M\ 


 
 N 
 
 AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. See page 101.
 
 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 AMY RusHTON s MISSION. 
 
 BY A. J. GREENOUGH. 
 
 " And the Lord said unto the servant, Go out into the highways and 
 hedges, and compel them to come in, that my house may be filled." 
 
 LUKH XIV. 24. 
 
 " lu the highways, in the hedges, 
 Have you taken by the hand 
 Any poor and sinful wanderer? 
 Tell, oh 1 tell me, faithful Christian band." 
 
 Notes of Joy. 
 
 BOSTON : 
 CONGREGATIONAL PUBLISHING SOCIETY, 
 
 CONGREGATIONAL HOUSE, 
 
 BEACON STREET.
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, In the j-oar 1S7.3, l>y 
 
 THE CONGREGATIONAL PUBLISHING SOCIETY, 
 In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 
 
 BOSTON : 
 
 STZHEOTYPED BY C. J. PETERS & Sow, 
 No. 5, WASHINGTON STREET.
 
 CHAPTER I. PAGE. 
 
 ARISTOCRACY ...7 
 
 CHAPTER n. 
 GILBERT .14 
 
 CHAPTER m. 
 A CHANGE 25 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 GOING AWAY 31 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 BOUNDBROOK 39 
 
 CHAPTER vi. 
 THE SLEEPLESS NIGHT 63 
 
 CHAPTER VH. 
 AT THE WHARVES 64 
 
 CHAPTER Vm. 
 " NEW THINGS " 81 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A GREAT PLEASURE 01 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 GILBERT AT BOUNDBROOK 103 
 
 3
 
 4 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 REBELLION ........ . . . in 
 
 CHAPTER XIL 
 NEW LOVE AND LIFE ...... ... 134 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 MAGGIE BURNS ....... . 147 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 TOE " OLD, OLD STORY " ........ 163 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 GOD S HARVEST ........ . . 182 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 LAST DATS AT BOCNDBROOK ..... . . 198 
 
 CHAPTER XVTI. 
 MRS. RUSHTON ..... .... . 211 
 
 CHAPTER XVm. 
 CUMMINGTON SQUARE ......... 224 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 ROBERT AND ELSIE ......... 244 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 GILBERT AT STOCKWELL ........ 255 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 GLIMPSES ......... ... 267 
 
 CHAPTER 
 A DISCLOSURE ........... 282 
 
 CHAPTER xxnr. 
 HELP FOR THE ERRING ......... 296 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 THE HAPPY HOME .......... 317 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 IN THE HIGHWAYS .......... 831
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 IN THE BYWAYS 343 
 
 CHAPTER XXVn. 
 TEMPTATION AND FALL 359 
 
 CHAPTER XXVni. 
 
 TEMPTATION AND VICTORY . . ... . .376 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 THE PARTY 389 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 PLANS AND PURPOSES . . . . - . . . . 412 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 A NEW MANHOOD 431 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 WORDS FOR THE MASTER 444 
 
 CHAPTER XXXni. 
 IN THE SEWING-ROOM . ....... .458 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 ELSIE S VACATION . . . . . . . . * . 470 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 NEW RELATIONSHIPS . . . 483 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 A FIERCE STRUGGLE . . . " .. . .498 
 
 CHAPTER iXXVIl. 
 THE WIDENING FIELD 609
 
 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 OB, AMY BUSHTON S MISSION. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 OME time during a winter of the 
 present century, there might have 
 been seen just at nightfall, at the 
 steps of a small hotel in one of our New- 
 England towns, an elegant equipage, very 
 much out of keeping with the general aspect 
 of things around. It seemed as if the gay 
 horses, as well as the evidently impatient 
 coachman, felt this, judging from the proud
 
 8 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 manner with which they champed their 
 silver bits, and pawed the thin layer of snow 
 beneath tKeir feet. 
 
 Presently the hotel door was flung open, 
 and the obsequious landlord appeared, at 
 tending a gentleman and lady; the former 
 lingering a moment to extend his hand to 
 a little girl, who was apparently bidding a 
 rather affectionate good-by to another child 
 of her own age. The lady, now seated 
 within the carriage, called somewhat sharply, 
 " Amy ! " 
 
 " Yes, mother : I m coming. 
 
 The words were quickly spoken, but the 
 tone was sweet ; and, as she spoke, the child 
 bounded down the steps to her father s side, 
 and was directly seated in the carriage. 
 
 For several moments there was a profound 
 silence among its occupants. The child 
 Amy had thrown herself back among the 
 cushions, as if contending with some emotion
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 9 
 
 which threatened to get beyond her control. 
 It was not long before Mr. Rushton laid his 
 hand on hers, and said not unkindly, " Amy, 
 look up ! " She obeyed instantly. 
 
 " Amy," he said again, " what do you 
 suppose we think of this ? " 
 
 " I don t know, papa," faltered Amy. 
 
 " But what do you wish us to think of 
 you ? " 
 
 The perplexity in Amy s face grew deeper ; 
 and for a moment she made no answer. 
 Then, in a low tone, " I want you to think 
 well of me, father." 
 
 Mr. Rushton repressed a smile. Mrs. 
 Rushton coldly contemplated both. 
 
