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Maps, plates, charts, etc., may be filmed at different reduction ratios. Those too large to be entirely included in one exposure ara filmed beginning in the upper left hand corner, left to right and top to bottom, as many frames as required. The following diagrams illustrate the method: Les cartes, planches, tableaux, etc., peuvent dtre film6s d des taux de reduction diff6rents. l.orsque le document est trop grand pour dtre reproduit en un seul clich6, U est film6 A partir de Tangle supdrieur gauche, de gauche d droite. et de haut en bas. en prenant ie nombre d'images ndcessaira. Les diagrammes suivants illustrant la m6thode. 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 5 6 OLIVER OF THE MILL BY MAI^L\ LOUISA CIIAKLKSWORTll. ;■ i '. . "i .^■•■^ ^(s: //zn^.4h^i&^ b \ ^ OLIVER OF THE MILL A TALE BY MARIA LOUISA CHARLESWORTH, MONTREAL : DAWSON BROTHERS— PUBLISHERS. 1876. \ \'^t -> h CHAPTER II. " Hast thou thought on a name for thy child, my son ? " Oliver Crisp was slow to answer. Who could wonder I The question drew back on a sudden the veil that closed in the earthly sanctuary of his heart — that scene of overwhelming feeling, the last on memory's page ; that scene, every touch of which was graven in his heart for ever, whose record lay apart from every other, which nothing could efface, nor, he thought, relieve with the softening mist of distance ; standing out clear in the reality of its earthly agony, its heavenly tenderness and glory. In the secret of his soul it was ever present, and there, he thought, through earthly life's long years it will ever lie, in the forefront of all things, until, through the same separation of soul and body he should pass to eternal reunion. In the freshness of bereavement he did not know how, as the distance lengthens behind us, and our solitary steps advance on the "Better Countiy,^' the ties broken here brighten before us there ; and we learn to say with ever-deepening thankfulness, not only, " I shall go to him,*' but also, "he shall not return to me!" . Oliver Crisp could not reveal that sacred scene to OLIVER OF THE MILL. Other eyes ; he did not know how to enter on the question, so he was silent. - " - " The poor mother might well have named him Benoni, 'the son of my sorrow j ' and thou mightest call him ' Benjamin, the son of the right hand ; * for if the boy be like his poor mother, he will full surely be that unto thee." Oliver Crisp rested his elbow on the arm of his chair, covering his face with his hand. Mistress Crisp, seeing that the subject troubled him, said no more. Was the term *' poor " then to be the one used for the future to describe his Naomi, his wife, the mother of his child ? She who ever seemed to him the richest creature that walked the earth, in all her human skill and tenderness, and heavenly grace and love, and was she now to be called "poor," because she had passed from the sin and suffering and sorrow of earth to her eternal rest? A stranger and a pilgrim here, no v she was with the Father in heaven, the absent gathered home; the child of Light and of the Day had passed from earthly sha- dows to the life on which darkness cannot lour. Thus thinking of her, the sad word ''poor" fell with a strange bewildering sound upon his ear ; but as the struggle passed he reverted to the question, saying — " Not the son of her sorrow, mother ; rather say the son of her joy ; for she is gone to all that was more her own than anything here." . ^^^ Oliver Crisp was the fifth generation bearing the w 8 OLIVER OF THE MILL. same na The last three had owned the Mill where they now lived and worked. His father at- tended the parish church, though the highest lessons he learned were not taught by man, but direct from the Holy Word. He had married early into a Quaker family, in the neighbouring town. In the first years of married life they often drove to the Quakers' meeting in the town, but this custom gra- dually dropped, and they went together to the parish church, or Mistress Crisp sent all beside, while she kept house. She was a woman of most upright mind ; erect in figure, rather hard in countenance, but of a kindness of heart that sometimes showed itself in outward expression to the surprise of those who did not know her well. Her opinions and feel- ings were many of them narrowed and stiffened by early pressure from without, instead of being freely expanded from within. This want of early expansion of heart and mind caused her the loss of many touches of feeling and thought that would have moulded her strong nature with more beauty and delicacy. Yet, true in Christian principle and feel- ing, she lived to win the respect and regard of those who knew her; though her influence over others was not what under freer and fuller training it might have been. Her home was the undivided centre of her earthly love, though her kindness extended to many. During her son's married life Mistress Crisp had occupied a small but pretty cottage at the foot of the green hill on which the Mill and the Mill-house stood,. but now in his bereavement she had returned t{ (t OLIVER OF THE MILL. $ to make her home with him and his motherless infant. Oliver Crisp was the first of the name who had not been baptized in infancy. It would have been a strain of feeling to his mother, to which his father would not subject her; but Mistress Crisp knew that Naomi's feeling was strong, and con- cluded it would probably have its influence. Wish- ing not to add any difficulty to his mind in his circumstances of sorrow, she herself began the subject when some weeks had passed away, say- ing— " Dost thee mean to sprinkle the child )" Baptize, mother, they call it.^^ I know it,'' she replied ; " but Baptism is of the Holy Spirit, which many have had who never were sprinkled. I am well assured thou hast been baptized of the Holy Spirit, my son ; but thou never wast sprinkled." On this subject Oliver was ready with an answer. He had often listened silently to the fervent words of Naomi ; he had pondered and read on the ques- tion, seeking counsel from the one only source of true Wisdom; and now, to the surprise of his mother, he replied at once — .* "We may be sure God doth not tie up His grace to the outward forms, so that they cannot be parted if it so pleaseth Him; but if He, who was man for our sakes, did use water when the Baptism of the Spirit came on Him, we cannot be wrong if we follow in His steps, who hath laid Bap- 10 OLIVER OF THR MILL. tism on us as a command, and a means of salvation. He stood for us all the way through, and who can say but we should be wrong, if we slighted the sign, when we sought for the grace ? " " Dost thee mean for thyself, son ? *' '*WeIl, mother, the child and I are left alone, and we must stand as one. God grant His grace may keep us one for ever \ " Mistress Crisp was silent, and Oliver was con- sidering what he had said. The October twilight was growing duskier as they sat beside the fire; it was perhaps an easier time to Oliver Crisp for con- verse than the light of busy day. A feeling came over him as if he might have seemed to shut out his mother; she had made no comment on his declara- tion : and presently he said in a low tone, " Mother, might not you be the third ? " "Ah, son! I never would at the word of thy father; he asked it of me when thou wcrt an infant. I have sometimes wished 1 had not denied him ; but when we have looked only on one side, ^tis not easy to turn for the other. We seem to have a born knowledge that our way must be right; but I have come to believe we should look into the Scriptures to learn from the Word and the Spirit ; and then, may be, we should not always stick fast where we were ! " "Then, mother, receive the outward sign with the child and with me; and who knows but an add^d grace may come to us with it I " " How could I turn for thy word, son, when I stood out against thy father's ? '* OLIVER OF THE MILL. II "Not my word, O mother! but His word, who said| *A11 power is given unto Me in heaven and in earth: go ye therefore, and teach all nations, bap- tizing them in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.' " "Ah, son! if it be His word, I have stood against Him so long, I dare not turn as persuaHed by thee." "Yet why not?" asked Oliver Crisp. "He who stooi as son to His mother on earth, would never be against a son prevailing for good." The da/s passed on quietly until Oliver Crisp said, " I would not see October O'lt without the child being christened." " Well," answered Mistress Crisp, " I can tell thee I have scarce thought on anything else. I think I can see light in it for thee and for me ; but for the poor babe who cannot tell one thing from another, it seems to me superstition and nothing less nor more.'* Then Oliver Crisp answered slowly but readily, as one might who spoke from a book, or from long consideration and settled conviction, "The grace that receiveth the poor babe that departs this life, is free to the infant at all times. It is His grace who knoweth no change nor shadow of turning. Thou must deny the dead babe His mercy, or grant it free to the living. The question of responsibility and free-will belongeth not to babes. It is a simple case of mercy for infants, through Him who took their nature that they might be received in God*s mercy 'f 19 OLIVER OP THE MILL. through Him. The case of neglecting salvation or rejecting the blessing doth not touch them. Mercy floweth free to the babe ; thanks be to Him who was the sinless infant of Bethlehem for them ! " As he spoke he turned his eyes on the sleeping infant, and the fervour of Naomi's voice came over his soul as she said, " Did He not command that the children should be brought unto Him? Did He not blame those who would have kept them from Him ? Did He not take them up in His arms and lay His hand upon them and bless them, and exhort all to follow their childlike spirit, if they would inherit the kingdom ? O, Oliver," she added, " if when we were yet without strength Christ died for the ungodly, there surely is a welcome for the strengthless bibe to His arms and His covenant ! What would Naomi have felt if Obed, born to Boaz, might not have received the outward sign of God's covenant with Israel his people 1 And what would every Naomi, from the birth of Messiah down to your own Naomi to-day, feel, if their infants were denied the tender seal of the covenant of peace that now embraces their parents ! " Naomi had spoken to this effect, and the feeling of her words came back over the soul of her hus- band. Her Jewish fervour had been roused by the question, yet she asked no promise, and never named the subject again. Left free, Oliver Crisp felt the personal responsibility which led him the more earnestly to consider, and more fervently to act, when conviction had come to his mind. OLIVER OF THE MILL. 13 His mother listened, but made no re^^Iy. After a while Oliver Crisp took up the subject again, in- creasingly anxious that his mother should see and act as appeared right to him. " You would hold, mother, that while we are constantly seeking for the Holy Spirit to enlighten our minds in the Scriptures, and the knowledge of Christ, who is Himself the Word, you would hold we are bound to act up to the light that we have, without regard to the past of our life, or to man, wouldst thou not ? " * " Yes, thy words have a right sound," she re plied ; " but I fear I have thought a deal of the past, and the way I was brought up in, and had much respect to man. I like thy discourse, and would have thcc say more. I often wish now that I had let our poor Naomi speak more freely with me; somehow something rose up against it when she tried to begin.'* " Ah, mother, that leads us back to the babe, and to Him who said, ' Whosoever shall humble him- self as this little child, the same is greatest in the Kingdom of Heaven; and whoso shall receive one such little child in mv Namk receiveth Mel' How then should not the little child De baptized in His Name?'' " But they say baptism signifieth believing." " So it must,'' replied her son, " for those of older years, such as were those whom the Apostles were to teach. Nor can baptism avail aught to the child in after years if it be not followed by M OLIVER OF THE MILL. faith. But baptism acknowledgeth the death of nature and the raising up to a new life in Christ, who both died and rose again that we might die v*. His death, and be raised in Him. This baptism signifieth ; and this the beheving parent may desire to show forth in his child. I do ofttimes see that a word is taken and made a block in the way, hmder- ing and shutting out, when the blessed Truth is opening its arms on one side and the other.*' The name he should give his infant cost Oliver Crisp many a thought. He said over and over, " Malachi," " Malachi," as breathed from the lips of Naomi ; but though a name revered in the Bible, it had a strange unnatural sound to his ear in the familiar life of every day. Many times, when alone, he repeated it aloud to try whether he could get accustomed to the thought that one named Malachi could be the child of Oliver Crisp ; but he always found his mind led by the name to some inspired words of the prophet^, and never to the infant son of his home. He remembered the reason which Naomi had given for her choice of the name, but that reason was one Oliver Crisp failed to take in. Naomi's mother was a Jewess by birth, the daughter of Jewish parents of foreign nationality. Receiving the Christian faith she had lost all that family ties could provide ; she had married a Jewish missionary and had come with him, in his failing health, to England ; led by his native ties to this village of the West, which was the dwelling-place of the Crisps. Left a widow, and losing all that had ll OLIVK^. OF THE MILL. »5 led her husband there, she earned a maintenance for herself and her child by her skill in embroidery — embroidery of the needle being in great request in those days. Naomi's mother, passing from the intense expec- tation that pious Israelites held of a coming Messiah, had found a still higher hope in the blessed expec- tation that Jesus Christ, whom she now knew as Israel's true though rejected Redeemer, was coming again — that He was coming again, not first to receive to His glory His people Israel, His typical Bride ; but to receive first His Church to Himself, "the Lamb's wife" — that the day and the hour of His coming no man knew ; that all were to watch lest coming suddenly He should find them sleeping. Naomi's mother had but changed her expectation from a first coming to a second coming in glory; when the children of the Light and of the Day would be "caught up on clouds to meet Him in the air, and so w^ould be for ever with the Lord." The Jewish week of six thousand years having nearly expired, Naomi's mother dwelt in thought on the seventh thousand — the Sabbath of rest and blessing — and she stored the heart of her daughter with the prophetic visions of millennial peace. This intense personal love and expectation of Him who had once been despised and rejected of men, this hope full of immortality, steeped the fading years of earthly privation to Naomi's mother in the glow of life everlasting; and gave to her child, Naomi, an elevation of thought and feeling. i6 OLIVER OF THE MILL. which raised her above the depression of early cir- cumstances, enabling her to tread in " blessed hope " the pathway of life, daily waiting and watching for the Messiah's return. Oliver Crisp had never caught the inspiration ot this hope. He rested in the work wrought for man's salvation, and believed it was a finished work. He trusted his daily life to His Providence whose grace had saved his soul. His spirit was restful, his life was consistent ; but it lacked the onward, upward tendency that strong expectation gives. His life lacked the spiritual brightness given by constantly turning to One whose return is ever drawing nearer, One in whom every hope is to meet its infinite and eternal fulfilment. On the day of the infant's baptism Oliver Crisp said finally to himself, " Maliichi ! She must have been dreaming some old Jewish dream, or had some vision of things to come which I cannot understand ! She said, ' I should wish thee to call him by the name that may seem best to thee.' She was always the wisest of women ; she knew she was leaving this world for a better, and was more likely herself to judge by that world than this ! I know of no name for honest trading like Oliver. It is a name that has stood well for generations gone by, and may for generations to come. It was my father's name, and he gave it honour — for a worthier man never traded in flour. It must be settled to-day. I shall be glad when it is done with. I am sure I had best name him Oliver ! " . • 4>£ 'i 4- CHAPTER III. It was the last day of calm October. Oliver Crisp did not go to his Mill. The day of his motherless infant's baptism was sacred to him as a Sabbath. The old nurse who had tended the mother looked in, asking leave to dress the baby, to which Mistress Crisp gladly consented, for her mind was on the s.;rain with the events of the day, and she hardly trusted her servant girl on a day so special ! But when she found the old nurse fixing tiny rosettes of crape on each little sleeve, and on the band of the white robe which Naomi had made and embroidered in anticipation of that day, she was displeased, and bade her keep such conceits for those who made mourning a question of dress. The old nurse was hurt, and said it was unchristian to let the poor babe go out into the world with no signs of its sorrow and loss. Mistress Crisp might have spoken severely, for her feelings were much on the strain, but her son came downstairs dressed in heavy black cloth, which made a striking difference in him, as he wore, except in deep mourning, corduroys and top- boots i and his hat was covered with crape. This satisfied the old nurse, and his presence calmed his mother. People have a way of saying, " What a sin i8 OLIVER OF THE MILL. to put yourself out when going to a holy service 1 " not considering that in the weakness of nature it is often deep feeling keeping the spirit on the strain which makes self-control so readily lost. Self-con- trol is a cold victory; but the quivering spirit, if stayed on the Lord himself, can be kept by Him in perfect peace. Oliver Crisp took his infant on his arm, and wrapped it up in Naomi's shawl with as much tender- ness as a mother. He said to the old nurse, " Pass on, and we will follow." Then, in a voice that struggled with emotion, " Mother, we are ^oing to show forth that we receive the kingdom of heaven as ittle children to-day j let us kneel at His feet whose blessing we seek." Mistress Crisp kneeled by her son ; it had not been her custom to kneel, she sat on her chair at morning and evening prayer, but now she felt it a comfort to take the outward posture of supplication. Her son kneeled on one knee, on the other lay his infant asleep on his arm ; quiet tears fell from the mother's eyes, calming and softening her spirit in prayer. " Lord Jesus, we come in Thy name. We are slow of Speech, and slow of understanding Thy love; but here we offer and present ourselves, our souls and bodies, to be unto Thee a reasonable sacrifice, praying Thee that we may be filled with the Spirit. We bring this infant to the arms of Thy mercy, beseeching Thee that as one whom his mother com- forteth. Thou wouldest receive, keep, and comfort him, both now and evermore, to the glory of Thy OLIVER OF THE MILL. 19 ervice ! ** lire it is he strain Self-con- if stayed n perfect irm, and h tender- ;e, " Pass Dice that pjoing to leavcn as 'et whose d by her , she sat but now osture of e, on the liet tears softening We are rhy love ; )ur souls sacrifice, le Spirit, ly mercy, ;her com- comfort / of Thy grace, O God, our heavenly Father, in our ever- blessed Lord and Saviour. Amen." Then Oliver Crisp put on his hat, and stepped slowly and cautiously down the threshold-step ; he walked as one carrying a burden; it was not the weight but the treasure he bore that made him tread so heedfully. They said he had never taken the infant in his arms before that day; they did not know the secrets of Naomi's departing hour. As Mistress Crisp passed her own cottage gate, she said, " I will be up with you in no time ;" and hurrying to the casement of the now deserted dwell- ing, she plucked a red rose, that hung its head as if it mourned the summer. She laid it in the white folds of her neckerchief, and hastened on. As they trod the winding lane to the church, they