
Mrs. Frost grew deadly pale, and caught her breath with difficulty; but without noticing it, Helen went on;
“Even the servants complain of your ill temper; and Hannah gave notice yesterday that she must leave if she couldn’t get better rest, for what with your scolding and whining she didn’t sleep half the night. I’m sure if they have to keep you here, I don’t see what you want to make yourself so disagreeable for.”
The old woman threw up her hands, as if her distress was beyond her power to express, and then sank back on the pillow, with such unmistakable marks of suffering that Helen became alarmed.
She flew to the bell-rope and pulled it violently, and then dashed a tumbler full of water in the sick woman’s face.
“What is it? What’s the matter?” cried Hannah, rushing into the room.
“I was only talking to her, and she fell right back,” responded the young girl.
“Well, let me come, for you look about as pale as she does. Why, I declare! I do believe she’s dead or in a swoon. Ring again, miss; will you, for the cook? I’m sure, I don’t think mistress can blame me, for I only ran down to do some little chores; and I left her asleep, too.”
Mrs. Peasely, the cook, now made her appearance; and a moment after Jane came running gaily up the stairs.
“Why, Helen, what are you crying about?” she said putting her arms round her friend’s neck.
“Don’t speak to me now!” was the impatient response. “I’m frightened almost to death.”
“Jane,” called out Mrs. Peasely, coming to the door, “Do run and find somebody to go for the doctor. I do wish your mother was here.”
The young girl darted to the side of the bed, gave one lingering glance at the pale form lying there, and then sprang forward exclaiming, “I’ll go myself; I saw him riding down the street.”
Before the doctor came, Mrs. Dobbs returned from town. Mrs. Frost, under the vigorous measures of the cook, had revived from her long swoon, and was lying quiet and apparently asleep, while Helen was in her room writing a request to her mother to send for her to go home.
Jane came in and began to expostulate. “Why!” said she, “your mother gave you leave to stay all summer.”
Helen burst into tears. “I wouldn’t stay here when that old woman dies; no, not for the world.” She shuddered as she added, “I don’t like to be in the house when there are death and funerals.”
“We must all die, sometime,” murmured Jane, in a thoughtful tone. “But,” she added after a minute, “mother doesn’t think she will die at present; she says she has been subject to these faint turns ever since Jotham died; only she staid in this longer than usual.”
“I heard her speak of Jotham,” said Helen, growing very red. “Was he her son?”
“Yes, but I can’t bear to think about him.” Tears gushed to Jennie’s eyes; but she put her hand on her friend’s letter, and saying, “Don’t send it!” left the room.
CHAPTER II.
THE SOLDIER.
FOR several days Mrs. Frost was very ill. The doctor came regularly morning and evening, and pronounced her case a critical one. Mrs. Dobbs looked pale and careworn; Jane, sorrowful, and Helen, with an increasing weight on her conscience, peevish and irritable.
The poor girl believed that her conduct had induced the old woman’s sickness, and might be the means of her death; but this she kept strictly in her own breast, only replying to Jane’s constant inquiries, “I am homesick.”
At length the worst symptoms began to abate. The invalid’s appetite returned, and hope was entertained that she would recover from this attack.
Mrs. Dobbs was unwearied in her care and tenderness. Mr. Dobbs searched the market for game and other dainties to tempt the palate of his sick guest. Jennie ran up and down stairs with new alacrity; sacrificing her own wishes to the happiness of the old woman. Helen only remained gloomy and restless.
“What can it mean?” she asked herself one day, when she overheard Mrs. Dobbs praising the servants for their ready assistance during their late affliction, adding that five dollars had been added to the credit of each of them. “What reason have they for treating her so well? If it was their own mother, they couldn’t do more.”
Since that eventful day when she had gone uninvited into the sick room, she had never entered there; but now, one morning, Jane came running to find her, saying, “Grandma Frost asked for you; she wants to see you!”
“I wont go!” exclaimed Helen, blushing violently. “If you and your family choose to run at her beck and call, you may; but I sha’n’t.”
“Why, Helen!” cried her friend, regarding her with surprise. “What does make you so prejudiced against grandma?”
“Who is in there?” inquired the young girl, without replying.
