The Basket of Flowers Part 4

"James," said the huntsman, "take this stout stick in your hand. I have used it to a.s.sist me in climbing up the mountains, but I can easily get another. And here," he added, drawing from his pocket a little leather purse, "is some money that I received in payment for some wood in the village where I pa.s.sed the night."

"I gladly accept the cane," replied James, "and I will cherish it in remembrance of a generous man; but it is impossible for me to accept the money, as it is payment for wood that belongs to the Count."

"Good old James," the huntsman replied, "if that is your fear, you may take the money with an easy mind. Some years ago a poor old man, who had lost his cow, could not pay for the wood which he had bought from the Count. I advanced him the sum, which he paid to the Count, and thought no more about it. Now he has got out of his difficulties, and yesterday, when I had forgotten all about it, he returned it to me with hearty thanks. So you see it is truly a present which G.o.d sends you."

"I accept it," said James, "with thanks, and may G.o.d return it to you.

See, Mary," he said, turning to his daughter, "with what goodness G.o.d provides for us at the very commencement of our banishment, here almost before we have pa.s.sed the limits of the country, and sends us our good old friend who has given us money. Courage, my daughter; our heavenly Father will watch over us." The huntsman then took leave of them with tears in his eyes.

"Farewell, honest James," said he, "farewell, my good Mary," extending his hands to both. "I always thought you innocent, and I still think so. Do not despair. Do not surrender your honesty because you are suspected. Yes, yes; whosoever does well and has confidence in G.o.d, may be a.s.sured of His protection. May G.o.d be with you."

Hand in hand Mary and her father now continued their way through the forest, not knowing at what spot they would rest, and without a friend in the world but G.o.d.

CHAPTER VIII.

FINDING NEW FRIENDS.

Although their hearts were thus sustained by faith in G.o.d, the journey on which Mary and her father now started was a long and painful one.

For days they were unable to find a lodging, and the little money with which they had started was at last exhausted, and they had no prospect of earning more. Although it was sorely against their will, they were at last compelled to ask for bread at the hands of charity. Here again they were made to feel the humiliation of their position; for in going from door to door, seeking for help which they so sorely needed, they met with scarcely anything but rebuffs, and sometimes indeed with abuse. Often their meal consisted only of a small piece of dry bread, washed down by water from the nearest fountain. A luxury would occasionally come their way in the shape of a little soup or some vegetables, and here and there, some sc.r.a.ps of meat or pastry, given to them by some kind-hearted housekeeper. After days spent in this way, they were thankful at night to be allowed to sleep in a barn.

Up till now Mary's father had borne up with wonderful courage. One day, however, the distance which they had travelled was longer than usual, and the road which stretched before them seemed endless, unbroken by the sight of any village or human habitation. Suddenly the old man began to feel very weak. His limbs tottered under him, and he fell, pale and speechless, on a heap of dry leaves at the foot of a hill covered with pine trees.

In great alarm for her father's safety, and overwhelmed with grief, Mary ran hither and thither trying to find water, but in vain. Thinking that her voice might be heard by some one in the neighbourhood she cried for help, but the echo alone answered her. As far as she could see, in every direction the country was without human habitation.

Almost worn out with fatigue, she at last climbed to the top of the hill in order that she might more readily discover any dwelling-place where help might be obtained. It was then that she saw just behind the hill a small farmhouse surrounded by green meadows, and shut in on every side by forest. Hastily running down the hill, she arrived at the cottage out of breath, and with tears in her eyes asked a.s.sistance for her old father. The farmer and his wife were kind-hearted people, and were deeply touched at the sight of Mary's agony.

"Put the horse in the little waggon," said the farmer's wife to her husband, "and we will bring this sick old man here."

When the horse was harnessed the farmer's wife put two mattresses, an earthen pitcher of water, and a bottle of vinegar into the waggon. But when Mary heard that the waggon would require to go round the hill, and could not reach her father within half an hour, she took the water and vinegar in her hand, and went by the short road across the hill in order that she might the sooner minister to her father's needs. Greatly to her joy, she found that her father had recovered a little and was now sitting at the foot of a pine tree. The old man was greatly relieved to see his daughter, whose absence had caused him deep anxiety.

In a short time the waggon arrived with the farmer and his wife.

Placing James in the waggon they carried him to their home, where they gave him a clean little room, and a closet and a kitchen which were then unoccupied.