saw one and another gathering there. Farmer Caxton, in his Sunday coat of black; Keziah,the servant girl, followed him, with a child dressed in mourning in her arms, Baby Meg by name; Mistress Caxton hurrying after, with her prayer-book in her white pocket-handkerchief. Mother Dumbleton, the village help. Old Joe Richards, with his thin bent legs, leaning on his oaken staff; he looked hard at Mistress Crisp, for his small eyes were keen, he could read fine type without glasses, and he was pretty sure he caught a sight of the red rose that was not meant to be seen. It was afternoc a-school time, but children were watching down the lane to see the baby come, and, walking slowly on before was Dame Truman, the village schoolmistress; she held up her hand and 20 OLIVKR OF THE MILL. looked to heaven as the baby passed, as though to ask a blessing on him. Near the church porch stood a figure never seen there but once before — a Jew, with long black beard : he was not an old man, but he stooped as though he were, with do.vncast looks. Oliver Crisp had not spoken all the way, oppressed, it might be, by the sight of a gathering company, but now he said,^ " i here's Benoni ! " Mistress Crisp replied, " Sure he will never come in to such a service; thee will not ask him ; he is one who resisteth the Spirit I " Thev passed in silence under the old church-porch, but as they passed Benoni clasped his hands; he did not rpeak nor look up. They left him there, and when they returned Benoni was gone. They entered the church, close by where the old font stood, typical of admission by baptism to the outward and visible church. The sponsors were already standing there, the children of the old Castle, whose tower and turrets rose above the forest-trees that clustered high upon the eminence on which the Castle stood; — Isabelle and Conrad, eldest son and daughter of the Colonel and Madame Gray, sponsors for Naomi^s child, and witnesses of the elder baptisms. The three generations — niother, son, and infant, with the youthful sponsors, gathered round the font. It was beautifully wreathed with creepers and white chrysanthemums, but the flowers were lost on Oliver Crisp ; nor did he sze the friendly people, nor the outer wreath of clustering children, awed from OLIVER OF THK MILL. ai pressing nearer by Dame Truman's lifted finger, and the tears she wiped away — he only saw the little chamber in the sunset's golden light, the young beloved wife, the extended arms holding his infant to him, the dark eyes swimming in their tears, and heard her low tones — earth's only music to him 1 , Yet was the service real ; and as its holy words drew ' back his absent heart, they led his downcast eye to mark another presence there; — even His who gathers the lambs in His arms, folds them in His bosom, and gently leads the burdened ones. When the minister gave back the infant, Isabelle took him in her arms, and her gentle k'ii,s on the sleeping brow left her lips wee with the sprinkled dew. " Oliver," Naomi's child, her first god-child ; it WLS hard to give him up when all was over, but friendly greetings were gathering roimd the font; she gave him to Mistress Crisp, who folded him closer than ever before, with the secret feeling of " one Lord, one faith, one baptism. '^ Isabelle and Conrad turned for the Castle, and a group of many fric 's trod the lane to the village with Oliver Crisp. Oliver Crisp walked, thoughtful and almost silent, in the midst of his friends. It might be singular that a man of such silent* reserve should be so much thought of as was this man. A stranger would not have called him a pleasant man ; but all who knew him felt his worth. You might not be sure of his words, but you might be sure of his heart ; and when his words were given they were pretty certain to be right words. 22 OLIVER OF THB MILL. Mistress Crisp hastened on, glad to find herself alone with the infant, now drawn to her heart by a spiritual tie. She could not be alone in company as her son could, and her heart was overflowing with feeling; her mind was relieved; a blessing had come in her desire " to fulfil all rio-hteousness." He-^ son had read the fourth of Matthew in their early service that morning, and above her the heavens seemed opened as never before, and the words passed and repassed through her mind, how, when John forbade the Saviour to seek baptism of him, the divine Redeemer answered, *' Suffer it to be so now, for thus it becometh us to fulfil all righteousness. Then he suffered Him." And truly she felt more one with Him, her gracious Saviour, on whom the out- poured water was the sign of the fulness cf the indwelling Spirit. In her deeper tenderness of feeling she was sorry she had wished to shut out Benoni. Still she thought that a wandering ped'ar, an unbelieving Jew, could not be in the right place in such a service, and, was it not said in the Acts, of such unbelieving Jews, "Ye do always resist the Holy Ghost!" Yet, for all that, she felt kmdly now even to him. It was strange that an outward rit? that seemed meant to shut her in to the faith by a visible sign, instead of making her feel more divided from those outside, should draw her closer in feeling to such outcasts : she could not understand this ; but she felt she had none to inquire of save her silent son ; so as usual she let the question alone. OLIVER OF THE MILL 23 son She did not know, and she had none to tell her, that everv a:t of simple obedience, faith, and love draws us cldser to the Lord himself. God is Love ! and he that dwelleth in Love dwelleth in God, and God in him. Whether the act have an outwaid form or be only a spiritual exercise, none can set their heart to keep the words of Christ, without finding the promise of Christ fulfilled, "My Father will love him, and we will come unto him, and make our abode with him." This was the secret of the deeper tenderness, whether flowing through an appointed sacrament or any other means of grace j — the deeper consciousness of the indwelling Christ in the soul. And then, as small things mingle with great, when undressing the baby, she thought of her dis- pleasure at the little crape-rcsettes and at mourning in general. She recollected the heavy mourning of Isabelle Gray — her son's deep mourning did not appear unnatural to her — Isabelle had been left fatherless only a few months before ', and it seemed to Mistress Crisp, in her softened feeling, that the deep mourning made a silent appeal to those around her to remember her sorrow, not to expect from her what at other times would have been given — special greetings to all assembled there ; it made a softened barrier, a shield from the outer world, for which the sorrowing heart was unready ; and she thought she would not again condemn the raiment of sorrow. When Isabelle gave back the infant, Mistress Crisp said, " Wilt thee come and see him some- H OLIVER OF THE MILL. times ? I know thou hadst a kindness for his poor mother/' The word "poor" took young Isabelle by sur- prise ; she had loved Naomi as the friend of her soul — a brief friendship, from her tenth to her fifteenth year. She stood there enriched with the treasures of Naomi's heart, and the wisdom Naomi had learned fn m the Only Wise; the pitying word " poor " could never be linked with Naomi's name 1 She did not know then that those who^e thoughts cleave to the dust of the mortal body, who see not the glory and feel not the power of the " present with the Lord," in Whose presence is fulness of joy and pleasures for evermore, can only speak in pitying, though tender, terms of the departed. Isabelle gladly accepted the invitation; and, taking her brother's arm, they turned up the long avenue of old chestnuts that led from the church to the Castle. It was one of those autumns that linger in the mind as a perfect ideal of the season. The sky was intensely blue, the trees in full foliage of gold, un- touched by the wind, the stillness of the autumnal air only more felt for the caw of the rooks floating high overhead, and the nearer song of the robin — that old song of hope and trust, though wintry days may be near, heard often but slowly learned. The children of the Castle sat under the trees on one of the many seats placed at fine points of view. The uplands of the park opened before them, and they wondered at the glory of the golden foliage, and OLIVER OF THE MILL. ^5 *vatched the stately deer as they browsfxl under the trees, and the touch of autumnal decay blended with their sorrow. The sense *of being suddenly left fatherless is a strange surprise to a young heart. Conrad was yet only in his seventeenth year. The shield that had always been raided between him and the world had suddenly dropped j the hand that had held it lay buried cold and deep and could not raise it again. The lieart that ever responded warmly was silent ; he must enter life's battle fatherless! As he thought on this, how poor seemed all the wealth at his command, and all the outward means of advance- ment and pleasure, weighed against that one buried heart, to whose wisdom and tenderness he could not now return or appeal ! But Conrad knew a Father in heaven of whom he could say, " Thou hast given me the shield of Thy salvation ; and Thy gentleness hath made me great." Of all that his father had left him, the richest and most sacred inheritance was, he knew and felt, the life that father had lived, and the prayers that had been offered for him. They sat in the stillness and beauty until Isabelle rose with thoughts of her mother^ and they hastened home. They had spent the eaHy morning wreath- ing the font -with bright flowers for Naomi's sake ;— Naomi — who had entered on an inheritance incor- ruptible, undefiled, and that fadeth not away. As Oliver Crisp walked home through the lane to the village. Mistress Caxton remarked on the beautiful flowers adorning the font; he had not 26 OLIVER OF THE MILL. noticed them, a flower had no natural attractions for him ; but an car of corn was a marvel to his mind- its structure, growth, aild perfection. You might often see him lingering in a corn-field, examining, admiring, and, we may say, adoring the bounteous Creator. " This also cometh forth from the Lord of Hosts, who is wonderful in counsel and excellent in working." Oliver Crisp asked his mother, in the evening, if she had noticed the flowers, of which the people in the church made such admiring mention. His mother had noticed them; but she thought them out of place ! Mistress Crisp had a saying, " Things out of place are more hurtful than help- ful." She always had a wise reason to give why they were hurtful; yet it made the lines drawn round her appear very strict, as many things in her view were thought out of place, and too often it might be that they were so in reality. Brought up in the strictest discipline of Quakerism, strongly bound in feeling by its outward regulations; then placed in the midst of those who entirely disregarded them, cut off from strict membership from the body of Friends by her marriage, she held the more strictly to all that outwardly belonged to that reli- gious section. She had none to lead her above and beyond forms and systems, to show her that the letter alone killeth ; but the spirit giveth life. Be- lieving the principles of the society in which she had been brought up to be more spiritual thai» those of any other, she had clung to outward regulations and OLIVER OF THE MILL. 27 observaixces as though the shell of necessity held the kernel. She was one whom all felt must follow her own views j whom no one endeavoured to move or influence; until Naomi called her " mother I " and unconsciously drew the stiffened spirit into the softer blendings of truth, natural and divine. It v/as not long after the happy union of her son with Naomi that others began to find they could awake a new response in Mistress Crisp, even on subjects on which they had known her mind to have been made up before. You could penetrate the surface now, and the pure water of the heart's true feeling instantly sprang up to view. Old Joseph Richards was one of the first who discovered in Mistress Crisp a greater readiness to listen with interest, and fall in with the feelings of others. It was natural that old Joseph should be one of the first to discover a softening response ; as he was a great lover of conversation, when the subject matter could be of his own choosing and con- ducting. A conversation arose between them when Mistress Crisp had passed her first winter in the cottage at the foot of the hill on which stood the Mill. The cottage garden had been gay in past years — much admired by the passers-by. Its hedge of close-clipped yew, and yew pyramids, closely cut, on each side of the gate, only threw into brighter relief its gay borders, where every standard cottage-flower might be viewed in its season. Mistress Crisp's first work on entering was to clear out the borders ; a heap of leaves and ■^ a8 OLIVER OF THE MILL. roots slowly consuming, was the last relic of that gay little garden. It was then well dug up and closely planted with vegetables and fruit, with a bed of herbs large enough to have supplied the kitchen of the Castle. The passer-by felt the change a dull one; it added to the retirement of the cottage, as no stranger now stopped to gaze; the only added company it brought was the birds; they at once iiicreased in number, the larger supply of fruit being attractive to them ; they crowded the trees that skirted the garden, and paid their tribute of song. It was impossible for Mistress Crisp to have a cultivated taste for music, and having no natural love for it, she often found their harmony oppressive, beginning at early dawn, and the nightingales in full chorus by night ; but to shoot them would be a wanton outrage, and to deny them their share of her fruit, even though she found it a large share, would have been contrary to her benevolent feelings; so the birds sang on, and Mistress Crisp only expressed a regret when her black currant and red currant jelly ran short in supply for the sick. It was a warm evening in spring; the first season of the change in the garden, when old Joseph Richards passing by, stopped to greet Mistress Crisp, who was carefully watering her herbs. Mistress Crisp knew how welcome a talk was to old Joseph, and asked him in to take a seat in the porch. Joseph entered the gate, and stopped at every step, remarking the change. OLIVER OF THE MILL. "Where be the grand old pi*ny that used to roll out his red balls from yon corner? He was king of the garden ! Did the frost nip him up?" "There was no need to wait for the frost," replied Mistress Crisp j " there is a fine bed of leeks in that corner, and many a poor body, I hope, will know the difference this winter between a pi )ny and aleek/' " Well, mistress, for all you could neither boil him nor bake, T liked the old tree." "Flaunting colours have no favour with me," replied Mistress Crisp, with decision. "WeD, now," said Joseph, who had taken his seat in the porch of the cottage, "when I was in the seafaring service, I saw a deal of foreign parts, and ni be bound you'll scarce think it creditable " (meaning credible), " but the birds there are as gay as any blossom; decked out, I can promise you, as gaudy as can be. Why I have seen red and yellow and green, all laid on together, and a touch of black, as if to show up the colours. They were the cheerfulest fowls you could think to see for colour ; but never a piper amongst them ! Pll be bound, mistress. He that made them so gay is wiser than we ! " "But, friend, hast thou no notion of the difference between birds of the air, and mortals, who put on their finery for pride and conceit I " " Well, now, mistress, don't take me amiss j you see I have travelled amain, and that stirs a man up to take notice. How it hurts me to see our poor 30 OLIVER OF THE MILL. fellows by dozens just lay by their plough or their sickle, as may be, for their platter, and their pipe, and their pillow ! 1 do twit them with never looking off the brown earth ; but they keep their eyes afore them, and never look up nor around ! '* " But what has that to do," asked Mistress Crisp, " with the parading of colour ? '* " Deary me ! " answered old Joseph, " I don't know. I suppose I was wandering. I am given to that sort of thing; it^s a bad feeling when your recol- lection has broke away from the bridle, and you get pulled up, and don't know where you be ! But as I was thinking, for I do remember that, I never Hked my old woman so well as when she was dressed out in her blue gown ; it was home-spi:r, bv her mother, and dyed a real blue; and her red -• ')bnn pinned round her head 1 Her hair was as white as the snow, turned right back off, as good, aye ! and as hand- some a face as ever I wish to see 1 Sometimes she would grow thrifty, and pin on a ribbon of black. Wouldn't I soon have it off! I always was a man for colour, and, mistress, you'll not think the worse of me," said old Joseph, in a pleading tone ; " but I do think if our old dears and our young all travelled the waysides in black, we should look as if we followed a funeral 1 " " Thee may have brown, friend, and grey, with- out seeking for show ! " " I ^■;now it, mistress, I know it ; but only to see how the red cloaks \ vcvn you up by the look of them, all the same as a simbeam ! And I have sat OLIVER OF THE MILL. m h or their pipe, and ooking off fore them, ess Crisp, "I dWt 1 given to our recol- d you get But as I 2ver liked essed out ;r mother, »n pinned the snow, as hand- times she of black. ys was a think the ing tone; young all look as if rey, with- ily to see e look of [ have sat by the firelight, and taken notice of the red poppies on my old woman's print-gown until I have felt like taking a walk on a gay summer-day ! Deary me ! if it had been nothing but black, I should have thought she was sitting there mourning for me ! But beside this, I find a blessing in it too. I have got a rose as red as any pi'ny ; it covers my chamber-window. I am not much for sleep now ; I always wake with the sun, when the first bird gives its twitter under the eave. There I lie, for it rests my old bones, and what should I do up ? So I watch for the first red rose that blooms, and the next, and the next ; and you may believe me, as I lie there, with the rising sun shining full, they mind me of the great drops of blood that were shed in the garden from Him who kneeled in anguish for us 1 You may not see how they can show up like that ; but they are as like to great drops of blood as two things can be; and when you have once taken the notion, there is no doing awav with it. I used to weary and weary of the sun up so early ; but now he might shine all the night, and I should not complain, for when I open my eyes and see the red roses there, I am away in that garden ! I think of Him there, then the cross, and the grave, and the angels, and the village wher** He turned in to sup, and the room with the doors shut, and the shore, and the hill where He went up, and the clouds hid Him, until they open again and we rise up to meet Him. I finish one part before I begin another, and now, by my thinking it over so often, it runs as clear through my mind as yon brook. "1 3» OLIVER OF THE MILL. and I am scarce ready when I ought to be stirring and down ! " " Couldst thou come at a small tree for me that would run over my window ? " " I could gra.f one/' replied old Joseph. " If thou couldst I would thank thee." " Yes, yes, I can do that as well as the trained men. I have always had nature in hand all my day. The top gardener at the Castle, he would say to me, 'Joe,' says he, 'I can trust ye, and a little trust goes further than a deal of skill.' I have known him set me to open or shut the vine-houses, when an inch too much or too little might ruin the fruitage. 