“Nobody now. Mother’s lying down. You know she watched again last night, and grandma is as kind and pleasant as possible. I never knew anybody so changed. Come, do go up with me.”
“What do you suppose she wants me for?”
“For nothing particular. She asked whether you were here yet, and then said she would like to see you.”
Helen rose without a word and followed her friend to the chamber.
The old woman fixed her sharp eyes a moment upon Helen’s face, then smiled as she held out her hand.
“I’m sorry you’ve been so sick,” faltered the young girl in a scarcely articulate tone.
In truth she was greatly shocked. She could scarcely breathe. The sight of that haggard face, and those sunken eyes, so affected her, that she longed to run from the room.
Still holding her hand, the old woman said, “Jennie tells me you read beautifully; will you read a chapter for me?”
“In a minute, I will.” Poor girl! she felt it absolutely necessary for her to breathe the air, she was so stifled. She ran down the stairs, and did not stop until she had reached the arbor.
“Oh! how sick she does look!” she cried out, “What if she should die? I never, never will give way to my temper again! But I must go back; I can’t stay here. I must go and read to her.”
Mrs. Dobbs had arisen from her couch to give the invalid her medicine. When Helen entered, she noticed a slight flush on her patient’s countenance, and moved her hand that the young girl had better retire.
“I want her here,” said Mrs. Frost, with her sharp ringing tone. “I want to tell her, and to tell you, Miss Dobbs, and you, Jane, that if I am cross and impatient, I do thank you for your kindness and forbearance.”
Her voice trembled as she added, “You must forgive an old heart-broken woman for her peevishness and impatience; but never think I don’t realize how much you and yours have done to comfort me; no, don’t think that.”
Mrs. Dobbs gazed in surprise at the sick woman, and then at Helen’s flushed cheeks.
“There is something here which I do not understand,” she said to herself; “but this is not the time to inquire about it.”
In the evening, Jane happened to be sitting with Helen in the parlor, when Mrs. Dobbs entered.
After a moment, Jane said, “Mother, will you please to tell Helen about Jotham? She can’t understand, why we have grandma here, and do so much for her.”
“With pleasure, my dear; though it is a sad story.” She drew her sewing from the basket, and began.
“It was near the commencement of the dreadful war which is now desolating our country, that your father considered it his duty to enlist. He joined a regiment then forming in —; and after arranging his business as speedily as possible, left for the camp. Here he remained for, several weeks, expecting soon to be ordered to Washington, when one evening a messenger came; requesting his immediate presence in the city, on account of trouble in his store. The head clerk had absconded with money and notes to a large amount. Unless some vigorous measures were taken, the labor and savings of a whole life would be sacrificed. I was greatly distressed, and knew not what to do. I went to my chamber, and endeavored to throw my burden upon one who has promised to aid his suffering children. All at once I determined to send to one of our neighbors for a young man, and get him to go to the camp.”
“Jotham Frost was the only child of the sick woman up-stairs. At that time she was in good health, earning a comfortable support by her own exertions. Jotham had, from a child, been often employed in our family,—sometimes to pick strawberries, sometimes to run of errands, and of later years as groom. He was extremely fond of horses, and had a peculiar faculty for managing them.”
“On the night I speak of, he at once signified his willingness to proceed to L—, and carry a letter to his master.”
“The next evening, Mr. Dobbs reached home. But he was so changed I scarcely knew him. Camp life had proved unfavorable to his health, and he now and then startled me by a dry, hollow cough. Then he had passed the whole day in the city, trying to straighten out his affairs, and assist the police who were in pursuit of the wicked clerk. He retired to bed, but he could not sleep. He rose, and, going into the next room, began to pace the floor. Then I heard his voice in prayer. I joined him and kneeled by his side. He was beseeching his heavenly Father to make known to him the path of duty. ‘If my country demands of me this sacrifice,—my health; my life; my property,—if it is thy will, O God! help me to submit cheerfully. I give it all into thy hands, lead me by thy finger.’”
“After this he retired to bed and slept peacefully for several hours.”
“When we went to breakfast, and a sad meal it was, I saw Jotham busy in the yard with the horses. I noticed that he kept looking toward the window, and throwing up the sash I spoke to him.