The old man's illness had been caused solely by insufficient food, want of rest, and the fatigue of the journey. With great kindness, the good farmer and his wife, who were poor people, sacrificed some of their usual luxuries in order that they might have more money to spend on the things which James required to restore him to his usual health. For instance, they had been in the habit of taking a trip every year to a fair in a neighbouring village; but when the time came round they agreed to remain at home that they might save the cost of the journey, and spend the money thus saved in procuring some delicacies to tempt the old man's appet.i.te. At this fresh proof of their kindness, Mary thanked them with tears of grat.i.tude in her eyes.

"Oh," said she, "truly there are kind people everywhere, and in the most unlikely places we find compa.s.sionate hearts."

During the days when the old man was gradually recovering, Mary watched constantly at his bedside. But with the habit of industry which she had practised, she filled up these hours with working for the farmer's wife by knitting or sewing, and as may be imagined, this anxiety to help her benefactors, added to her modest and winning manner, gave great pleasure to the kind-hearted peasants.

By and by the care which had been bestowed upon James, and the nouris.h.i.+ng food which he had got, began to tell upon him, and soon he was so far restored as to be able to get up out of bed. As soon as he felt returning strength, he was desirous of doing something. Resuming their old habits, Mary gathered for him branches of willow and hazel, and with these her father made a pretty little basket, which he offered to the farmer's wife as a small token of grat.i.tude.

When he felt himself quite recovered, he said to his hosts--

"We have been long enough a burden to you. It is time we should go and seek our fortunes elsewhere."

"Why should you leave us, my good James?" said the farmer, taking the old man by the hand. "I hope we have not offended you in any way? The year is now far advanced; the winter is at the door. If you have any hards.h.i.+p again you will certainly be sick."

James warmly a.s.sured them that the only motive he had for desiring to leave them was the fear that he and his daughter were burdensome.

"If that is all," said the farmer heartily, "pray do not distress yourself further. The spare room which you occupy prevents you from being burdensome to us in the smallest degree, and you gain enough to supply your wants."

"Yes, that is true," added the farmer's wife. "Mary alone earns enough with her needle to support you; and as for you, James, if you wish to exercise your trade of basket-maker, you will have your hands full. Not long since I took your pretty basket with me to the market, and all the countrywomen who saw it wished to have one like it. If you like I will procure customers, and I promise that you will not soon be in want of work."

The old man and his daughter were only too glad to remain with their kind-hearted friends, who expressed themselves as thoroughly pleased with the new arrangement.

CHAPTER IX.

A NEW HOME.

James and his daughter were now settled down in a place which they could call home; they furnished their rooms in a simple style, with nothing more than they needed for everyday wants. It gave Mary great pleasure in again being able to prepare her father's meals, and to look after his comforts in every way; and together they led a life of quiet happiness. The good friends with whom they lived had a large garden attached to the house, but as the farmer and his wife had their time too much taken up in the field to give much care to the garden, it was of little or no use to them. James saw that it could be made a profitable source of income by devoting it to the growing of flowers and fruit, and when he proposed to put this plan into execution the farmer's consent was willingly granted.

During the autumn time, James had made his preparations, and when the warmth of spring had melted the winter snows, he began his work, a.s.sisted by Mary; and together they laboured from morning to night. The garden was divided into beds planted with all sorts of vegetables and flowers, and bordered with gravel walks. The old man was anxious to see the completion of his idea, and allowed neither himself nor his daughter rest until he had stocked the garden with their favourite flowers, rose trees, tulip and lily roots, and various kinds of shrubbery.

Mary made a special study of cultivating some rare flowers, among which were some which had never before been seen in this part of the country.

When the summer came, the garden showed such a burst of verdure and blossom, that the valley, which was overshadowed by dark trees, now a.s.sumed quite a smiling appearance. An orchard belonging to the farmer, which had also been taken in hand by James, soon bore evidence to his gardening skill in the shape of an abundant harvest of fruit. Indeed, it seemed as if the blessing of G.o.d was upon everything that James undertook.

Settled in a comfortable home, and occupied in his favourite calling, the old gardener began to forget the troubles of the past, and to regain the cheerful humour which had made his conversation such a delight in the past. Once more he began to reflect upon the lessons which the flowers taught, and day by day he taught to Mary some new lesson which he had learned from them.