'Be very particular, Joe/ he would say; he knew very well it was just what I was, or he never would have set me to do that. I had been used in my time more to favour plantations. How glad my lady was to get me with my bill-hook in hand ! I used to feel vexed to hack away as I did, for I thought, Who had made them ! but she would look wonderful pleasant, and say, ' They will only grow better, Joseph ! ' I did think that was a lesson for me, to see how one bough after another has been lopped off from me ; but I believe it was true ; for my thoughts were all upon them when they grew about me, and now my old heart is just resting wholly in Him. "But as I was saying, I can see to the tree. We must just get a wild stock from the wood, put in a graft off my good tree, and the wild stock will change its nature. Is not that written out as clear in OLIVER OF THE MILL. 33 the truth as if writ in a book, to teach us that the old nature must be changed to the new., not of its self but of a gift from above I Yes, yes, a graft from the one tree of life, that is He who died and rose again, in whom our life is hid ; we live if He live in us! Ain't it so, Mistress Crisp ?" " Yes, friend, thy memory must be a great com- fort to tbee." " It did not come out of my memory," replied Joseph ; " it came from Him who gave me the gift. O, mistress, 'tis an unspeakable gift I Haven't you found it so ? " - * " May be it will come fuller to me when I have thy rose-tree! But few can have riicmoiies like thine." " Ah, mistress, so they say ; but I tell them we are fashioned alike, but folks let their memories go napping when they should be at work. I know well *tis easiest to get slothful and stiff, and doze away in my chair ; but T say, ' Wake up, old Joe, and stir about, or thy limbs won't long serve ye ! ' But folks won't do that with their memory, as I tell them ; they say 'tis gone, when 'tis no more dead than I "am, but only just sleeping for sloth. 1 say to them that make that excuse ready, ' Wake it and work it, and you'll find there's life in it yet!'" "I don't know, friend Joseph; thy advice is good, no doubt, but there is a weakness comes over, that when you would remember good things you cannot." ' 34 OLIVER OF THE MILL. "Well, mistress, I am always hobbling about, having a word with one and then with another. It IS all I can do, for I am seventy-three if I am a day. And if I would sit and listen, folks young and hearty, aye, children to me, would talk by the hour and tell me all things that had happened, aye, and things that had never happened too ; and then when I try to turn them upon good, they say their memories are weak. Well, I take them at their word, and I say. No doubt that they be ! • Then they are just satisfied and comfortable like; for there are plenty have a notion that if old Joe will agree with them they must be right. It ain't the thing to set up a poor sinner like that, but that is their notion. So when we be all agreed that their memories be weak, I put it to them, ' How do you serve a weak body ? Do you starve it because it's weak?* * No,' they say, ^ we feed it.* Then I say, ' Don't you crave to nourish it up with meat and with wine ? ' ' Yes,' say they. ' Well then,' 1 say, ' for why do you starve your weak memory ? Don't He say who is the Truth, " My flesh is meat indeed, and my blood is drink indeed I " Ah, dear souls,' I say, ' if you did feed upon Christ you would find your weak memory grow stronger to think upon Him ! Read of Him, speak to Him, speak of Him, and hear of Him when you can and where you can, and you will soon find that whatever else you forget your memory will be strong to think upon Him.' I put it many ways as it seems to come at the time, and sometimes I seem to think it helps them a bit ! I' OLIVER OF THE MILL. Sfj But, mistress, I be ashamed talking here for this while. You see I be an old man, and my heart's been filling so long that now it runs over ; but I thank you kindly for the discourse we have had, and I won't be slow to see after the tree. I wish you a good night." And old Joseph raised his hat and bowed low as he rose to depart, for no per- suasions of Mistress Crisp had ever succeeded in constraining the old man to forego the respect he felt due, by uncovering his head. " Fare thee well, friend Joseph ; I hope thee will call in again.'* The rose-tree was planted and flourished, and it lacked not care. Mistress Crisp tended it with affectioi?^ and old Joseph often looked in. He was still a pilgrim six years after, and able to reach the church on the day when Naomi's infant was bap- tized, with father and grandmother, the day when Mistress Crisp hid the red rose in her necker- chief. Across the little pathway from where the red rose grew over the lattice. Mistress Crisp had a border of tall white lilies : when in bloom they formed a beautiful contrast to the crimson blossoms of the rose, and she preserved the lily petals in brandy for cuts and bruises; so in one way or another the little garden became both useful and ornamental. CHAPTER IV. In real life there is no such thing as monotony. An occupation may be monotonous, or affliction may exclude the endless variety naturally open to all, but life itself has no monotony. The secret of the stage holding such power to interest and enchain the mind, is because it supplies in an exaggerated form what every human being ought to be able to find, in due proportion, through the emotions and percep- tions of life. Susceptibilities that have not their healthy exer- cise always demand compensation in an unhealthy and exciting form. There is more true tragedy and comedy in real life than can ever be found woven into the drama ; year by year they open their varied scenes and blend their influences. Comedy is but the ripple of the surface, catching the fitful play of light ; tragedy the depths below. Wit or humour, it true to the human heart, has its grace and tender- ness; if devoid of purest feeling it may amuse the fancy, which is itself a misshaping tool, but cannot charm the imagination, the soul's creative faculty. Tragedy has its emotions of joy as deep as those of sorrow. Tragedy and comedy often blend even as we see the tear and the smile. It is difficult to give OLIVER OF THE MILL. $7 ny. An :ion may all, but t of the chain the ited form ) find, in i percep- thy exer- m healthy ledy and id woven eir varied ;dy is but il play of humour, d tender- muse the Lit cannot 1 faculty. > those of even as It to give either in strict truth with human nature; but comedy more difficult than tragedy. Its ripple on the sur- face is often so slight, the light that plays in it so changeful or so fleeting, that words fail to embody it J in its richest, purest form its essence is so subtle, it cannot be caught and confined in the written page; it is soon robbed of its delicate grace, and becomes exaggerated and coarse. But it may surely be affirmed that both are found existing in all fully- developed life; whether rich or poor, learned or un- learned. It was the deeper emotions of life that were aroused in Naomi's mother. She had been the daughter of wealthy Hebrews, brought up in a home of learning and elegance, enabling her to impart much to her child tha.. raised her, both in mind and heart, above the ordinary level even of those whose means enabled them to command the education of the day. Yet as the child of poverty, Naomi was trained in all the simplicity and homely duties of cottage life. No village " help " was seen in her mother's home; it was Naomi who kept the floor of cold cement, common in those parts, so clean ; who polished the old furniture, left by her father's parents, until you saw the bright reflection of fire or candle in it. All was done so neatly that the little working woman never looked untidy, nor had anything untidy round her. It was a happy life she lived, too young to remember any other. She was her mother's earthly all; a child clothed with humility, and her free and loving nature made her a general lavourite. At 3» OLIVER OF THE MILL. home in almost every cottage, she had many friends ; while her constant companionship with her mother, who most carefully taught and trained her, kept her from the danger that her free childhood might have found, in association with many who lacked the grace of mind and heart that adorned her mother. Naomi was an English child, and dearly loved her native home ; while the dreamland of her heart was the fair inheritance of Israel's scattered race ; and its horizon the blissful scene of bright millen- nial years. Naomi's mother had never lost the feeling of a stranger in a strange land j she could not blend with her own life the ties that clustered round her child ; living so intensely in feeling, shortened her years ; few and evil life's days seemed to her ; yet the little moment wore a halo of glory in the love that redeemed from all evil. Naomi was the one flower in life's wilderness for her, the one only object for which she still toiled. At times she almost lost sight of the past, and lived only in the present and future, while she cherished her child. The village miller, Oliver Crisp's father, felt from the first the high claim that the widow had to re- spect and attention. His kindness had cheered the last days of her husband, and then became the solace of the widow. He was a plain man, living in the same house that his father occupied before him; not caring, with better means, to enlarge his expenses; but with a heart to feel and a hand to aid in distress. Mr. Crisp (he too was an Oliver) some- >m^ OLIVER OF THE MILL, S9 friends ; mother, ler, kept d might lacked ned her rly loved ler heart ed race ; : millen- le feeling 3uld not ed round hortened 1 to her; •y in the was the one only mes she ly in the child, felt from id to re- eered the :ame the m, living ;d before large his nd to aid er) some- times found he had a bushel of flour "on hand/* or half a sack of potatoes " not wanted ; '* or flour had risen in the market, and Naouii's mother must share the Ijciiefit. A grave and somewhat gruff man to strangers, he had a blunt, kind way of giving gifts that made them seem so natural that the re- ceiver was never surprised, and had to think over the event before the favour was exactly understood. The last visit he paid her she could never forget. It was winter, a cold snowy night; but he looked in on his way from market ; he could not stay, only inquiring kindly, as he had not seen them at his house for a while ; then as he turned from her little fireside, he said — " I met the agent on his way yesterday for the rent. I said you were but sadly, and would not want to be bothered, so I paid it up; don't think of it more, it makes no odds to me ! " He never crossed that threshold again. An illness of a few weeks removed him from the midst of the busy life he led, and the deeds ( f kindness in which he delighted. The miller's son, Oliver, was fully able to take his father's place ; he was a son worthy of his parents, thoughtful, true, and good to all. Ten years older than Naomi, he had been to her a brother, a friend, and almost a young father. Naomi had never known life without her friend Oliver as her playfellow. The Mill-house was a palace in those days to Naomi, for the farm-houses were not open to her and her mother. It was a singularly bare abode^ for Tpf 40 OLIVER OF THE MILL. Mistress Crisp removed even the few quaint con- ceits of its former days ; but the much larger room, the white bricks neatly sanded, the old oak furniture from past generations, the great eight-day clock, the upstairs rooms with their fa- -caching view, and the wonders of the Mill, the ter f the sails that came round so inevitably, with tnat strange low swoop, her hand safe in her friend Oliver's whenever she went near ; the liv e stock — two horses^ a dog, two cats, and a poultry-yard, a large rabbit-house, and occasional additions of little silky pigs — all this was great advancement to Naomi; and always enjoyed under Oliver's fostering care, his father's grave yet tender kindness, and Mistress Crisp's cordial wel- come, what could it lack to charm the child. Yet this was not all, for Oliver was bent on pleasing Naomi in her cottage home. Her canary, looking like a drop of amber, sung in her low thatched cottage, in a cage that Oliver had made. Her own little rabbit-hutch was his work, and every woodland walk she took with him, he carried her across the streams dryshod; and while he climbed higher, he let down a hand to help the little active girl to the lower branches of the trees. Neither had a friend beside, a sister nor a brother; who could help rejoic- ing that they found all this in each other 1 As Naomi grew into her tall girlhood, the inter- course changed ; they did not meet less often, but it was not now for free joys of childhood. But Naomi could still tell all their daily life to Oliver, and he still cared for every want and wish. OLIVER OF THE MILL. 41 He was seven-and-twenty when his father left him, his widowed mother's stay. It was his first bereavement, his first sorrow. All he wanted he had found in the two homes, and the few hearts that made the circle of his inner life. He had no idea of sorrow until his fcither went ; the loss fell on him like a blow. Strong man as he was, he could not rally ; he turned from the Mill, turned from the market, he Feemed to turn from all; while Naomi and her mother wept together the loss of such a friend as Oliver's father had been. It was many days before Oliver crosstd their threshold; and when he came, though he sat there as of old, he scarcely spoke; yet he came again and again, as if their starting tears and few brief words of sorrow had power to soothe. " He is a true man," said the widow, " who mourns so for a father ! " Naomi looked up, and her full heart drank in her mother's praise of Oliver. It was at this time that Mistress Crisp felt called upon to counsel her son, saying, " Is it thv mind to know whether thy visits are acceptable to Naomi ? If it he, thou hadst better go forward at once ; if not, keep thy distance; thou hast been free long enough 1 " The cloud of bereavement that had hung so heavily over Oliver Crisp now seemed to deepen, and the lights that had lighted his pathway went out one by one. Too sad at heart to seek earthly happiness while the sods were scarce welded on the grave of his father^ he withdrew from his friends 42 OLIVER OF THE MILL, of the cotUge; and a heavy reserve, that seemed a cliilling coldness, took the place of his once friendly manner. Then it was that Naomi started into womanhood, and knew what her past life had been, what her present was not, and what her future was never likely to be ! A desolation stole over her young heart, that her mother's tenderness, though it soothed, could not cheer. The widow's soul was pierced with a deeper grief than she had known before ; her wan cheek grew paler, and her strength declined. They were not left to want in temporal things; in some way — they hardly knew how — every want was supplied. Mistress Crisp, quite surprised at the turn things had taken, often called in. She never imagined that the chilling separation could in any way have arisen from her desire to bring thin s to an issue, to make both happy, or save both from misery. It was, and always had been in life her one desire to do the right thing ; she had no second pur- pose ever to serve ; no inferior reason ; only this one object; — to do, and help others to do, the right thing. Therefore, perhaps, it was, that she never felt conscious of a mistake. If a thing took a wrong turn, she always felt she had done the utmost to keep it right ; if it could have been put right, what she had done would have accomplished that end. This was not any conscious self-assertion, but the result of her one single aim and desire, always to do right. Any one of less integrity would have readily Si& All.lll' ' OLIVER OP THE MILL. 43 supposed the possibility of a mistake, where Mistress Crisp felt assured she had done all for the best. She was disappointed and sorry, for no one to her equalled Naomi. She could not follow a stream that flowed rock-bound out of sight. Oliver sometimes looked in on the widow and her daughter, but the visits were brief, and the heart- ache deepened under his civility. He must be con- cerned in many kindnesses done, yet they could not tell how. Oliver now became a far more reserved man than his father. Many kindnesses were still shown around ; bat you could seldom trace his foot- steps, and you seldom heard his words. He would make suggestions to his mother, who vvas ready to follov/ them out; she would sometimes say, '* I don't know how it is, but the things my son can see do not seem to strike me ! " No one could take a liberty with Mistress Crisp ; her high-minded character and decision kept people at a distance. All the village felt disappointed m the failure of their expectations, and many rumours were afloat. Now and then a word on the subject reached her; and if it were from any to whom she felt called to reply, she said at first, " It's just my son's honour; he is breaking off" to leave Naomi free ; and then, if she is constant, he will ask her outright." But when two years ran their slow round, her heart became troubled, and she said, " If evtr man sinned by honour, 'tis my son 1 I believe he will carry it on until it meets where it begun, right round in a circle, and love clean shut 'If 44 OLIVER OF THE MILL. !■ I out ! And if he does, I for one will maintain a man's honour may harden his heart j for it keeps apart two sent on earth to be one — if ever there were such a thing as two made for each other ! And for all that I have asked her, she has not been in this house for a twelvemonth I " " May be," said Mistress Caxton, who was the one engaged in a friendly talk at this time in a call at the Mill-house ; " may be, your son thinks of you, and fears to break up your home." "I wish he did think of me/' replied Mistress Crisp, with some sharpness ; " he has heard my mind often enough to have made up his own, and been married, aye, twenty times over ! I have given it up now ; for, as they say, love can't be driven. I never felt so sure of anything as of him and Naom'. I have vexed and fretted, too, until I have now let it alone." Naomi was seldom seen out; her mother required her constant care ; and except for their liule pur- chases, and the pint of new milk she now daily fetched at evening milking from Farmer Caxtou's cow- byre, she was seldom seen abroad. The childhood she had kept so long in happy freedom of thought and feeling, was gone ; her very youth seemed passing away, and womanhood, with all its depth, was hers. Her mother was fading day by day, bearing now a broken heart, that bowed resigned, but seemed to have no power to rejoice, feeling that her child must soon be left quite unprovided for — to a cold, evil world, without a friend. Her longing eyes were bent so m OLIVER OP THE MILL. 45 sadly on the dark future of her daughter, that they failed to see or seek the blessedness awaiting her own departing spirit. This was one of those strange pauses that some- times come in human life, when the very wheels of existence seem locked, dragging heavily, and all stagnates within and around. The solemn pressure of a heavy hand is laid on the spring that governs life ; it weighs heavier and heavier: there seems little hope that it can ever be lifted, and the heavy-laden spirit toils on in the dead calm of existence. So it was with Naomi and her widowed mother ; and so it was with Oliver. He was naturally a man of close reserve, and when once lie had shut himself up in his sorrow, and lost the living play of Naomi's life on his own, his natural reserve grew and strengthened ; he nurtured the gloom that a father's lost presence in everything cast over him ; and had not, it seemed, the spirit or the energy of will to launch out into any new interest and blessing. Old Joseph's keen eyes had long been observing all that troubled his friends j but true religion im- parted true feeling to him. He often said, when others were impatient to judge, or to hurry anything, " Remember there is a time to speak, and a time to be silent ! Let be, let be ; don't be meddling too soon; meddle and mar are words to hang alwavs together. Sometimes when I am in a heat to be doing or speaking, I strike down my old staff and spell out the word, ' wait.' 