The Fourth Watch Part 40

Hardly had she spoken ere a step sounded upon the gravel walk and Mr.

Larkins appeared.

"We were just speaking about you," Nellie exclaimed, "and now you are here."

"You know the old saying," he laughingly replied.

"Have a seat, do," and Mr. Westmore pushed forward a rustic chair.

"No, thank you, I have some ch.o.r.es to do before the storm breaks. Here is your mail. Several papers and only one letter."

"It's from my boy out west," Mr. Westmore remarked after Mr. Larkins had gone. "We've had little news from him lately. I hope nothing's wrong."

His hand trembled slightly as he opened the letter and unfolded several sheets of paper within. Nellie picked up one of the papers, a daily from the city, and was soon engrossed in its pages. An exclamation from her father caused her to look quickly up. The expression on his face was one of joy. It was that of a man from whom a heavy burden of care has been unexpectedly lifted.

"Nellie, Nellie!" he cried. "Good news from Philip! He's won his case! The mine is ours beyond dispute, and it is far richer than was at first believed. Read it for yourself," and he eagerly thrust the letter into her hand.

Trembling with excitement Nellie did as she was commanded. The first part of the letter told about the long, stern fight which had been made, and of the victory which had been won.

"You little know, father dear," Philip wrote in conclusion, "what this will mean to us all. Upon my suggestion you invested your all in this mine, and at one time it looked as if we would lose everything. But now all that is changed. I am a rich man to-day and you will no longer want for anything. Your investment will be increased a hundredfold, and you will make more in one year than you have made in your whole life. As soon as I get matters in a settled condition I hope to come home for a short visit, and then. I shall be able to tell you everything in detail."

For some time Nellie held the letter silently in her hand. Her father was sitting near with a far-away look in his eyes. Gone were time and place.

He was thinking of the day he had bidden Philip good-bye. He saw the mother clasping her only son to her heart, and it was the last good-bye.

What hopes and fears had been theirs concerning their absent boy. What struggles had been his out in the great busy world, and how often had his home letters been weighted with despair. Many and many a night had they knelt together and lifted up their voices in prayer on Philip's behalf.

Now she was gone. Oh, to have her there by his side to share his joy! A mistiness rose before his eyes, and several tears stole down his furrowed cheeks. Hastily he drew forth his handkerchief and brushed them away.

Nellie noticed his embarra.s.sed manner, and surmised the cause. Going over to where he was sitting she put her arms about his neck and gave him a loving kiss.

"You have me, father dear," she said, "and nothing but death can separate us."

"I know it, darling. I know it," was the reply. "I am somewhat unsettled to-night. This news is so sudden. To think that Philip has conquered! Now you shall have many comforts which have been denied you so long."

"Don't say that, father dear. What comforts have been denied me? My whole life has been surrounded by love. We have our little home here, with books and music in the winter, and the sweet flowers and birds in the summer.

Does not happiness, father, consist in enjoying the good things around us?

Not for my sake am I glad that this good fortune has come, but for yours.

If Philip is correct, and we are to have more money than ever before, you will be able to rest and enjoy life to the full."

"Nellie, Nellie! What do you mean? Do I understand you aright? Do you wish me to give up my work?"

"But you need rest, father. You have laboured so long, surely you can afford to let someone else do it now."

"No, no. The Lord needs me yet. There is much work for me to do. Life to me is in ministering to others. During those long days at Morristown, when that cloud overshadowed us, how wretched was my life. Nothing to do--only to sit with folded hands while others waited upon me. I shudder when I think of that time. No, let me be up and doing, and G.o.d grant I may die in harness, and not rust out in miserable disuse."

"But you should have an a.s.sistant, father," Nellie suggested, "and he can give you great help."

"I have been thinking of that, dear. It seems now as if one great wish of my life is to be granted. I have always longed to give several years to G.o.d's service, without being chargeable to any one. Oh, to go among my people, to comfort them, not as a servant, a hireling paid to do such things, but as a shepherd who loves his flock, and whose reward is in doing the Master's work, for the good of others. The people may pay the a.s.sistant, but not me. I wish to be free, free for G.o.d's service."