“’I want to see Mr. Dobbs, afore he leaves the house!’ he said eagerly.”
“We went through the form of eating, and then once more committed ourselves and all our anxieties to God.”
“Your father then went out to see Jotham. I stood gazing abstractedly from the window, and I wondered what could be the subject of conversation. We often ask God to help us, and then we wonder at his readiness to do so. While we had been speaking God had heard. But of this I knew nothing at the time. I saw Jotham growing every moment more earnest and excited. I witnessed my husband’s motion of dissent again and again; then they came quickly toward the house, but passed the door and went toward the cottage of Mrs. Frost.”
“I cannot tell you yet what an hour that was which followed to the poor, lone widow. I knew nothing of it at the time. At the end of it my husband and Jotham came back together. The young man was dressed in his Sunday suit, and looked bright and handsome. There was a light in his eye I had never noticed before.”
“’Put the black mare into the open buggy as quickly as possible,’ said my husband in an excited tone, ‘and I’ll be ready.’”
“I couldn’t account for it, but he seemed anxious to avoid my eye. He made some hurried changes in his dress, then was about to leave the room, but turned and pressed me in his arms, whispering, ‘Pray for me to-day, Mary; put your trust in God and hope for the best.’”
“His tone was so earnest that I began to weep. I had not the slightest suspicion what he was about to do. The day passed wearily enough. Had I known that my nearest neighbor was crying her very life away, I should have tried to comfort her. Many, many times I retired to my closet and asked my Father in heaven to prosper my dear husband in his endeavors to arrange his business; and if trial were before us, to help us submit cheerfully to his will.”
“It was nearly dusk when I heard the sound of wheels; and, rushing to the door, saw my husband sitting by the side of Widow Frost, while Jotham walked proudly up the yard by them. He took his mother in his arms and set her upon the steps, while Mr. Dobbs called a servant to take away the horse, and then followed them into the house.”
“’Call Jane and Thomas,’ he said to me. ‘I want to see you all in the parlor.’”
CHAPTER III.
JOTHAM’S DEATH.
“I HAD seated Mrs. Frost on the sofa, and Jotham was near her with his arm around her waist. I waited in wonder the explanation of all this, for now I saw that the widow’s face bore the marks of excessive grief.”
“While we delayed for the children, Mr. Dobbs walked to the window, and again was that hollow cough which struck like a death-knell on my heart.”
“’Wife,’ he began, when they entered, ‘last night you heard me ask God for help. He has heard my prayer. I had enlisted in the service of my country, but had become already aware that I never could endure camp life; then came the dreadful announcement that unless I could give personal and untiring attention to my business, all the savings of my life would be lost. I went to the commanding officer and tried to be released, for a time if no more; but this was impossible. Cavalry were needed, and we must proceed to Washington at once. I came home with a heavy heart. I went to bed and tried to bear up under the burden like a man. Then I remembered that as a Christian I was not obliged to bear it alone. I fell on my knees and besought my Saviour to help me. While I was speaking he heard me. He put it into the heart of this dear boy to offer himself as my substitute. While I was sleeping quietly, he was pleading with his widowed mother to consent that he should leave her. He is her all; and is it strange that for a long time she refused?’”
“Mrs. Frost had been weeping silently all the time my husband spoke; now she cried aloud.”
“Jotham tried to soothe her. ‘Keep up good courage, mother,’ he said. ‘You’ll live to see me a colonel yet. The war wont last forever, and I shall be a great man when I come home. Mr. Dobbs has promised to take care of you while I’m gone.’”
“And then my husband called us all to witness that he would provide for the widowed mother, as long as God gave him the ability. I gladly joined in the promise. I need not stop to tell you more of that scene. Mr. Dobbs gave Jotham the black mare, and all his outfit. He joined the regiment of cavalry at once. His only charge being as he rode away, ‘Take good care of mother till I come home!’”
“Mr. Dobbs and I rode to L—, to see them off, and I thought there was no one in the company who looked so handsome in his uniform, or rode his horse so proudly as Jotham.”
“Mrs. Frost, who could not be persuaded to accompany us, lest she should always dream of him in battle, tried, for our sakes, to appear cheerful. She insisted that she was happier at home where everything reminded her of him, than she should be to come here.”