'Tis a wonderful word ! Tens of tens of times it has held me back from 46 OLIVER OF THE MILL. mischief. T have lived a long day, and most of the troubles I have seen folks come out the wrong side of, was just for the want of laying down at their feet that one little v/ord ' wait/ If they had but known the meaning of that word, they would have ended right instead of wrong. I always hold with teaching the young; there's nothing like it, I say. Well, you know I am old Joseph, and there is never an urchin but can give me the slip ; so I say I must not set up for a teacher ! But when I have a few odd halfpence, I just buy up a few goodies^ and when 1 happen of a child handy, I fish one out, and I say, ' Now, youngling, I'll give you this goody when you can spell me a word ;' and then I spell, w-a-i-t. How quick they catch it up, to be sure, with their eye on the goody ! And it's got such a hold on their memories, that there is scarce a child when they meet me but cries out, ' I can spell wait/ Then I say to them betimes, * Now, you will find that word, WAIT, is one of the main secrets of life. Old Joseph will soon lie under the green turf; but when you are big lads and girls, and men and women, you come and stand by where he sleeps, and spell his word, wait; and what's more, you look in the Book where he found it, and you will find a blessing laid on it there/ I have known the time that I have given them a goody for every separate WAIT they would find in the Book. The poor rogues ! I had nothing better to give them, and they took it kindly from me/' He was at this time a busv labourer in the Castle ■t OLIVER OP THE MILL. 47 plantations, but often found time to look in at Naomi's house, to inquire for her mother. In the early spring of the year, more than two years since the loss of the kind miller, he called in one evening, and finding the widow alone, and in weakness and pain, he sat with her awhile. Her spirit was de- sponding, and old Joseph encouraged her to tell out her trouble. " Master Richards," she said, " i have never spoken to a creature of the heavy weight on my mind; hut we two are alone, and I believe I may speak safely to you. 1 am dying, my days are few now; and I have not a friend to whose care I can commit my Naomi ! An orphan and friendless is a terrible thing for one only nineteen, in an evil world like this ! " " Have ye thought on the words, ' Leave thy fatherless children with Me ! I will preserve them alive, and let thy widows trust in Me ? ' " " Yes, I have read, and thought, and prayed over every promise I could find ; but the rest and the peace do not come.'' Then old Joseph sat considering awhile, as though he took counsel with a wiser than himself. At length he said kindly, "I know the trouble must be great ! To our thinking, an earthly pro- tector was provided, and now that blessing seems gone 1 " " Indeed it does," said the widow. " Have they said one another nay ? " asked old Joseph. 48 OLIVER OF THE MILL. "No, never a word but of kindness between them." " Be there any obstacle laid in the wav ? ** " No, I am sure of that ; there is nothing." "Then," said Joseph, "it is but a darkness raised up by the Evil One ! Many a time 1 have known him raise up a cliill mist, that has crept over poor souls, they did not seem to know how; and it's nipped them uj) like a frost-bitten rose, the beauty just gone, and they can't tell how it came. Some- times it takes them with a chill to Him that's above them, and they can't get the better of it, because they think it's in them ; whereas it's no such thing, but it's just round about them ; and if they would believe it and strike through it, they would get above it in no time. Sometimes it just comes between them and folks here, and makes a coldness and a gloom that keeps on troubling their minds ; and they say, it is this, or 'tis that, when it's just no such thing, but only a cold mist that's risen up round their spirit ; and if they would only strike through it, there's peace and love just beyond it. It's a net for the feet, and it holds many a warm heart fast bound against this or that ; and there is only one Deliverer; but thanks be to God, there is a Hand, if they would but take it, would lead them out in a step, and that chill left behind them for ever. >j " I think it must be so, Master Richards ; but I see no help for it ? " Well, now, I am not of your mind in that ; tt OLIVER OF THE MILL. 49 if there is always help for tbem who know where to look for it j but may be^ you have been asking and asking to have it done from above, when it's just left to you to do it below ? *' " O, Master Richards, I could not do anything I " Why not ? are they not both as your children, the one almost as much as the other ? Have they not both taken your word, and minded your way in days that are past ? You are bound to speak up as much for the good of the one as the other. I will not say any more, for that's my word of advice, and I can't add to it nor take from it j but you see, if I am right and if I am sent with this message to you, the opportunity will full surely be given, and you do your part and use it. But let come what may, hold your trust to Him who has promised all shall work together for good." The widow waited and watched. It was not long before Oliver called in to inquire how she was ; she was alone, and he sat down and seemed to speak more freely than before. Any one who had anything to say to Oliver Crisp was sure of many an oppor- tunity in the silences between his few sentences. Gathering up the courage of faith, the widow said, with strong effort, " My days are numbered now — the life you have nourished so long has well-nigh run its earthly course. I have only one care " she paused. Oliver neither spoke nor looked up — "one treasure I " Oliver looked at her. " To whom shall I leave my Naomi ? " The stillness that followed was terrible to the |0 OLIVER OF THE MILL. widow J it was only of moments, but how long they can be ! Then with a voice of deep emotion Oliver answered, " To me ! " The widow clasped her hands in unspeakable thankfulness. But when they sat silent a^ain, the answer seemed so natural — it was the answer given of old more often than any, — " Leave it to me; " the words might mean no more than His care for the orphan. The question arose in her mind, but was at once answered by Oliver rising and asking, " Where shall I find her ? " " She is gone to the farm for the new milk for me, and will now be returning." "Does she often go there?" asked Oliver, with an eagerness not natural to him. " Most days, we have no one to send, and I live on it now." In absence of mind Oliver forgot to take leave of the mother, and left the cottage. He took the wood ' that skirted the fields, and saw Naomi returning, with Jonathan Caxton, the farmer's eldest son, at her side. Hastiiy retracing his steps, he re-entered the cottage, saying in hurried tones, all unlike him- self, " Naomi cannot be mine I yet, believe me, I will guard her, though it be with my life ! " and having said this he left the cottage as hastily as he had entered. The mother watched for Naomi's return with feverish anxiety. She came with her pitcher, but no trace of any trouble on her face. The mother could OLIVER OF THE MILL. 51 not question, she knew not what to ask ; she had no clue to guide her ; and she feared to tell Naomi what had passed. Days came and went, and Oliver did not return. At length he came before the usual hour of the evening milking, bearing in his hand a new can. Taking off the lid, he held the can to Naomi, saying, "I have cows on the Mill-fiel^ now ; can they save you your evening walk ? ** He looked into her face as he spoke, not with the old free glance, but with an earnest, searching gaze. "That is good!" said Naon.i, "isn't it, mother?" The milk now came daily, sometimes brought by Oliver himself, sometimes sent ; but all hope seemed likely to sink again into the same troubled waters as before. Yet not the same; one was nearing the shore where no tempests break nor rough billows swell. The last sands of earthly life ran out quickly. Old Joseph called again, and sat once more alone with the widow ; he had often looked in when Naomi was there, now she was absent. " Have ye been able to settle the question between them ? " he asked. " No,'' she answered ; " 1 took your good advice, and it seemed to prosper, but it has all fal'x'n out wrong, I cannot tell hov^r ; but I have no care left now. The Lord will provide ! that word is enough for me now. He may grant me to see that desire fulfilled j if not, I can leave it with Him. Master Richards, my trust is wholly wound about Him who loved me and gave Himself for me: it cannotfail now I " "That's right," said the old man. "Hold on. He you trust will not fail you 1 " 5* OLIVER OF THB MILL. It was evening, late in June. The mother had not risen that day, and Naomi watched with faint heart the sundering of her one only earthly tie. Her ear caught a step she knew in the cottage room. " Mother, Mr. Crisp is come in ; *' she had called him so of late. " Ask him in here," said the mother. Oliver entered the little inner room, and stood by the bed, looking down with silent sympathy. " I know Who sent you ! " said the widow. " No one sent me,'' replied Oliver ; " I have been absent these two days, and came to inquire." " You know not who sent you, but I know ! Kneel by me," she said, looking first at Oliver, then at Naomi. They kneeled on either side; then reaching out her thin, transparent hands, she waited for a hand from them, they gave it ; then laying Naomi's hand in Oliver's, she slowly and solemnly said, "My children, ye are one I God bless and make ye blessings ! " Oliver trembled, Naomi was calm and cold, but he felt the slight pressure of her hand in his own, and said, " Naomi ! " She answered, " Oliver ! " he clasped her hand in both of his, and they rose up one from that hour. Oliver saw that with the peace of every hope fulfilled, the long-tried spirit was passing to its rest ; and saying, in a low voice to Naomi, " I will fetch my mother, and return directly," he hastened home. On entering the Mill-house, he took his mother's hand, saying, " Naomi is mine 1 *' OLIVER OF THE MILL. 53 «€ iM it her Nay, son, but hast thou spoken ? " It is no time for words," he replied j mother is departing.'* Mistress Crisp tied on her sheltering bonnet, and hastened to the cottage. She watched through the night with Naomi. The stars shone out in the azure sky, scarcely dimmed by the one taper's feeble ray. For many nights Naomi had had only snatches of feverish sleep, while she tended her mother's broken slumbers. Each dawn she had seen the morning star rise over the hill, it came like a messenger from heaven to her, bringing home in their freshness the words, " I am the root and offspring of David, and the bright and morning star ! '* As she waked and watched in that lone chamber, while a world was sleeping unconscious of her grief, the star arose to greet her; it seemed to say, *'0 child of sorrow, thou art not forgotten ! The voice that rolls the stars along, spake all the promises ! " This night she (lid not watch for the rising of the star, she was alone no longer j but as the dawn broke over the sky and slowly brightened, her mother said, " He cailoth me ! " Instinctively Naomi raised her eyes towards the hill J the morning star had risen, and its soft splendour full in view, was linked for ever with the last breathings of a mother's voice, and a husband's dear embrace. In strange confusion in her young heart the thrilling words blended themselves with every mingling feeling — *' I will give him the morning star " — her mother's, her own, and Oliver's ! CHAPTER V. Naomi would not leave her now desolate home until she left it as Oliver's bride. Mistress Crisp, with a mothfi's care, divided her time, always sj)cnding the night m the widow's lowly cottage. She had a noble nature. To her it was nothing that her son's wife was chosen from so humble a dwelling. Naomi was her own fortune; — her lowly mind, ever seeking heavenly grace and wisdom ; and her pure and de- voted heart, were the richest dower. Three months she kept her cottage home, and then consented to the marriage-day. Oliver brought her the wedding-dress. Long and far had the wandering pedlar Benoni sought for one that would satisfy Oliver. It was soft in texture and hue as the wing of a dove, and woven of finest wool. Naomi had always shunned all finery and fashion, and became her simple garments well — true woman, daughter, wife. " My daughter, wilt thou give these garments of thy grief away, now that God hath given thee rest in the house of thy husband ? " "Yes, I will not take them there," said Naomi; " my mother is beyond the shadows, and we will not cling to them here.' ft ULIVKK OF TilK MILL. 55 They wandered under the forest-trccs in the evening hour before their marriage-day, and Naomi said, " Thou wilt not have the bells to-morrow ? " " So my mother says," rcpHcd Oliver; "she fiilis them tinkling cymbals I I will not have them rung against thy will, but why dost thou say so ? " " It is not that I do not like the bells," she said, but it was such a little while ago they tolled so heavily, it brought me back from my mother's joy to our own loss and the dark grave." "All shall be ordered as thou wilt," he answered. "To-morrow is thine own day, and no one can unsay thy will. But if happy spirits could list our village bells, I know that there is one to whom they would be dear I She thinks on thee in Paradise, and to-morrow will fulfil her wish." " The village would wonder," said Naomi, " that T could be glad so soon ! " Oliver smiled and said, " That's a long task, to look out against other folks' wonder 1 Keep thine own heart true, and let them wonder on ! ** " Well, I don't know, I am sure," she said ; "but would not you feel it, — ringing over that grave? " " Ah I " said Oliver, " I have sinned enough over a grave not to wonder at thee ; but the thoughts that never came to my help seem to rise up for thine ! 1 was thinking but now that when we sow the corn in the earth we don't think of its lying in the darkness ; we think of its springing up again in the blade and the ear, and the full com in the ear; like the harvest-fields we are looking on now." 5« OLIVER OF Tri MIa^L. m They wandered on in the beauty of evening and the fulness of converse, as long ago, each feeling a change in the other. In Naomi there was now the quiet depth of a woman ; the free gush of her child- hood and crirlhood was gone, but a power was there that the heart of her husband could safely trust in. He felt that her love and tru*-h would water his life, and leave their well-spring only deeper within. Oliver had less surface readiness than before j he seemed to have taken a step back from his fellows in distance and reserve, but it was not really so, for he who draws nearer to Gcd can never really be more distant from man, but equally nearer, though the surface may not reveal it at sight. It was well that they had been parted thus, to meet in greater depth and power. Could we see the end of the Lord in every trial, we should ir scribe " It is well " at its close. Mistress Crisp dressed the bride, tied on her close straw bonnet, trimmed with white ; pinned her shawl of white crape j and then finally added a plain gold brooch r>he had had prepared with her mother's hair. This Naomi welcomed with a tear ; and then Mistress Crisp led her to the church,, where her bridegroom avv aited her. As they entered and saw the gathered people, Naomi trembled; but courage returned when she stood at Oliver's side, and they took the marriage vow, and prayed the marriage prayer, and received the marriage blessing, and she was Oliver's wifsj, and they returned to his home. All was prepared^ as could most comfortably be more and OLIVER OF THE MILL. 57 done^ for Mistress Crisp in the cottage, which it was her settled purpose to enter at once ; but she spent the day at the ^xlll-house, where she had prepared a dinner for their friends. Many came from far and near who could not be received; invitations had only been given to a few, but so many greetings, congratulations, and good wishes met them on their way that it took a long time to accomplish the walk to the Mill. Old Joseph uncovered his white head as they passed, and a tear glistened in his grey eye. The entertainment was abundant, and warm friends sat round the hospitable board, which lacked nothing that good feeling could supply. After their meal, Oliver took his guests to the Mill ; the wives and daughters remained with Naomi and Mistress Crisp, but the latter took all the strain of the day on herself. She talked with one, appealed to another, and then drew all into some general sub- ject; her motherly feeling for Naomi made her eloquent. The head can make an orator, but elo- (^uence is the voice of the heart ; and the most unlearned are found eloquent when the heart is deeply stirred. It must not be thought from this remark that Mistress Crisp was unlearned. Her education had been a superior one, but she seldom put forth her powers of conversation. It took her guests by surprise; while Naomi felt the kindness of the shield extended over her. Mistress Crisp arranged an early tea, after which with many warm benedictions, yes, many a heartfelt God bless yc I the guests departed ; and many re- 58 OLIVER OF THE MILL. marks were made from one to another to the effect that they had never seen Mistress Crisp so pleasant before ! " She must be mighty pleased to get her soil married, and shift herself to the lone cot," said one, with a touch of sharpness in her tone. " Ah," said another, " it is Naomi ! there's none such as her j she has got her son a prize, and she knows it." When the guests were all gone, Oliver, who seeemed to share his mother's animation, said, " Now, good mother, take a rest in your chair : if none but you could prepare, there are fdcnty to clear 1" then taking Naomi's hand, he drew her arm within his own, and gathering up his mother's shawl, said, " Let's tike a turn to the old Mill." She trod the soft turf; there were no swooping sails coming terribly round as of old; the Mill had not worked on that day ; yet her hand was in Oliver's, as safe as when long years before he had held her back from any fear of venturing too near. The mill-steps stood facing the valley on that glowing September evening. The large white shawl wrapped Naomi's head and shoulders, her fine Jewish features were not less striking so enveloped ; the breeze that blew over the hill had all the softness of summer, though it bore to their ears a band of reapers' first song of harvest-home. Few fields were yet cleared, and much corn was still standiu^ ; the white-shirted men were pressing stradily on in a field below them, the corn falling before that unwavering line, and the OLIVER OF THE MILLi 59 le effect pleasant get her )t," said there's ize, and er, who n, said, shair: if Icnty to her arm 's shawl, iwooping Mill had Oliver's, her back nill-steps eptember li's head ; not less lew over :hough it song of red, and rted men :hem, the and the sickle gleaming on the shoulder, as each reaper raised his hand of wheat-ears for the bind. She sat as of old on the steps of the Mill. It was a lovely scene to watch when every feeling of the soul was rest, peace, and home. The valley opened in its autumnal glory at the foot of the steep grassy hill on which the Mill stood, then widened and stretched away in the distance; while broken lines of hill caught the fast declining rays of the sun; — now in deep purple, then suddenly suffused with a golden mist, then a rose tint, and as the sun's rays sank lower, the deep solemn blue of the hills became contrasted with the pale evening sky ; when suddenly the s king sun threw up a radiance that covered the western heavens with crimson, and tinged the soft clouds of the eastern sky. It was like a grand exhibition before the eyes of the two who sat almost silently there, watching the closing splendours of the day — impressed by the magnificence above, and the beauty and bounty beneath. In the valley at their feet every spot had its in- terest for them. Every cottage nestling under the trees was familiar to Naomi, and supplied by Oliver with flour — for each cottage in those days had its oven and baked its home-made bread. Naomi could see the roof from under which her mother had entered her rest; the old church-tower within the shadow of which they had made her grassy grave. The river winding under the trees, gleaming in the radiance of the sky. The water-mill where the stream flowed deepest, and the turrets of the old 00 OLIVER OP THE MILL. castle on the height to the left, amid the glory of its trees ; while the forest, scarcely touched by autumn's golden fingers, stretched beyond it to the far distance. Naomi caught the sunlight on the castle, and won- dered in her heart whether any one in its grandeur could be as happy as she was 1 Often in childhood's first glee Naomi had sat on those Mill-steps with Oliver. They had sat there together when she numbered more years — when first i feeling woke up in her heart of a love more than a brother's, and a protector that would always shield her ! Two years had passed since then, the wintry time of her life ; now she sat there in the rest of a love that seemed to her nothing new, but the old trust given back without a fear. As the sun dipped behind the hills, she murmured softly the blessed word, " Thy sun shall no more go down ! " Oliver answered them not, but long after, when the sun of earthly joy was setting for him, Naomi heard them again from his lips, his assurance to her I The evening star rose in the sky, her eyes rested upon it ; she remembered the messenger of peace that the star of the morning had been to her, and she silently thought on those words of tender re- monstrance, " Why sayest thou. My way is hid from the Lord, and my judgment passed o^li from my God. Lift up your eyes on high and behold, Who hath created these ? That bringeth out their host by number? He calleth them all by names, for that He is strong in power, not one failethl" OLIVER OP THE MILL. 6i Suddenly, in the stillness, the sound of bells broke on her startled ear, smiting the soft evening air, awaking a thrilling emotion. "O, Oliver!" she- exclaimed, overcome by the peal that rose over village hearts and homes to greet them on the hill ; " O, Oliver ! " But Oliver's face was all one plea- sant smile as he said, "Well done, old boys ! Naomi, you won't mind them now ! " Out they rang a true heart-peal, clear and glad, from hands determined that Oliver should find that village men knew how to tell out the day. Bravely they lang, rising and fall- ing on the ear, reverberating from hill to hill — the only voice of the twilight, and that voice filling the air with happy melodies for them. " 'Tis loveiy ! " said Naomi. "'Tis grand ! " replied Oliver; and he began to call up in the silence of memory what special cause the men had to ring wedding-bells for him ? Then a few pleasant facts rose up in the gladness of Oliver's heart, as he listened to the pealing of those happy bells. Naomi loved them up there, where no one was near; and as the sound floated away to the dis- tant sea, the light on whose waters she had caught before sunset, the words of Bunyan's Pilgrim came back on her spiritual mind — " And all the bells of the city rang again for joy." Famous bells they were ; a peal, the gift of the last maiden possessor of the Castle, and each bell bore its own inscription :— 1st bell — " Let Christ be known around." 