Footsteps were now heard approaching, and in a minute more Stephen stood before them. The flush of joy that suffused Nellie's face told of the happiness in her heart.

"Welcome, Stephen, my son," said Parson John, reaching out his hand. "Your visit is timely when our cup of joy is full to the brim and running over.

We have not seen you for two whole days. Where have you kept yourself?"

"Why, Stephen has been to the city," was Nellie's laughing response.

"Didn't I tell you how he had gone with his logs?"

"Dear me, so you did. How stupid of me to forget."

"Yes," said Stephen, "my winter's work is all settled and I have come now to make the first payment on the farm. There it is. Please count it," and the young man placed a bulky envelope into his Rector's hand. "That is a token of my new life, and with G.o.d's help it shall continue."

For several minutes Mr. Westmore held the package in his hand without once looking upon it.

"Sit down, Stephen," he at length commanded. "I have something to say--to you--and I feel I can say it now with a clear conscience. Since the day I paid the four thousand dollars for your homestead, people have been wondering where I obtained the money, and they certainly had good reason to wonder. They knew I had invested all I could gather together in that mine in British Columbia, and that I could pay down such an amount was very puzzling. It is only right that you and Nellie should hear the truth from my own lips. You well know," he continued after a pause, "that your father was a very dear friend of mine. We had grown up as boys together.

We knew each other's affairs intimately, and we often discussed the future. Your father made considerable money, and had a fairly large bank account. One day he came to me--only several months before his death--and we had a most serious talk together. He seemed to have some premonition that he would not be much longer upon earth, and was most anxious that I should consent to a plan which he had in his mind. He was fearful lest after his death something should go wrong. He knew what a headstrong lad you were, Stephen, and what a temptation it would be to spend recklessly his hard-earned money. He therefore wished me to act as trustee, with another firm friend who is living in the city, and to place in the bank in our names the sum of six thousand dollars. This was to be left there, unknown to others, until you proved yourself to be a man in every sense of the word. In case of disaster or trouble we were to use the money at our discretion for the welfare of the family and not to allow your mother or sister to come to want. That, in brief, is the substance of the plan. At first I did not feel like undertaking such a responsibility. But your father was so insistent I at last consented. I need hardly tell you the rest, for you know it already. I could not, in justice to your father's express wish, divulge the secret until I was sure that you had taken a firm grip of life. You needed to be tested, to pa.s.s through the fire. Now I know you can be depended upon, and so I give you back this money, Keep it; it is yours, and may G.o.d bless you. Part of the balance which remained in the bank we used on Nora with such splendid results. The rest shall be handed over to your mother, and I shall thus be relieved of all responsibility. Will that be satisfactory to you?"

Mr. Westmore ceased, and held forth the envelope. Stephen had risen now and was standing erect. His hands remained clasped before him.

"Take it," said the parson.

"No," was the reply, "I cannot."

"You cannot? It is yours!"

"Yes, I know that. But remember, I have undertaken to pay back that four thousand dollars. Through my recklessness I made it necessary to use my dear father's hard-earned money. Not a cent will I touch until the full amount is restored, and if I have my health it shall be done. Do not urge me any more. Put that money where it belongs. It may take me some time to pay all, but not until it is accomplished shall I feel satisfied."

"Stephen, Stephen!" cried the parson, "give me your hand. Now I know that you are in earnest. I shall do as you desire. My heart is full of joy to-night. May G.o.d be glorified for all His blessings. I shall away to rest now, for the many wonders of the day have tired me much."

The storm which had been threatening rolled to westward. Far off the moon rose slowly above the horizon. The night was still. Everything betokened peace. On the little veranda sat the two young lovers hand in hand. Heart responded to heart, and time was no more. The present and the future were blended. The rapture of living was theirs, for where love reigns there is life in all its fulness.