“Every night, either Jane or I used to go down to her cottage and read the papers. If there was anything concerning the regiment of cavalry to which Jotham belonged, she would cut it out and lay it between the leaves of her large family Bible.”
Mrs. Dobbs paused as if reluctant to proceed, while Helen who had been stealthily wiping the tears from her eyes, exclaimed,—
“Oh, I’m afraid Jotham is dead!”
“Every week,” continued the lady with a sigh, “the widow received a letter from her son. He was well, and enjoying himself exceedingly. He said that he had never for one moment regretted offering himself as a substitute; that his heart was set on going to the war, and if he had not done it then, he should later.”
“Mr. Dobbs wrote the commanding officer, with whom he was well acquainted, and received an answer that Jotham’s conduct was unexceptionable; that on the Sabbath when many of the soldiers were strolling about, he was in his tent reading his Bible, or with a few congenial companions singing hymns.”
“At last there came the news of a terrible battle. My husband opened the paper in the city, read that the — regiment of cavalry were engaged, and turned, with almost suspended breath, to the list of killed and wounded. Alas, he saw it too soon! There it was, ‘—Cavalry, Jotham Frost.’ The thought of the poor mother overcame him. Oh, what a comfort it was in that hour of sorrow, that for the early lost there was no occasion to mourn! He was safe at home, resting forever in the bosom of his God. He had fought his fight, and gone to receive his reward.”
“Mr. Dobbs came home at once, and went alone to communicate the sad tale. The widow clasped her hands, and gave one shriek of agony, exclaiming, ‘I knew it, I felt it. I was sure I should never see him again!’ From that time to this she has never known a well day. The sorrow pierced to her very heart. Do you wonder, Helen, that we are anxious to do everything for her comfort? Do you wonder that we try to bear with her little failings, and to make her path to the grave as easy and comfortable as is in our power? She has sacrificed her all to us, for my husband would never have let Jotham go without his mother’s consent. Is it too much for us to share our home with her, to soothe her grief, to bear patiently with her feeble wailings—the wailings of a broken heart?”
How could Helen find words to reply? Her conscience had condemned her loudly in the morning; and now her heart bitterly reproached her for adding to the burden of one who had already suffered so much. Her head drooped upon her breast as she thought, “What would Mrs. Dobbs, what would her husband, say of me if they knew how I had treated the old woman?”
“Only think!” cried Jennie, “but for her I might now be without a father.”
Helen burst into tears, and ran quickly, from the room.
The next morning when Mrs. Dobbs went to inquire how the invalid passed the night, she found the young visitor lingering near the door of the sick room.
“I should like to see Mrs. Frost,” she began, in a confused manner, her cheeks glowing like fire. “Can I go in a minute?”
“Oh, yes!” answered the lady, with a smile.
Helen walked straight to the bed, and hiding her face in her hands, said quickly, “I am sorry I said that to you the other day; I didn’t know then—I hadn’t heard—about—Jotham.” With a convulsive movement of the throat to keep, back the sobs, she went on: “If Mrs. Dobbs will let me, I should like to stay by you and take care of you, and love you for Jotham’s sake.”
The old woman grew very pale, but answered calmly, “I am glad for your own sake that you are sorry; but you have done me good. My grief was making me selfish. You told me plainly how disagreeable my conduct made me appear, and I determined, God helping me, I would show out the gratitude that is in my heart toward this dear family. Now, my child, you may read me a few verses from the good Book, and then I must rest.”
From this time Helen and Jane vied with each other who could do most for the comfort of grandma. Helen was wholly unused to sickness, and was often awkward in her services; but all saw that her heart was touched, and her kind friend hoped the lesson would be of great benefit to her through life.
Certainly, during her visit, she, for the first time, learned the secret of true happiness. The sacrifice of our own wishes to the comfort of others brings a rich reward to our own hearts.
“O Jennie!” exclaimed the impulsive girl, clasping her arms around her friend’s neck; “how quickly the summer has passed; and how pleasantly, since that dreadful time when grandma was so ill. How differently I feel toward her from what I did when I first came. I love her now almost more than anybody else.”
“Yes, my dear,” remarked Mrs. Dobbs, “because with her is connected the consciousness of having done right.”