2nd bell — " And loved where'er I sound." 6% OLIVER OF THE MILL. I 3rd bell — "Then shall true joys abound." 4th bell— "Before Him lowly fall." 5th bell — "And praise Him Lord of all." 6th ^jell— " Whene'er I lift my call." The men were trained ; and this evening it seemed as if every influence combined to stir the hearts and nerve the arms of those stalwart ringers. Old John was not much over seventy years then — the oldest of the men, and not very strong on his legs ; but his arms, long practised in ringing, had a wonderful power, and he would not give up his soft tenor bell. Oliver had no ear for music, but he knew the old man would be there ; and to Naomi's gifted ear, his silver bell held the music of all. Over the woods of the Castle they rang. Its happy circle was unbroken then. Conrad and Isabelle were playing bowls on the lawn. She stopped to listen, exclaiming, " How pretty the bells sound ! I wonder why they are ringing ? " " Now come on I " said Conrad ; and the bells rang over their young heads unheeding. The same sound had touched two hearts — the child's, amid the glory of her ancestral woods ; and Naomi's, on the high steps of the Mill. The voice of Naomi wa , soon to be sweeter than evening bells to young Isabelle, but as yet Isabelle had never spoken to one who was to become her first friend. Another ear caught the peal, and knew well the occasion. Jonathan Caxton had turned out alone when the bells broke on his ear. Now he buried his OLIVER OP THE MILL. «3 }f tf , bcemed irts and )ld John oldest of ; but his wonderful jiior bell. ' the old 1 ear, his ng. Its irad and n. She the bells the bells :arts — the ods ; and The voice ning bells 'er spoken well the out alone buried his face in his hands j those marriage beiis rang a knell to his heart. But on the bells rang, never heeding who heard ; or rather, as determined that all should hear and know that village men can make their warm con- gratulations to be heard, when, not for gold, but for hearty goodwill, they ring out their peal. Then Naomi said, " Let us go ! I shall cry if we stop here — the bells seem so glad 1 " Oliver turned } her eyes were swimming in tears. *' Let us go," he said, cheerily, " and see what my mother thinks of the bells ! " and with the stars biightening above in the blue sky, they hastened ho.ne. Mistress Crisp, fatigued both in body and mind, had had a long sleep in the arm-chair. She woke up at their entering, and suddenly hearing the peal, exclaimed, "What a clatter of bells ! I call it just folly to rouse up a village when children and old folks are sleeping ! " So it is that the same sound awakens feelings so varied ! The heart-echoes are drawn from the life, not only by evening bells, but by every voice both of nature and grace. With Naomi at her side, Mistress Crisp soon regained her motherly composure and tenderness, while Oliver went to shake hands with the ringers. They each wished him well ; but old John raised his hand as if to invoke a blessing as he let go of his quivering rope, and said, " A4ay ye live long and be blessed, and be, as thy father was, like untc the Father of fathers ! " CHAPTER VI. The quiet flow of happy life — two lives blended in one, a noiseless current in its depth, and less observed, because more complete — this life of Oliver and Naomi leaves us free for a time to turn more fully to others. Mistress Crisp had decided at once to make her own home a separate one, though still on the Mill- property. She said it was of no use to put young folks in the [^ood ways of the old ; for you have no sooner taught them, than something new was sure to turn up, making them wish for a change ! Her decisive sentence was, " Let them meet the world as it is, and find out for themselves ; for that is not half-learned that Experience has not had the teaching of ! " Yet she dwelt not far off, with a motherly heart. She tended her herb-beds and vegetables ; such quality you could find nowhere else; and her single border of white lilies, multiplied year by year, you would have supposed it the flower of her heart, and so it was; and its purity might well make it dear to one pure in spirit as she was ; but when vou saw her pull off petal by petal in the prime of the blossom, and carry them in to steep in bottles of brandy, you knew that the compassions of her soul exceeded her lended d less Oliver 1 more ike her e Mill- youn^ lave no as sure ! Her 2 world t is not eaching otherly tables ; lud her by year, r heart, dear to saw her lossom, jidy, you ded her 1 OLIVER OP THE MILL. OJ admiration of the white blossoms courting the sun. When Joseph Richards planted the red rose, no one diminished its beauty; it blossomed abundantly, as if it knew that it held an unequalled place. There was not a hurt in all the country round but Mistress Crisp shared in the credit of the cure; and many a sufferer would trust no one but her. She had never quite understood the ways of her husband and son. A lone widow's, or a sick man's bill written on " Paid," when no money had been re- ceived, was to her mind a confusion, and not quite the right thing. But she always said that business ways were beyond her, and she left them alone. We need not dwell on the exact differences of opinion in such cases ; as Mistress Crisp settled the point by saying, " Men have their way, and women have theirs; and let that end the question; for we have not to look after each other in the things that belong to the right hand and the left ! " ' Yet she had the highest esteem for her husband. She often said, " Thee know I was ' read out ' for marrying with Oliver Crisp ; but what ' Friend ' in all England would not have done so if Oliver Crisp had been the reason 1 And the whole Society, had they but known him, might have been glad to keep him on second hand I " — She in, and he out ! She kept strictly to the dress of the " Friends," and the Bible use of personal pronouns ; and she taught the same kindly form of speech to her son. Her son had been brought up with no strict association with any ceremonial of worship. "To do justly, love 66 OLIVER OF THE MILL. '4 mercy, and walk liiimbly with God," was the motto and the hfe of the home he jrrcw up in. Full () know Mistress Crisp, you must ask of thf poor ; they hot know the eloquence of praise for those whose reinenibrance dwells in their hearts. It is a strange ttiought, the dirtercnt registers of earth ! 1'here are the iiiand state records that tell and that test the history ot nations. In the palace homes and the hotels of Old England when you pass in or out, you write your name in a book. In the homes of the rich you leave a card, when you call, which may be read, to tell who are the acquaintances and friends of the family ; but ask of the poor who their friends are, and you read the name graven on the heart; — the fervent tone, the tearful eye, will tell you that their friends are friends indeed 1 ^ Dress was then, as it is now, a subject of frequent remark ; and the villagers would say, " Did ye ever see Mistress Crisp in a bran new thing, or yet in one to say old ? " Her perfect neatness kept everything without spot ; and her erect, quiet movements pre- served her garments long in wear. Her great love for flannel and unbleached cloth for the poor made her very unwilhug to think anything new a necessity for herself. Mistress Crisp had attended most of the sick-beds in the village for thirty years ; and few had departed without her ministering aid to body and soul. Once she failed; — it will be remembered that she was not with Naomi in the last hours of earthly life. When Naomi was sinking slowly in her brightness and beauty, Oliver Crisp said, ''Mother, thee wilt be OLIVER OF THE MILL. 67 with her?" But Mistress Crisp answered, weeping, "It is no slight on thee, my son, but I ean't see her depart I She has been the Hght of my eyes, and the life of thy heart; and if 1 looked on, it would finish thy mother I Thou hast sore need of a better helper than I am, and He will not fail thee when that hour has come/' As far as Mistress Crisp understood others, she spoke with kindness and truth. Yet it was not the less a fact that many a word from her fell with the strength and weight of a stone into the under-current of deeper natures than her own. Such words would sink, raising circle after circle of thought and feeling, th.tt would have been incomprehensible to her. Such stone-like words in life often descend into the deepest current of feeling, troubling tlu^ still waters, and sometimes lying in the bed of the current like a block, always making an eddy in the stream; but this does not prove the speaker to be hard or insensible, but only unconscious of that which lies hidden under the surface. Moreover, there is a great difference between dropping a stone unawares, and throwing a stone. Mistress Crisp did the former, but seldom the latter. The one whom, perhaps, she never really troubled was Naomi. The latter's life was a crystal; you seemed able to see the very well-spring of her thought and feeling. Mistress Crisp had never had a daughter, and she looked on Naomi as a rare thing, to be handled with care. She always softened under the beam of Naomi's full eyes, and the angles of her ; 68 OLIVER OF THE MILL. sentences and sharpened tones of her voice melted and dissolved into tenderness for her. She kept to her principle of aliovvinir young folks to learn by the mistakes that they made ; and passed no comment on the slight changes that gave a grace and a finish to the once singularly plain home of Oliver Crisp. Children had a pleasant awe of Mistress Crisp; however fretful in sickness, they were patient when she s^at beside them, and they told their bad feelings to her in a way that could not be drawn out by their mothers. She never failed for want of a remedy ; that it was not always successful is the lot of all who administer medicine. Her good broth of boiled bones and herbs was often her most restorative aid, and no sick nurse could equal her barley-water and gruel. She had also a closet filled with shelves, on which were strong sheets and linen for the poor in their sickness. It was one of her chief personal pleasures to add to this store, and everything she possessed was mended and repaired to the last with snch neat- ness by hers ;lf, or her well-instructed servant, that it was a (jucstion wiiether the garment was not more to be admired at last than at first. The keys of this village linen-closet, of a chest of drawers, of a closet of pre- serves, and her small cellar, with its home-made wine and other stores, — indeed all her keys, she carried in a large buckram pocket j and another ample pocket con- tained ginger md peppermint-lozenges for the aged, and sweetmeats for the children — when the children were good ! Mistress Crisp always took it for granted that children were good, and this well-known expecta- OLIVER OF TTIE MILL. «9 tion, or persuasion, or almost certainty, together with the hulls'-eyes, sugar-candy, and other sweetmeats, which somehow found a place in her capacious pocKet, went far to produce the good behaviour expected. There was no personal effort that Mistress Crisp so carefully avoided as the finding fault with old or young. Many a fault she did not see ; not from any indirectness of vision, but because she thought an escape might prove a warning. But when she under- took to train a young servant, for whom she felt responsible, nothing escaped her remarks, though she did not make every fault a subject of censure. Her domestic arrangements were always kept in such order that they never wanted putting to rights, and the best of household maids were those who began with Mistress Crisp. It must be remembered that it was far easier in those days to train a young servant than in these; for girls then made their place of service their home ; they felt its interest and its wel- fare their own; their quiet and becoming dress went on much the same year after year, they did not hurry into ftishion and folly ; their attraction lay in them- selves, and not in their dress ; and many a servant became a trusted friend, loved and cared for to the end as one of the family. Mistress Crisp put her servant-girl well and patiently into the way of doing evervthiiig, and then expected her to attend to all that she had taught her. She had but one penalty for inattention — it was a singular one, but it answered. If dust were left aftci 70 OLIVER OF THE MILL. the duster, or a litter on the floor, or a wrinkle on the bed-quilt, or spots and marks on furniture, or a smear on the china when washed — her old china was choice, and she used it, but it did not signify how common the ware if the smear were upon it — for any failure of this kind Mistress Crisp put on her tortoise- shell spectacles the next day, and sat in the centre of the room watching the whole proceeding ; and unless you had once seen her in this position, you could scarcely imagine how f ffectivc it was. There was a saying amongst the village mothers, " Get your girl to Mistress Crisp, and you have made her for life." It would not now be easy to find such a one as Mistress Crisp. Some fifty years ago such charac- ters were not so uncommon. The waves of restless thought and action that now everywhere agitate life flowed with comparative stillness then. Personal character had time to take form, and there was space and leisure for others to observe the form that it took. But now, when crowd meets crowd, when distance is reckoned by moments, when events lose their order of succession, and claims press in on all sides, how can marked character be readily formed ? Or, if formed, who will pause to observe and record ? We miy write of the past, and find it easy to trace the foot-prints of souls calmly treading life's path, and living out for others the experience they had won ; but will the future give these again, or far other jiicturcs of life ? Eyes that looked around half a century ago return to the past for quiet portraits; — portraits of those high enough in general excellence OLIVER OF THE MILL. 71 kle on e, or a la was y how for any )rtoise- ntre of unless could B was a )ur girl life." , one as charac- restless ;atc life ersonal IS space that it 1, when tits lose a on all formed ? record ? to trace ;'s path, hey had far other \ half a :raits ; — xcellence 'i to be. models, yet low enough to be left in the sweet- ness of seclusion. We turn now to Jonathan Caxton. He it was to whom Naomi's marriage-hells were but a muffled peal, ringing backwards the hope of his heart. He was the eldest son of the largest farmer of the place — a njan who, though rich, kept up all the habits of a plain farmer's life. His sons went out for their day's work, and all that was done on Farmer Cax- ton's farm was well done. Jonathan had felt an early attraction to Naomi. Her birth graced her lowly station, and carried into it a simple dignity and gentleness rare even in those quieter days of Eng- land's daughters. The village never dou'jted the love between Oliver Crisp and Naomi ; but when Oliver nppcarcd a changed man, reserved, and with a shadow hanging over him, it was supposed he must have been denied, and young Jonathan's hope grew strong. But Naomi's was no heart to change. Oliver was cold, but this might yet pass, and he, and he only, she felt, could he one with her life. Jonathan jiskcd not her hand, but showed her what kindness he could in friendly manner. Yet, meeting no encouragement, he determined to get the question settled by speaking to his mother, through whom all appeals were made to his father, and then asking Naomi, who could not refuse him when no other suitor urged his prayer. He knew not the strength that can repose beneath gentleness. But it never came to this point ; for Farmer Caxton, a successful maker of money, had also acquired the love of money. OLIVER OF THE MILL. m I On any subject involving money he was very hard to approach ; no one in his family could venture it except his wife, and she with great caution. " Farmer Caxton/' said Mistress Caxton — for on grave occasions she would so address him — " our Jonathan has set his mind on the girl Naomi. I am well assured he might look higher, and not do better, and shall be as glad for my part as the lad if you will not say him nay." "Jonathan marry the widow's daughter! I should like to know when ? When he has made both ends meet for himself, I can tell him 1 Shall I work my life out, that my sons may go and take up with paupers ! You may tell him Naomi shall never daiken my door, nor he either, if he stirs a step after her.'