One day a woman from the neighbouring village came to buy some flax from the farmer, and brought her little boy with her. While she was occupied in bargaining for the flax, her little child, finding the garden-gate open, had gone in and begun to plunder a full-blown rose bush, with the result that he scratched himself terribly with the sharp thorns. His mother and the farmer's wife, as well as James and his daughter, hearing his screams of pain, ran to him. The child, with his little hands all covered with blood, cried out against the naughty rose bush for having attracted him by its pretty flowers and then cruelly torn his hands.

The occasion was seized by James for drawing a lesson. "It is sometimes thus with us older children also," he said to Mary. "Like this rose tree, every pleasure in life has its thorns. We run towards them, and would fain seize them with both hands. Some are led away by a taste for the dance and theatre, others by a taste for strong drink, or still more shameful vices. But the thorns make themselves felt by and by, and then there comes lament for wasted youth, and a distaste for the pleasures once so eagerly sought. Do not let us be foolishly dazzled by the beauty of the world. The chief end which man has to care for is the saving of his soul, and it is folly to give ourselves up to the enjoyment of pa.s.sion. Our unceasing effort should be to use all diligence to gain eternal life."

One day James was employed in placing young plants in a part of the garden, while Mary was weeding at a little distance from him. "This double labour, my child," said her father, "represents what should be the occupation of our life. Our heart is a garden which the good G.o.d has given to us to cultivate. It is necessary that we should constantly apply ourselves to cultivate the good and to extract the evil, which is too apt to take root. That we may fulfil faithfully these two duties, let us implore G.o.d's a.s.sistance and blessing, which makes the sun to s.h.i.+ne out and the rain to fall, the plants to grow, and the fruit to ripen. Then will our hearts be delightful gardens. We shall then have heaven within ourselves." In this way the old man and his daughter pa.s.sed through life, active and industrious in their calling, and mingling innocent pleasures and instructive conversation with their daily pursuits.

Three years pa.s.sed swiftly away, and the happy days they had spent at Pine Cottage had almost blotted out the memory of their past misfortunes. It was now autumn time, and the chrysanthemums, the last ornaments of the garden, were glorious in red and yellow flowers. The leaves of the trees had become of varied tints, and everything showed that the garden was preparing for the winter's repose. James had lately begun to feel his strength failing, and the thought of his daughter's future gave him considerable uneasiness. He concealed his feelings from her for fear of distressing her, but Mary observed that her father's remarks upon the flowers were now mostly of a melancholy kind. One day she observed a rose-bud which had never blossomed. In attempting to gather it the leaves of the flower fell off in her hand. "It is the same with men," said her father, who had been watching her. "In youth we resemble the rose newly opened, but our life fades like the rose.

Almost before it is matured, it pa.s.ses away. Do not pride yourself, my dear child, upon the beauty of the body. It is vain and fragile. Aim rather at beauty of soul and true piety, which will never wither."

One day towards evening time the old man climbed a ladder to pluck some apples, while Mary stood below with a basket to hold them.

"How cold," said James, "this autumn wind is as it whistles over the stubble fields and plays with the yellow leaves and my white hairs. I am in my autumn, my dear child, as you will also be some day. Try to grow like this excellent apple tree, which produces beautiful fruit and in great abundance. Try to please the Master of the great garden which is called the world."

On another day Mary was sowing seed for the following spring. "The day will come," said her father, "when we shall be put in the ground, as you are putting these seeds. But let us console ourselves, my dear Mary. As soon as the corn is enfolded in the earth, it is animated. It springs from the earth in the form of a beautiful flower, and rises thus triumphantly from the place where it was buried. So also shall we rise one day from our tombs with splendour and magnificence. When you follow me to the tomb, my dear child, do not mourn for me, but think of the future. In the flowers which you will plant on my grave, try to see the image of the resurrection and immortal life."

CHAPTER X.

A FATHER'S LAST WORDS.

The winter had now set in with threatenings of severity. Already the mountain and valley round about the farm were covered with deep snow.

The weakness which old James had been feeling for some time now culminated in a severe illness. Obtaining her father's consent, Mary asked a physician from a neighbouring village to visit him. The doctor came to see James and prescribed for him. Full of foreboding, Mary followed him to the door to ask him if he had any hope of her father's recovery. To this the physician replied that the old man was in no immediate danger, but that he suffered from a disease which would make his recovery as an old man very improbable. It was with difficulty that Mary bore up under the news, and, after the physician had gone, she had a fit of pa.s.sionate sobbing. For the sake of her father, however, she wiped away her tears, and endeavoured to appear calm before she went to him.