^ And Farmer Caxton turned out. Naomi darken a door 1 She who came as a sun- beam from heaven ! lliere are souls on earth whose very presence attempers the atmosphere around them. Sent from God, they have more than an angel's mission here. They come to minister to others' need. They come to walk in love, and dwell in love ; for they dwell in God, and God is love. And such as these was Naomi. " Mother, I can't be denied 1 Here or other- where, I must have Naomi." '' Lad, it is of no use ; your father never changes his mind. I was dead set against marrying him myself j I told him over and over that I never would ; but he just held on till I found myself his. It is no manner of use speaking of it again j you might as OLIVER OF THE MILL. 73 soon move a r^ck as turn your father from one way to the other." "Well^ mother, I have told you the end; so you had hest let him into the light of it too." Mistress Caxton watehed her opportunity for many a day, then said, in a pleading tone, *' Father, have you any young woman in sight for our Jona- than ?'" ISow Farmer Caxton was a plain-spoken man, and he answered, '' Not 1 ! But I have this thing in sight — that a farmer wants capital to do any good, and a farmer's wife must bring money. Do you suppose I would have made you Mistress Caxton if you had brought me no money ? Young folks take a liking, a.nd they think that reason enough to go marrying. Our eldest son, too, and half-a-dozen y(HUiger ones after him, treading on each other's heels ! What^s a father for but to look out for his son ; and to begin with agreeing to a thing like that, where, pray, would it end, but in ruin and want?" * " Well," said Mistress Caxton, with a touch of displeasure in her tone, " I think you have proved, if ever man did, that it is a head and a good pair of hands that are worth every bit as much in a farm as the money a woman brings. And it's my mind, and I'll speak it, that if ever woman had the gift to make mucli out of little, it is Naomi." " I have said it," saiJ Farmer Caxton, "and I'll not hear of it again." ^' Then I had better warn you the lad may be off; 74 OLIVER OP THE MILL. for he has got a will like his father's — not given to >} change. " Let him go," said Farmer Caxton, in the cold- ness of anger ; " his brother shall stand in his shoes." Jonathan heard the decision from his mother. He waited awhile in doubt, dreading his father's hard nature; and Naomi was given where alone her heart could give its affection. ven to e cold- in his ler. He 's hard r heart CHAPTER Vn. If it be the strong influences that govern, it is the gentle influenccF that mould into beauty. The strength of the wind may be irresistible, and its purifying fury a blessing; but it is the soft breeze and baluiy air that expand nature and bring it to per- fection. The rushing torrent cleaves a pathway through rocks, but it is the gently-flowing river and gliding streamlet that fertilize. This is the Divine teaching in creation : it is the same teaching by the Word of God. Green pastures and still waters are the experience of blessing in following the Good Shepherd. Elijah stands out in Holy Scripture with a grandeur unrelieved by the softer touches of nature ; yet even to him the Lord came not in the strong wind that rent the mountains and broke the rocks, nor in the earthquake, nor in the fire, but in the still small voice; at that still small voice Elijah wrapped his face in his mantle and went out. The great lawgiver who had dwelt alone with Jehovah, amidst the flame and thunder of Sinai, uses the gentlest imagery to describe the Divine Word, with the grandest introduction ever penned or b'cathcd — " Give ear, O ye heavens, and I will speak ; and hear, earth, the words of my mouth. My doctrine shall I ! '^ihrS%: rr 76 OLIVER OF THE MILL. iifi'i li drop as the rain, my speech shall distil as the dew ; as the small rain upon the tender herh, and as the showers upon the grass/' The same truth is summed up in the declaration of Jehovah — " As one whom his kother comforteth, so will I comfort you;" a mother's name being the central point of earth's tenderness. And this is acknowledged in the declarative response of the human heart to Jehovah, "Thy gentleness hath made me great." Over the Mill-house there now reigned a tender- ness of quiet peace. For two years before the settled engagement with Naomi it had been a grey atmos- phere, where nothing brightened in warm sunshine; now a deeply loving nature — that richest sunshine of earth made the life of the home; and its atmosphere therefcre expanded all that was tendeiest and best in those who dwelt within its influence. Naomi's light step glided through work which another might have made a labour. She had not only the home-work on her hands, but two cows in her dairy — Jess, and Bob- tail, — called so from a misfortune that robbed the good cow of the useful tuft at the end of its whisking tail. A poultry-yard soon increased under her care, and the Mill became the resort of hucksters for young fowls and eggs. She had a tall pigeon-house, and she sometimes stood quietly to watch the white pigeons sweep under the sky, and turn .1 their rapid circles, catching the sun})eam. She had geese fed on the green hill, and soon added bees to her garden ; they flew the valley's length, bringing back on their toil- some ascent of the high hill the nectar from every Jl OLIVER OF THE MILL. n flower. Cats, of course, there were, but not indoors. Mistress Crisp had trained them well ; a pretty race of cats they were, pure white, with cypress tails. And a noble dog, a gift when quite young to Oliver Crisp at his marriage, from "a well-wishing friend :'' Though not allowed indoors, the dog attached itself greatly to Naomi; its name was Aleppo. Naomi had wished for a golden canary, in memory of the one dear in her childhood, but Mistress Crisp had said that a bird in a cage was a thing out of place; and Naomi would not willingly strain a single feeling of her mother-in-law's ; and truly never home less needed a singing-bird, for Naomi's voice was a carol of joy, and oftentimes when she sat at her embroidery on the door-step of her cheerful room, leaning against the side door-post, where she could see the Mill and her husband's white figure at the door when the Mill steps turned that way — oftcntinjcs she sat there at her embroidery and sang. It was at first always by herself that she sang ; for she feared that singing might not be pleasing to Mistress Crisp, and Oliver had no ear for music ; but Naomi discovered that he had a voice, and after a time she Vv^ould persuade him to sing hynms with her. Naomi's skilful hand, and her eye for tasteful arrangement, soon gave a simple charm to the Mill- house it had not had before. Her induluent mother- in-law had left a supply of old china, which Naomi removed from the closet-shelves, and displayed on the high mantelpiece and dresser, and she nailed slips of blue cloth with small brass nails on the edge 11 3 1 m 78 OLIVER OF THE MILL. of the worm-eaten boc/k-shelves ; such novelties as these Mistress Crisp did not see — we mean she did not comment upon, except to herself. "A)oung thing's fancies ! even she can't be perfect ! " It might be questioned whether Mistress Crisp was ever conscious of an error or mistake in herself; her upright, blameless life, her kindness and consistency, were faultless. It mi^ht almost have been wished that she could commit a fault, and feel that she had ; her strong nature would have been opened and softened by the sense of failure. Only one thing Naomi pleaded for in her new home, and that one was flowers. There was not a flower in the Mill-house garden, save the grand old white lilies. Oliver could not deny her, but he said, " I thought such things were more bother than good ! " still he freely consented. But when creeping rose- trees and other climbers were begged for, he replied, "They will only grow to make litter." Yet Naomi prevailed, and the house, walls, and garden began to feel a brightness when the summer sunshine fell on them. And so she lived as \Mfe and daughter there, a life of love and blessing; busy in daily work, yet with a hush upon her spirit, as of one listening in heart for what any moment might bring — the coming of the King of kings ! in whose presence groans would cease to mar creation's peace, and lose would blend its discords into harmony. Sometimes she would read with her mother-in-law from Holv Scripture; none save Naomi could have asked for this from the Ot.IV I R OP THE MILL. 79 reserved Mistiess Crisp ; but when Naomi's radiant tvcs lov^ked up at prophet voices, that told of millen- uiul blessedness. Mistress Crisp would firmly, though gently, answer to the appeal, " I do not tamper with sueh mysteries. It is best to suppose them spiritual/' Her husband loved to hear her read the Bible. At evening, when the great ledger was put away, he would say, "My jewel!'' for that was what he ealled her, •' Where's the Book r " There were many books upon the shelves, yellow-leaved and old, but they puzzled Naomi's head, and Oliver could not understand them when she "oad them aloud; so they had the more of the one liook whose words are as silver purified seven times in a furnace of earth. There were some volumes of Owen, Baxter, and Bunyan, and these were her personal delight. Her Bible and her Pilgrim's Progress had both been gifts in her happy childhood from Oliver, and now he had her all his own, trained by their heavenly teaching. As the winter passed away. Mistress Ca.xton of the farm felt uneasy at her son making more frequent excuses than she could account for, to ride to the distant town. ''Why so unsettled, lad? What's the town company, that you cannot rest in your home ? " " I am after pleasing father, if it must be told/* he replied. " What, a wife, Jonathan ? be ruled by your mother, and bide your time yet. Lad, you neither know the world nor yourself, and von will set your Ro OMVKR OF THE MILL. foot in a net, and then thcrc^s never the hand that can loose it acrain ! " " I can't help it, mother ; father never thought of me ; he only eared for the purse. I can't find another heart, and no use if I did, if the purse were not equal. So I will have no more contention, hut buy his free will I " " O, lad! 'tis no good buying and selling like that ! Work on steady awhile, and fiither will put vou in a farm ; and if there has been one true heart in the world, you may be sure there's a second, for there never was a thing in creation that hadn't its fellow. And what's more, you will happen of it, too; for they that will put up with anything, why let them take it; but they that wait for the best, and know where to look for it, 'tis certain to be given. Dost know, lad, where to look ? " Jonathan made no reply. " I mind you, lad, 'tis never said a wife is from the Lord, but 'a prudent wife is from the Lord.' When lie gives, FIc gives what's worth the having; but that's a poor fate that just takes anything." " Well, mother, if father talked like you, I would not stir without his word. But you know it is plain enough to be seen when it is not to be heard, that it's ju;;t what money a thing will fetch or lose. I have often thouglit I hated money; but lam changed now, mother — I am going in for it, too 1 " " Why so hasty ? Don't you know one step will take over the rock, and where are you then? ipp OLIVER OF THE MILL. 8l There's no taking it back to stand where you once stood before ! '* " What account would you give, mother, of the woman for me ? " "Three things, lad, *tis your need to consider. First, what's the worth of her spirit? will she turn a fair face on you when, may be, life turns a dark one? A holiday wife is a poor toy at the best ! Next, what's the worth of her head ? Can she tell wliich you need, the bridle or spur ? and how to use them, and not chafe you either ? — And can she make both ends meet when the measure runs short, as well as when it is full ? I can tell you, it takes a good head to do these 1 And then, what's the worth, of her hands ? Can she turn them to one thing when another won't do ? — Will she go quietly on it until work lies under her power? When you have settled those three things, you are pretty safe for this world ; and you have not learned yet to look beyond it I Take your motiier's word for it — you may eniptv a full purse, but vou will never drain a heart that is true ! " "Ah, mother ! 'tis too late! I want vou to tell father that I have fixed my mind on Alice Cramp ; he knows there's money there 1 " The nsother's counsel was in vain ; and the town bells rang merrily for Jonathan Caxton and his bridi?. They were married as sunuDcr came in ; and a farm engaged for them in the next parish. Farmer Caxton had taken no notice of Oliver's marriage ; but this did not trouble Oliver Crisp. His jewel was brightening in his home day by day ; and W \ \ IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 1.1 no ^^^ ^^B ■ 2.2 u lu u mm 2.0 11.25 in 1.4 - 6" '/] ^^? ^ /> (3 / Photographic Sciences Corporalion 33 WKT MAIN STMfT WIUTER,N.Y. 14SM (716)872-4503 *\ iV ""^ t^^ ^\^ '^S^ o^ 82 OLIVER OF THE MILL. he gave his kind word upon Jonathan's marriage, when he met Farmer Caxton, as pleasantly as if no slight had been put on himself. Naomi, too, ex- pressed her best wishes for Jonathan's happiness, iiaviiig been no stranger to his feeling for herself, though she could not respond to it. But Mistress Crisp, who had heard, as probably all the village had heard, of Farmer Caxton's word about Naomi — " As that he should say, she should never darken hus door!" This was a word she could never pass over. It was not only Naomi, — though were it her alone it would be quite offence enough not to pass over ; but it appiled equally to her son and herself; and even to her departed husband ; for had not Naomi been as free of their house as any child could be of her home ? " Mistress Crisp, af>.er that saying was reported, took no further notice of Farmer Caxton. She gave no recognition when they met, and if he attempted it she would not see it. She did not consider whether even a strong ^itterance of displeasure might not be bettor, than to cut off a neighbour from life's courtesies because of a wrong feeling and wrong utterance on his part ; or whether the better course might not be to pass it over as an error, that some day might be repented of. Life is too short, .and mutual needs are too great, to wait for repentance in those who do us wrong, when the wrong is of a nature that only requires a personal overlooking. Naomi could well understand the hard feeling of the farmer, and was not surprised at it. Those who have right on their ft I OLIYER OF THE MILL. «S side can best afford to pass over an offence ; and the higher the nature, the more readily will it take in view the standing-point of the offender, which will often account for the offence. A low range of vision cannot understand, and, therefore, fails to excuse, or forgive, or forget. But, any way, an outburst of in- dignation or displeasure is far better than a cold isolation. Isabelle, the eldest daughter of the Castle, at that time in her tenth year, often rode with her father over the green hill crowned by the Mill. It commanded a most extensive and lovely view, and was a point to which the Colonel often took his friends. His fre- quent visits to the spot increased his acquaintance with and regard for the Crisps, who had held the Mill for several generations; and young Conrad, only son of the Castle, had early formed a friend- ship with Oliver, the Mill becoming a special interest to him as a child ; and his frank, warm nature won Oliver's regard. Conrad was two years older than Isabelle, and full of youthful energy. The courteous Colonel did not. forget to offer his congratulations soon after the evening bells had rung the marriage-peal. Dismounting from his horse, he entered the wicket-gate to greet Naomi; and then invited her to the garden-paling to speak to Isabelle. Naomi curtseyed to the child. Those were days when English women and English girls knew how to curtsey. It appears now to be a courtesy peculiar to the Court; and in lowly life a crooked bend takes the place- of the significance of a curtsey. Isabelle N. 84 OLIVER OP THE MILL. shook hands from her pony, and looking at Naomi, said, " I am so glad you are come ! " Why should the sti;anger-child be glad ? She could not have told why, yet this first meeting linked her with a secret sympathy to Naomi. They met at intervals on the hill, or in the village, or in Mrs. Gray's morning- room, when Naomi sometimes took an order for her lovely embroidery ; which, though the wife of Oliver Crisp, she still liked to employ herself in ; and thus the feeling strengthened between the child of the Castle and the wife of the miller. The second summer of her home, Naomi gathered courage, and asked if the young ladies and the young gentleman would please to come and partake of her strawberries and cream. Isabelle's face flushed with pleasure, and Mrs. Gray gave consent. The forest that stretched away to the left of the Mill, when you stood facing the valley to the west, had no doubt once covered the hill. It still clothed the neighbour- ing Castle-height; and just below the white Mill- house an oak-tree had been spared. It had grown to a splendid size, quite unsurrounded, and its low branches spread out a close covering overhead. It was under this spreading canopy, on the soft turf, that Naomi prepared for her friends. The little girls were shy, and kept with their nurses; but Conrad was soon in the Mill with Oliver Crisp, avid Isabelle slipped her hand mto Naomi's, and went with her to look at the creatures. Then Naomi, to please the little ones, called her cows to follow her, and they came and stood under OLIVER OP THE MILL. the far side of the oak-tree, and Naomi milked little old-fashioned tumblers full of frothing milk, which delighted the children. Then the geese came flying at her call, with their outstretched wings skimming the ground, and the little ones clung to their nurses at the cackling approach of such a formidable body ; but as soon as they were gone, they wanted them back again. Naomi wisely called her white pigeons instead, who flew to the ground, and one, more tame than the rest — a white, fan-tailed pigeon — lighted on Naomi's shoulder and took the bread from her lips, and then sat on her finger, to the delight of the children, who shouted to have it. Its mother had by some means been shot, and Naomi had brought it up from a nestling. It so pleased the children that Naomi, always ready to give pleasure, presented it to Isabelle, to the delight of the child — her first living possession. She carried it home in a basket, and it had a wicker-cage in the hall. Conrad had no young friends near at hand, and Oliver Crisp most safely shared his confidence. The boy talked over the past, present, and future with the miller. Many a long, earnest talk they had at the top of the Mill-steps. A willing listener is a gift to a young heart, and Oliver's few words, when he gave a reply or a comment, were not forgotten by the ardent boy. These summer visits became a frequent treat, though Naomi was not allowed to be taxed ; a basket came with provisions — not half so good, Isabelle and Conrad maintained, as the first feast provided by Naomi ! 86 OLIVER OF THE MILL. Of all the performances under the oak-tree, Aleppo's were the most amusing and most con- stantly asked for. At first, when Naomi said, " Aleppo, fetch your master ! " Aleppo ran up the Mill -steps and tugged at his master's coat, and Oliver and Conrad came gravely down, greeted by a burst of happy laughter from the children. But at length, when the dog was sent up, Oliver only looked and smiled when Aleppo pulled and tugged. Aleppo him- self was soon up to the cheat, and when told to go, at the request of the children, he pretended not to hear ; and if compelled to take notice, he only wagged his tail, and pushed his nose into Naomi's hand, as if saying, " You know you don't want the master !" Then Oliver's stick was put in some place difficult of access, and Aleppo was desired to fetch it. All the different attempts of the sagacious dog, and the inge;?uity with which he accomplished his task, delighted the eager children : especially when Aleppo climbed the Mill-steps of his own accord, and laid the stick at his master's feet, and Oliver Cricp stooped and took the stick, and gave Aleppo a pat of commendation, guessing at the expectant eyes below. The visits to the Mill were varied by Naomi being invited to the nursery-tea at the Castle j and then the visit to Isabelle's room, and the sitting in Isabelle's chair to look at her treasures. " Have you any treasures ? " asked Isabelle. . Naomi's full eyes met the eyes of the child as she answered, " In Heaven ! " Isabelle was silent, and Naomi said, "Does it «p OLIVER OF THR MILL. 87 (( « not say, ' Where our tn-asure is, there our heart will be'?" " Yes," said Isabelle ; " but I meant pretty things here." " I have some,'* answered Naomi, " but very few. I have a little old china ; but that is all, I think." "What have you in Heaven? " asked Isabelle. " My mother is gone to be with Christ, and my father went before 1 can remember ; and the Lord Himself is there, who loves us more than father or mother \" Does He really ? " asked Isabelle. Yes," answered Naomi. "We may learn to say, ' He loved me, and gave Himself for me ! ' " " How do you know He loves you ? " asked Isabelle. " Because I love Him, and the Bible says, * VV^e love Him because He first loved us ! * " and seeing the child was forgetting her earthly treasures in the light of a treasure in the Heavens, Naomi went on, " Once I had no other love to look to. My mother was dying, and I had no one else ; and then I found that the love of Jesus was near, and strong enough to keep me from being afraid of being left all alone in the world." Isabelle sat silent in her little chair before Naomi; and Naomi, fearing that the subject was weighing too much on her young heart, said, " There are a great many treasures in Heav6n — harps of gold, and crowns, and palms, and precious stones I " I don't care so much for them," answered (t Ij 88 OLIVER OF THE MILL. Isabellc, " as to hear of Him whose love could make you happy all alone." " Yet they must be very beautiful," said Naomi; " but I never saw a precious stone." "Did you never see a precious stone?** asked Isabellc. " I \vill ask mamma to show you hers when vou come again. You will come soon again? " she asked, for Naomi had risen to go. " Do come soon, Mrs. Crisp!" - ' " ^ . " Will you not call me Naomi ? I am, or, at least, I used to be, Naomi to all the village ! " The lady of the Castle engaged Naomi to instruct Isabellc in embroidery — a work much in favour with ladies in those days. These lessons took Naomi once a week to the Castle, and many a hallowed talk passed between the two, leaving the needle less busy sometimes than it might have been ; but Mrs. Gray saw enough of Naomi willingly to trust her child to the happy hour of work and converse. Naomi saw the jewels, and ! er delight was great in really look- ing upon the ruby, the emerald, the sapphire, the diamond — all stones of the High Priest's breast-plate; and not less so, the pearl of the New Jerusalem. The reality of tiiese things to Naomi brought them home with a new feeling to young IsabcUe. One day, to her surprise, Isabelle discovered that Naomi was looking for the second coming of the Lord. "But will He come," asked Isabelle, "while we are living on the earth ? " " No man knoweth of that day nor of that hour," answered Naomi. " He may come while you and I are quietly working here I He said Himself, ' Watch, OLIVER OF THE MILL. 89 therefore, for ye know not what hour your Lord doth come r " " Does it make you glad ? " asked Isabelle. "Do you not thmk," replied Naomi, "that if One who was worthy of all love had died for you, and lived again, and was coming back to take you with Him, — would not your heart watch day and night for His return ? '* " Yes, if I were not at all afraid ! ** said Isabelle. Naomi replied with her tenderest smile, " If you are afraid of Him, it is only because you do not yet know Him ! You have a little Bible there — if you read of Him when you are alone, and ask Him to show Himself to you through its blessed words. He most surely will ; and when you know Him you will love Him more, and perfect love castcth out fear I " " Shall I read with you ? " asked Isabelle, who seemed in some degree a stranger to her Bible. " Yes," answered Naomi ; " we can always read when I come, if I may keep you so long ; but you will learn it best alone. Don't you know that you get to know any one with whom you are often alone ? And so we learn to know the Lord when we are alone with Him. And though you will always want the help, — which may God give you I — of being taught by those who best can teach, yet to learn to know the blessed Saviour, you will find to be easiest to you when in His own Word you see Him, alone with Him, and learn His love for you — learn to know and believe the love He has for you. He says, * He that loveth Me shall be loved of My Father, and I will love him, and will manifest Myself unto him ! ' a 90 OLIVER OP THE MILL. It passeth knowledge ! that dear love of Thine, Lord Jesus! Saviour I yet this soul of mine Would of that love, in all its depth and length, Its height and breadth and everlasting strength. Know more and more. It passeth telling ! that dear love of Thine, Lord Jesus! Saviour! yet these lips of mine Would fain proclaim to sinners far and near A love which can remove all guilty fear — And love beget. It passeth praises / that dear love of Thine, Lord Jesus ! Saviour ! yet this heart of mine Would sing a love so rich — so full — so free— Which brought an undone sinner, such as me, Right home to God. But, ah ! I cannot tell, or sing, or know The fulness of that love, whilst here below : Yet my poor vessel I may freely bring ! Oh ! Thou who art of love the living spring, - My vessel fill. ^ • I am an empty vessel I scarce one thought Or look of love to Thee I've ever brought ; Yet, I may come, and come again to Thee With this — the contrite sinner's truthful plea — " Thou lovest me /" Oh ! Jill me, Jesus ! Saviour ! with Thy love ! May woes but drive me to the fount above : Thither may I in childlike faith draw nigh. And never to another fountain fly But unto Thee! ,\ - And when, Lord Jesus ! Thy dear face I se(s— When a* Thy lofty throne I bend the knee. Then of Thy love~in all its breadth and length, Its height and depth and everlasting strength— My soul shall sing, and find her endless rest In loving Thee ! CHAPTER VIII. • f Farmer Caxton had but one standard in life, pro- vided always that outward propriety were observed ; and that one standard was the abundance that a man possessed ! — provided also that the man had made his money by his own industry, skill, or good fortune. Therefore, he now slighted Oliver Crisp, because Oliver might have done well for himself in the world, and matched moi ey to money ; instead of which he had let himself down in the world; which Farmer Caxton thought reason enough for casting him off. Mistress Caxton had a different view, and tried to show every civility in her power. Yet, with all his love of money, Farmer Caxton was by no means a miser, in the general sense of the word. He edu- cated his children, paid his men well, had the best workmen, the best farm-buildings, horses, and cattle on the Castle jpstate. He was a thorough man of business ; but he would rather hold back until he got his price, than sell at a lower. He knew how to drive a hard bargain ; but he kept his cottages in good repair, and did not neglect his men when dis- abled. Yet money was his idol ; what could be gained or lost in any transaction was his chief con- sideration. -J 92 OLIVER OF THE MILL. Jonathan's marriage pleased him well. Mr. Cramp was the largest tradesman in the neighbouring town. His shop was one of those comprehensive places more common a century ago, which on one side served groceries of all descriptions, candles and cheese, and on the other side, drapery of all sorts. He also dealt in corn and hay ; and, of late years, he had added a banking-business. He was quite the chief tradesman of the place. Mr. Cramp gave an allotted sum to each daughter on marrying; on the express understanding that under no circumstances, would another penny be added. " I have sons and daughters enough," he said ; " and when I marry a daughter, I consider her off my hands, and done with ! " but the marriage portion was large enough to satisfy all parties concerned. Farmer Caxton pursued much the same plan, for he stocked his son's farm — a very costly thing, then; this done, in addition to the money that Alice Cramp brought, he considered his son well off his hands. Mistress Caxton furnished the house. When the short absence after the wedding was over, Mistress Caxton received her daughter-in-law at the new farm ; all was in beautiful order, a servant- girl engaged, and everything ready to hand. ' "Now you will not need to churn again until Friday," said Mistress Caxton. " I will send over that day to put you in the way." Sally Dumbleton was the village help at Farmer Caxton's. She arrived, brushing away the dew with her hasty step by six o'clock on the summer morn- OLIVER OF THE MILL. 93 ing ; but the farm was asleep, the men were waiting outside, no master to direct. Alice Caxton and her husband had been at a late party the night before, in the town ; and Sally Dumbleton did all the dairy-work alone. On the following Tuesday she made trial again ; but Alice Caxton had given a return party at the farm, and it was seven o'clock before a master in slippers looked out to set his men on. " None of the old go here, I can see 1 *' said a man transferred from the parental farm to this; " they say the women can make or mar, and 'tis plain our new mistress don't come of farm-life 1 " " I tell you what, Cely," said Sally Dumbleton to Cecilia, the farm maid, "your pans tell the lack of hot water ; sour cream and sour milk will just ruin your dairy ! " The warning was true, but there were none to heed it. Mistress Caxton herself grew hot in remon- strance ; but Alice, her daughter-in-law, said, " I think it a hard case if the purse that I brought is not long enough to find me help I " Alas, for the farm 1 The butter came back from the market unsold ; the village women gave up any regular coming for milk that was sour. Jonathan was angry. His wife cried, and said she was not born to labour I Sally Dumbleton gave up, and one help proved only worse than another. Jonathan called up the yard-boy for bringing no eggs. "Please, sir, I was just to and fro the town with mistress's band-box ; and the day afore I walked in and out for sweet pies for the supper.' »» 94 OLIVER OF THE MILL, It was not dairy produce alone; the home was a scene of continual discomfort. Alice's mother, Mrs. Cramp, was a bustling, active woman, but she had not trained her daughters to household work ; they gave their attention to dress and visiting ; and when the daily duties of an active farmer's wife came on poor Alice, she could not tell at which end to begin ; nor hov7 to handle work. She made her farm-parlour gay, and in frequent visits to the town tried to amuse herself as well as she could. " I cannot eat these lumps of lead ! " said Jona- than, throwing down a cake of bread. " Cely," said Alice Caxton, " you know I told you to make it light." " Yes,'' answered Cely ; " but you called and called for me just between the rising and the sinking of !:he dough ; and that is how it came heavy. It was not my fault, I am sure ! " Mar the dairy, and the comfort of home, and you will not find the fields continue to flourish. Jonathan began to take to company, and often spent his even- ings out, and Alice fretted at home. One infant after another only added to her cares and her help- lessness. Farmer Caxton seldom went near the farm, and Mistress Caxton had given up her good counsel in despair. Their truest friends were Oliver and Naomi. Olivei^'s heart smote him, for he remembered the past — he remembered his long-cherished grief for his father, and how his mother's words, falling on a heart at that time unready, had led him to slight Naomi, T? y^ OLIVER OP THE MILL. 95 and to give reason for Jonathan's hope. He was not slow to think that disappointment might have led 'to an ill-matched union. He tried to win Jonathan's confidence, and to advise him for a better course. It was an effort on Oliver's part; not from lack of good- will ; but because he never went out of his way in life to win any one nor anything; though he often went out of his way to aid in other need. Jonathan responded to the feeling of kindness, and several times Oliver saved him from rash resolves. Naomi, too, became a welcome visitor at the farm. Poor Alice Caxton felt herself ill-used in being expected to attend to duties for which she had never been trained. She was not true woman enough to know that it is a chief point in woman's life, to be ready for any and every variety of daily duty ; to apply both heart and head to each small task, and never to measure the present or the future by the past. " You see," said Naomi, " you were, not born and bred to these things. I am more in the way of them, and might help you a little." " 'Tis past help, Mrs. Crisp ; I often tell Mr. Caxton there is nothing for it but giving up farming." " No, sure, not that ! " said T^aomi ; " you will p-et into the way of things before long, that seem strange to you now." " I am not made for work, Mrs. Crisp ; I brought him a fortune, and 'tis hard to be expected to slave as if I had not had a penny." *' I think I could find you a good sort of bodv. I 96 OLIVER OF THE MILL. who would just take your dairy in hand, and make your butter your pride." . ' " I am sick of the dairy, it is always turning sour, and I cannot help it ! I always knew milk did not keep more than the night. I say, sell the cows, it is but one thing less, and that one no end of bother; then Mr. Caxton breaks out, and says you may as well sell the farm, for the dairy's the gauge of the whole. Sell it all then, I say, and let us live on in peace." " Shall we," said Naomi, "take a day through in our minds, and see how we could order so as to give you more quiet ? " " Take a day through ? why, that's nothing new I It's what I know by heart to my sorrow and care. Here, the first of the morning, just the best hours for sleep, there is such a turn-out all over the place — the cocks are all crowing, and the squeaking of pigs, and the yard-boy will hollow out the names of the cows, jntil I hear them all in my dreams ; as to sleep, it^s no rest ! it drives me to be late ; and when I come down there is such an outcry in every direction — there rumbles tb old churn, and the butter won't come ! Then the women crowd to the door, wanting a penny off here and twopence off there, for milk that they say turned sour. Cely has got her arms in the cheese-curds; and there's the beat, beat, of the linen doll. Then in comes the yard-boy with a dead duck, and a hatful of young ducklings just out of the eggs, and their mouths all a-gape, and I never know what to put in them ! I had heard say peppercorns were good things, so I fed them with those, but they died ^ OLIVER OF THE MILL. 97 everyone. Then a horse or a cow is sure to be ill ; or a man comes on business and Mr. Caxton has been off and two hours away, and no one knows where, and Httle Joe conies crawling down-stairs in his night-shirt, and the baby screaming above. Such a drive ! — it knocks me up before I have so much as turned round in it. And as to my being mistress, and not a creature to wait on me, nor to make the cold breakfast hot! I should like to know who would not give up in despair ! " Even Naomi was hopeless I Still she often went to the farm ; it eased poor Alice Caxton to pour out her troubles, and the baby got a comfortable dressing and nursing in her ready arms. A third infant added to their difficulties. Four years had now been passed in the farm, and the case was proved hopeless. It was at length settled that the only thing for Jonathan Caxton to do was to sell his farm-stock, pay his debts, and with the remainder of his wife's money try his fortune in America. The farm was re-let, and in September, four years and a half from their marriage, they were to wind up and sail from their native land. Mistress Caxton took the boy Jonathan. Alice was to go with her parents, and Naomi begged to keep baby Meg; — at all events, until the parents were settled, and might be able to send for her out to them. The question arose where the last days before they sailed should be spent. Jonathan dreaded his father, but his poor wife was afraid of both her father and mother. Those whose pride it is to make money. 98 OLIVER OF THE MILL. have seldom much sympathy for those who lose. It was settled by Mistress Caxton that they must come home — as she called it from her materual heart, and spend the last days at the old Farm. Naomi went over to help on the day of winding-up ; it was a sorrowful scene, and the confusion of all things made every one useless. Farmer Caxton's large gig came in time to fetch them to tea, with a cart for the personal luggage. Only the baby was left, asleep in her cradle, unconscious of all that was changing and fixing life's destiny for her; she slept while her parents and brother and sister departed, nor felt nor feared the lot of the forsaken. Naomi stood at the garden-gate, and saw them depart ; she watched them along the winding lane, and her eyes filled with tears for a home deserted. But she returned to the sleeping infant, took it in her arms without its waking, folded the cradle blankets round it, laid its scanty wardrobe in the cradle, directed the yard-boy to follow her with it, and took her way across the fields to the Mill. The fields were cleared, for it was late in September, and the still light of autumn mellowed the land. There was something in the breath of a September evening that alvsays sent a thrill through Naomi ; it seemed to her on such an evening that the air was full of the distant melodies of pealing bells. An*' now she carried home a treasure for which she had been scarcely able to re- press the longing — a child — an object for the wealth of her affection; one who needed all that she could give; one who would repay it all ; — proving a blessing by T Lf OLIVER OF THE MILL. 99 receiving now, and then by giving back when they most needed it in years to come. At the Farm, Mistress Caxton had spread her hospitable board ; a pang was in her heart, but she wore a pleasant look, as one who had too often met with trouble to feel surprise at its return. Jonathan had long felt the weight of his father's cold displea- sure, and dreaded now the meeting him in this for- lorn conclusion. The farmer sat by his wood fire j he did not rise to meet them ; but as they stood on entering, he stooped to place more wood upon the hearth -stones, and said, " Are ye not a cold ? ye had better come nigher." The evening meal was a silent one; no one was hungry, and all were glad to retire early to rest. The sun was flushing the sky as Naomi with her burden reached the foot of the hill. Oliver from the high steps of the Mill had been watching for her return. He locked the mill-door, and came down tc meet her at the gate. " You have had a long day of it ; tired out, I should think ? " " I watched to see them away, and then I brought home our treasure," Naomi said, and sat down on her low chair, uncovering the wraps, and disclosed a poor baby not three months old, in a little old bed- gown that had served its elders ; a little plain cap drawn with bobbins, and eyes closed in sleep. " Isn't it such a beauty ? '* asked Naomi. ''You are a bit of a prophet,*' said Oliver, smiling. " No doubt it will be 1 " 100 OLIVER OF THE MILL. u -ll The yard-boy was humbly waiting at the door with the cradle. Oliver slipped a sixpence into the hand of the poor boy, now out of place ; and they drew to their tea-table beside the blazing hearth, — the baby asleep on Naomi's lap. Another name to add to their evening sup|)lications, another head to find a pillow, another heart a home. Amongst the farms of the parish was a large and prosperous one, rented by one Farmer Butterly. Mis was the hand of the diligent which maketh rich, and those were grand times for farmers, when wheat sometimes rose to a golden profit. Many a fine pasture was ploughed up in those days to grow more corn; and Farmer Butterly always had been a man for success. He had begun life in a small way; but now held a good farm. He had married rather late in life, on taking the farm, and his children were as yet very young. There were few days Susan Butterly ■ — for so she was familiarly called — more thoroughly enjoyed than the great monthly wash and ironing days of the farm, when she could talk freely without hin- drance to work, and speak her mind to her help, JNJartha Hukerback, who was sure to carry abroad all that Susan Butterly said ; and probably much that Susan Butterly thought or might be supposed to think. " It puts one in spirits, I am sure, such a day of October as this," Susan Butterly said. "Take one thing with another, it's just alike good for all I There's not a horse but is at plough, and they say the moulds crumble just right. I can't tell how to work fast enough on such a day 1 I think long till OLIVER OP THE MILL. lOI we get the linen hung out ; the air is wholly a per- fume, and the sun is right hot. I suppose, Martha, you saw that poor family off from their farm, where it just seems but yesterday they made such a grand start ? I do say, let things be as they may, one mistake lay there in the. start, for young folks who had not learnt how it is that one and one make two. The way to take life is to do as my good man and I did, long before ever we thought of marrying — begin with earning a trifle, then get on to more, and so feel your foot firm on one step of the ladder, and hold on for another; there is no way like that for yourself, nor for those you bring up. Look at my three 1 abes there ! I will answer for it they shall know the worth of every penny, and, what's more, how to earn it ! Why, those two — they had money they never brought in, and they only knew one thing, and that was, how to waste it. I suppose you saw them away ? " Martha nodded assent. She had learned from experience that such a reply was the one most pleas- ing to Susan Butterly. " A fine young man like that," continued Susan Butterly, '' to be ruined, and go out of the country, as I say, little better than a convict ! " "Never say it, mistress; never say it again!** said Martha Hukerback, in displeasure. " He is gone out as honest a man as ever lost a penny ; and as to the going out to those foreign parts — it is what my Ned did, and he has risen to the top of the tree, and is always writing home for his father and me; and T do say Master Jonathan is as honest as day- 102 OLIVER OF THE MILL, light. He came out to me, and thanked me so handsome for all my good service ! I would ne^'cr hear tongue lay a slander on him while my name is Martha Hukerback." " You are right, Martha ; you are right ! I have a great respect for the young man; not but what I do say it is enough to break any man's credit to settle in as he did, and then turn out like this. The truth is — he put the wrong woman in the place, and I do say a woman has no right to the name, let her pounds, shillings, and pence be what they will, unless she can be up and doing. She may be a fine lady, but I say it that have seen it, she is no true woman for all that. Dear me ! I thought it friendly to call and ask a few neighbourly questions ; our two farms lie so handy I could not be off it in showing a kind- ness. I said, ' Do yon find the dairy-work come easy to hand ? ' for she did not look to me as if she had ever turned up a sleeve above elbows for anything. She said, * I have a woman for that 1 * ' What, for cheeses and all ? ' I enquired. ' Yes,' she said ; ' I am glad to say I am able to pay for all work I require to . have done.' I thought it would be neighbourly just to give her a bit of advice, so I said, ' You may pay out, but I warn you there will be no paying in ! Mrs. Jonathan Caxton,' I said, ' let me show you a kind- ness, I will look in for a week, off and on, and that will set you forward with all. I would not value the time nor the trouble,' I said, 'to put you into the way.' But, if you will believe me, she would not take my offer ! So 1 just gave her up from that day, and I said to my OLIVKR OF THK MILL. J 03 good man, ' The sooner that concern breaks up, the better !' I always was one for seeing the end from the beginning ! Show me the way young things begin, and I will show you what it is pretty cer- tain to end in. But the children — to turn them on charity ! I do say it is shameful ! ** " Ah, well 1 '* said Martha Hukerback, deter- mined to be heard, "the mother is just broken- spirited — down-hearted, you may say, and the grandmother always was overfond of the boy ; and as to Naomi, as we used to call her — though I should say Mrs. Crisp, for all that she does smile when she hears her own name — she is as fond of the babe as if it were her own/' - ''For all that," said prosperous Susan Butterly, 'Svhen it comes to stowing away your children like that, T should wish I had never seen them l)cfore such a day came I Now, Dora, here's your lift ; peg the linen tight, for the breeze blows up stiff". Molly, turn another screw of your cheese-press. Billy, you don't half work the dolly ; you will get no wages if you slur work like that I Molly, now come I can you see your face in that copper saucepan ? As I say, make your own looking-glass; and then, if you can't admire your face, leastways you can your work. Here they comf* in for bait ! Well, I think we will all take a quiet ten minutes ; we shall make that up easy when we set to again.' >f Colonel Gray at the Castle, said — " l^oor young Caxton is with his father, I find." § !? 104 OLIVER OF THE MILL. Mrs. Gray. — *' It must be a great trial to them all, — he seemed a young man of such promise." Colonel Gray. — " The drag on the wheel has been his poor wife j her ignorance of business and love of dress and company." " What a shame ! " exclaimed Conrad, " for a woman to drag a good fellow down like that ! " Colonel Gray. — " The shame may lie deeper, my son, than a woman's fo!;y. A man has the choice; and if he chooses a wife in no way fitted for the duties she has to fulfil, the folly lies with him. Jonathan Caxton knew what would be required of the woman he made his wife : she could not tell what her responsibilities would be, and could not be blamed for accepting tnc man who judged her capable. It is an oft-told tale, Conrad, this after-blame of a wife ; but go back to the' first link of the chain that has drawn the calamity on, and you will often find that the folly and shame censured so freely lie at another's door. I must go down and see the old man ; I fear it was his love of money that led on to so unsuitable a choice ; if so, it will make the Wow harder for him. You and Isabelle can ride with me if you like." Farmer Caxton was out in his fields. His house was a sorrowful place for him, with its broken- down inmates. Colonel Gray rode on to find him. Conrad went round to the rick -yard where Jonathan was stacking; and Isabelle went into the house. There, for a few moments, all her gathered-up sym- pathy disappeared in a flush of pleasure, at seeing Naomi seated with baby Meg in her arms. " Naomi ! OLIVER OF THE MILL. 105 I did not think of finding you here." Isabelle spoke in perfect unconsciousness of any slight in past days on Naomi, but Mistress Caxton replied, " Yes ; the grandfather said, do ask of Mrs. Crisp if she would step do\^'n with the babe; they may as well see the poor rogue while they can." "Then wiil the baby be yours?" asked Isabelle, eagerly. "It is hers, indeed!" replied Mistress Caxt(»n. " What could the poor mother do on the seas with three children ? I have taken the boy, and Mrs. Crisp is so good, she will mother the babe." " It's not the first bit of her goodness," said Jonathan's wife, in a more cheerful tone than might have been expected. The open sea and the ship, and a foreign land, and two children left behind, were all light troubles to the poor wife, now that she had dropped for ever the weary load of farm-life, which had grown heavier each day, until existence was a burden. All other ills she could face, and hope for better times ; but the busy sounds of the farm, that make music for many ears, were the knell of her comfort. The impossibility had rolled from her life, and already she began to look up. Mistress Caxton also, her mother-in-law, had changed her look and tone of displeasure for one of sadness and sym- pathy ; she thought the trial of breaking up a home for want of ability to manage it, enough to be the death of any woman, and the kindness of her nature rose to the surface in sympathy. Jonathan, her hus- band, no longer chafed over everything, but w; s kin I io6 OMVKR of Tfli: MILL. in quiet regrets ; there was some one else to manage the children, and life already began to -admit of a hope. " Will the baby live with you ? " asked Isabelle of Naomi. *' Yes, indeed, she will," replied Naomi, holding her out to Isabelle, who rejoicingly took her with many conmiendations ; and secret thoughts of how she really would take to plain- work, which she had alwayLi tried to escape. Even then and there she thought over her work-box, its reels, needles, tapes, and pins, and counted over the contents of her purse; resolved that hem and sew for the baby she would ; and how glad her mother would be to see Tsabelle industrious at last I Conrad had found Jonathan, who threw v'awn his pitchfork and came aside to the pony. Conrad shook his hand heartily, but did not quite know what to say, except, " I am out and out sorry ! " Jonatiian looked away, and stroking Alaric's mane, said, " It is a bad job, but it might have been worse ; and I hope we will look up the other side of the water." " Well, Jonathan, you know I am to be a soldier like my fothcr, and I :ihall go to America. I want to see the Falls ; of course you will go and see Niagara ? and I will try all I can to get your boy, for he will be sure to like to be a soldier ; you know all boys like that, and then we two will come on and see you. Now, mind you make haste and get ready, for I shall want to stay at your house." OLIVER OF THK MILL, 107 Jonathan smiled a slow smile, as if all visions of the future lay in one dull page for him ; the bound- ing pulse of his youth was quite gone, and little Joe for a soldier would be no bright dream to him. "Well, Jonathan," said Conrad, in a low, softened tone, after a little more talk on things as they were, " I have often felt glad that a boy could trust in God, and I am sure you can, and that God will bring you through your trouble/* and Conrad raised his rein with his kindest good-bye. A tear was swimming in Jonathan's eye, as he bowed and turned back to his pitchfork and stack. Farmer Caxton lived on one of the Castle farms ; his father had been tenant before him, and he had looked to his son's coming after. This blow had fallen heavily, and the Colonel did not find him inclined to respond to his sympathy. The father and his children rode home reflecting on the line of thought each interview had opened. Ascending the Mill-hill they passed Mistress Crisp on her way to the Mill-house. Now Mistress Crisp had looked thoughtful for some days ; she felt for the sorrows of others, and she was anxiously weighing in her mind the burden Naomi had taken. She did not grudge the poor babe a home, that A^as certain ; but to take up another's child as your own was a thing to be looked at on all sides. There was the disposition, and the constitution, and the continu- ation, and the consequences, and, when you put so many serious words together, a general state of re- flection was easier than any definite thought. Then io8 OLIVER OF THE MILL, the step was taken, the act was completed, and the consideration, that possibly did not weigh all before- hand, must now gather in a mist over what might be yet to come. The horse-hoofs and the CclonePs kind " Good-morning," broke up the reverie. The Colonel stopped, saying, " We have been to see the poor Caxtons. I am sorry for them, one and all ! except for the child your son and daughter have taken — that one is sure to do well." Mistress Crisp smiled a half-smile — the lips, not the eyes, consented to smile. " I am heartily sorry for them," she replied ; " ills, thee know, are sooner lamented than mended ! " " There^s youth on their side," said the Colonel, "and I trust they will yet look up and do well." " It's late in beginning," observed Mistress Crisp, who was not in cheerful spirits that morning. " ' Take the day with thee/ has been my maxim through life; don't be making thy start when the sun's at its hciy;ht ! " "And yet/' said the Colonel, kindly, "there is many a darkened, noon-day sees a bright sunset/' " Thee art right ! thee art right 1 " she replied, and th? Colonel rode on, and Mistress Crisp said " Farevv'ell/' CHAPTER IX. The several classes of society are recognized in the Scriptures. Their order is of God, and every effort to overthrow that order by a general intermingling has had most baneful results. But the intermingling of spirit often found by persons of one class in society with those of another, is the result of a still higher and permanent law impressed on our common humanity. "God created man in His image; in the image of God created He him." The secret sym- pathy that draws, and the hilJen tie that unites individuals of one class with those of another in friendship, is independent of all the temporary order of rank and station. One cause of this may be found in the fact *hat refinement of mind is not confined to any class. It is a native quality of the mind, in some of ihe lowest as truly as in some of the highest. Refinement of mind is of three kinds. There is the first and lowest — refinement of wealth, raising the individual's social position j this refinement con- sists in circumstances, and observances imposed from without. There is next the higher refinement of cultivation or education, expanding the nature, and becoming more or less acute, and often fastidious .t^s\. 110 OLIVER OF THE MILL. and over-critical of others. The last and highest is the nati /e refinement of mind — an instinct of the heart, not the result of circumstances^ nor helplessly bound by general observances, and never fastidious nor over-critical; able to discern true heart-refine- ment in some by whom outward rules may be broken, and not less conscious of the lack of it in others who may observe every outward refinement. In no stage of human life can the mind be more influenced by this native rciinement than in childhood. The rules and regulations of polished society are unknown to the free i.eart of the child; social position may have its fetterings for the young life, and the lowlier heart and lowlier hearth may yield a pleasant and useful freshness : there is found no high aspect to awe, no self-assertion to repel, the young spirit finds nothing to impede, and the clasp of its response is often close and enduring. It is, moreover, the custom of civilized life to class men by their trades ; all thought of the man's individuality seems too often lost in his trade; a miller, a baker, a farmer, a locksmith, a cab-man — but still a MAN ! This is the use of the printed page, that in quietness we may view the man or the woman in the life to which the trade is only an addition of circumstances. We now return to the happy influence, the mutual joy and blessing, of Isabelle's intercourse with Naomi. Visits became still more frequent to the Mill-house, and Naomi was bound to a weekly visit with baby Meg to the Castle. There was no work, and some- ^^ OLIVER OF THE MILL. I 11 times little conversation in these visits, but these deficiencies were made up for by unbounded admi- ration of the growing baby. Isabelle was allowed by her indulgent mother to have the little cot their own baby had outgrown, in one corner of her own room, and here the Mill baby slept when Isabelle could give her up, while she talked and read with Naomi. Naomi's mind was capable of intelligent interest on any subject to which Isabelle's unfolding education could introduce her; and one interest of many a volume was, how pleasant it would be to read from it to Naomi ! Naomi's book was still the Bible, not only the Book of books, but the ( ne book to her. Isabelle, with her young affections strong for every hope, learned to look onward to the glory yet to be revealed ; the beauty of earth rejoicing in its King, Creator, Lord j when " the floods shall clap their hands, and all the trees of the wood rejoice before Him. When the mountains shall bring peace and the little hills righteousness ; all kings shall fall down before Him, and all nations serve Him." When *• He shall redeem the souls of the poor, and precious shall their blood be in His sight." Naomi would picture to Isabelle's young eye the sceuvis that the earth will behold when the beasts of the field shall honour Him, and man shall learn war no more. When the slave shall be free from his oppressor, and " musical as silver bells their falling chains shall be." They talked together of Israel's glory then, as .'<^.> Hi OLIVER OF THE MILL. the typical Bride of the King of kings. When on Jiidah's high throne He should sit whose right it is. When those ten tribes lost, as Naomi believed, should return to their country. The thought had not risen on Naomi's soul that has flashed on many in this generation, that Israel's ten tribes may only have been hidden because we knew them not. The two disciples walking from Emmaus knew not the stranger at their side for their eyes were holden. Josoph^s brethren thought him lost in some low slavery, or lower dungeon, or lower grave of Egypt, his kingly splendour blinded their eyes that they did not know him. So now, it may be, Israel is hidden only by the light of her glory, encircling the earth and possessing the gate of her enemies. But Naomi had no thoughts such as these. Only here or there, in minds unknown to her, a glimmer, a dream, a faint echo of such a grand possibility had arisen. It was enough for Naomi that He, the true Messiah, who had been despised and rejected of men, would come again to reign before His ancients gloriously. That while Christ should present the Church unto Him- seir, a glorious church, Israel should be a crown of glory and a royal diadem in the hand of her God. l5Hi)elle caught the gleams of distant splendour as much from the radiance of Naomi's eyes, as from the impassioned words which fell from her lips. While their hearts glowed in the light of the sacred page, made spirit and life to them by a living faith. Their horizon was boundless j the things of to-day were touched with the light that is eternal ; every power OLIVER OF THE MILL. "3 they possessed was expanded and ennobled, and the lowliest aim of life enshrined the energy of the infinite. ' Naomi's voice of song had never been a silent one ; — not only when alone, but often in the evening hour, when the open Bible lay before her husband, she sat a.id sang with him. Mistress Crisp thought it a dangerous gift to cultivate, but heard in silence ; and secretly, when in the distance she caught the low tones of Naomi's voice, she listened, and would have missed the melody if it had ceased from earth. But now Naomi sang to the baby sleeping ; she sang to the baby waking, and sang to the baby playing at her feet while busy with her needle ; and baby Meg looked up with a quiet face, that told her spirit was one attuned to song. " Naomi, thee will sing thy heart away, I fear ! thee gets too vocal.*' " I fear I do," Naomi answered 1 " I don't know how it is, only this happy life I live seems as if it must be sung." " Thee must be careful, my daughter, how thee venture too much to please the ear or please the eye; they both let danger in. To study quietness and plainness of speech and appearance, are duties that belong to us here ! " - Naomi's eye fell on the bright blue frock in which she had dressed her fair Saxon baby. She took the counsel, and sang less, and put on the littl-^ gown of drab which Mistress Crisp had bought for the child. The baby g'^ew a perfect sunbeam, healthy and merry to excess. Even Mistress Crisp would look 8 , -*%> 114 OLIVER OF THE MILL. I ■i on complacently as the child laid its head with its clustering curls of shining gold on Naomi's shoulder j whose raven hair, close braided, made the baby's head appear a shining gem ; the little face looking upward from its hiding-place, in glee that sparkled in the blue eyes, while Naomi's looked down in their heavenly lustre ; her happy tones answering the glee of the child. Oliver's observant eye often rested on the two ; he sometimes longed that the child were indeed her own ; but he gave as freely as Naomi, if not as fully, the kindness of his heart and the blessings of his home. Each day was to Naomi as a Sabbath. The sun- beams slept upon the deep calm river of her life, that flowed on peacefully in its swift current to the ocean of Eternity ; the sunbeams slept upon it, and it mirrored back in softened beauty every object as it flowed along — flower, and tree, and bird that skimmed its surface with light wing; and clouds that crossed the heights of blue above; all met an answering feel- ing in Naomi's life. Many a friend called in at the Mill-house. A sunbeam, as we have said, rested there, and people liked to sit awhile in its light and warmth. One visitor could hardly have been an expected one : it was old Farmer Caxton. No one would have called him " old " before his son's misfortunes. His strong- built frame was then erect ; the hard features un- marked by care, for all he touched seemed to turn to gold: his hair was scarcely grey, and he looked independent of all men. But a Hand had been laid OLIVER OF THE MILL. "5 on him — an invisible Hand ; it fell not as with a blow at once, for then he might have risen again, but he had to :eel its heavy pressure for years — the wasting away of his money, his hopes, his son's prospects, and his own credit, as the most prudept and successful of men. Such discipline remmds of the expression of the Psalmist, "Thy hand presseth me sore " ; not a blow, but a long, heavy pressure, from which there is no uprising. His stalwart frame was bowed ; he looked down, as if avert- ing his eyes; instead of his former aspect, which appeared ready to challenge the world. His step was slower, and his sharp replies were less ready. Some- times he grew angry and passionate j but you felt it was the outburst of a troubled heart, which you longed to soothe— not the outbreak of a proud, vindictive spirit. None had cared for Farmer Caxton before. All who could afford it had been ready to deal with him; because, though his price was high, the article was sure to be good ; but no personal feeling existed. Men sought him for barter, not for friendship ; and this keen atmosphere that everywhere existed around him, hardened him the more. Now a pity grew up in the minds of men for him; eyes looked on him in sym- pathy, and even market tones softened. This softened feeling in others softened Farmer Caxton the more. Not long after Jonathan had sailed. Farmer Caxton walked to and fro at the foot of the Mill-hill, with a strong wish to ascend it and call at the Mill- house, but the effort was too great. He remembered every word he had unreasonably uttered ; the slight mimm "T ii5 OLIVER OF THE MILL, I he ha