 Her father took the child in his arms. 
 " Daughter," said he, " you know how we 
 have always taught you not to associate with 
 any one, child or older person, who seemed 
 beneath your own station in life. I think 
 you understand this perfectly ; and "
 
 10 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 " Yes," interrupted Mrs. Rushton severely ; 
 "and you have, in the few hours we staid 
 at that miserable hotel, made quite an inti 
 mate friend of the landlord s daughter. 
 Now, tell the whole story: have you the 
 slightest excuse for your disobedient con 
 duct ? " 
 
 Amy s little gloved hand went up to her 
 face. It was an involuntary habit she had 
 when any thing troubled her. 
 
 " We are waiting, Amy," said her father 
 presently. 
 
 "Yes, father." Her hand was removed 
 instantly. 
 
 "When I spoke to the little girl, I did 
 not think I was disobeying you ; indeed, I 
 did not, mother: but, after you left me 
 alone in the parlor, she came in crying. 
 She was crying because her brother had gone 
 away from home to stay a long time. I 
 don t think she knew any one was there:
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 11 
 
 she did not seem to see me at all, but just 
 sat down by the fire, and cried ; and I never 
 thought of whab you said about my talking 
 with people, and I went up and spoke to 
 her. I was so sorry for her, mother! and 
 then she told me all about her brother, and 
 how she loved him so dearly, and " 
 
 " And then, I suppose, she began to hug 
 and kiss you ; and that is the reason your 
 new frill is all crumpled and spoiled," said 
 Mfs. Rushton, pointing with a severe coun 
 tenance to the article in question. 
 
 Amy looked down at it regretfully. "I 
 am sorry, mamma," she said. " But the little 
 girl did not do it ; and I don t think she was 
 bold at all. I- am sure I should not have 
 liked her if she had been.; and " 
 
 " There, that will do," interrupted Mrs. 
 Rushton : " you need not say any thing more, 
 Amy. You hear this confession, Mr. Rush- 
 ton : she liked her, the landlord s daughter.
 
 12 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 My predictions are verified. See what your 
 favorite principle of democracy will work 
 in our family! I shall not meddle with 
 the affair further, except to require the same 
 confession as in all cases of disobedience." 
 
 " Amy," said Mr. Rushton, " you hear 
 what your mother says. She expects you to 
 tell her you are sorry for this." 
 
 " Father," said Amy rather pleadingly. 
 
 " What, daughter ? " 
 
 " I can t, father." 
 
 " Can not say you are sorry to have done 
 as you did, Amy ? " 
 
 " I mean, father, I am sorry that I have 
 displeased mother ; but I can t be sorry that 
 I spoke to the little girl." 
 
 " Then you mean to say," broke in Mrs. 
 Rushton rather excitedly, " that you would 
 do the same thing again if you had the 
 opportunity ? " 
 
 Amy s cheeks burned ; and she was silent.
 
 07?, AMY KUSSTON S MISSION. 13 
 
 " Very well," continued Mrs. Rushton. " I 
 shall take no half-way confession. Either 
 the child will do just as I wish, Mr. Rushton, 
 or you understand." 
 
 Mr. Rushton whistled softly to himself in 
 an abstracted way. Then he took away 
 Amy s hands, which had gone up to her 
 flushed brow, drew her closer to himself, 
 brought the carriage-wrappings round her 
 more effectually, and so held her till they 
 reached home. Amy went to rest in her 
 dainty little bed with a very perplexed heart.
 
 CHAPTER H. 
 
 GILBERT. 
 
 NARROW, dirty street; a row of 
 high, closely-packed tenement-houses 
 on either side ; groups of ill-clad men, 
 women, and children, hurrying along, jostling 
 one another rudely as they passed ; coarse 
 laughter, low jests and oaths, ringing out on 
 the pure evening air, these were what met 
 the eye and ear of Gilbert Marvin as he 
 turned from the broad main street of the 
 city towards the house which held the one 
 room he called home. 
 
 Noise and filth were everywhere. With 
 a tread and bearing of unspeakable disgust, 
 he made his way along the sidewalk, reeking
 
 AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 15 
 
 and slippery with the refuse of the miserable 
 tenement-houses, and up a stairway that 
 swayed beneath the pressure of his feet. 
 Reaching a room in the third story, he 
 stepped inside. The two occupants of the 
 room looked round, and stared at him with 
 something of fear in their strangely expres 
 sionless faces. 
 
 He said nothing, but sat down before the 
 fire. Presently the woman rose, and began 
 to set before him on a rude table his evening 
 meal. He motioned her away as she came 
 near. 
 
 " I don t want any supper to-night." 
 " Don t ? Why, Gil ? " said the woman in 
 a sort of breathless, suppressed voice. She 
 put down the cup she held, and stared at 
 him as she had done when he entered. " I 
 guess you will eat," she said after a little 
 while : " you don t know what we ve got. 
 Look ! pudding and pie and turkey, Gil I
 
 16 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 Somebody s Thanksgiving : it s just over, 
 you know. Eat it: I saved it for you. He 
 would have eaten it all," she pointed to the 
 man crouching by the fire : " now, Gil, eat 
 it." 
 
 " Eat it ! " said Gilbert, looking at the 
 food as if the sight were sickening. " Some 
 body s Thanksgiving ! Where did you get 
 it?" 
 
 " Don t look at me so, Gilbert," said the 
 woman. " I didn t steal it." 
 
 " You begged it ! " 
 
 "No, no, I didn t. The little boy below 
 that begs cold victuals, he brought it. I 
 had a few cents : I gave them for it. I 
 thought you d like it," she concluded. " Don t 
 be angry with me, boy. Eat it, taste of it ; 
 it s good ! " She looked at it hungrily. 
 
 "No, mother," said Gilbert in a kinder 
 tone, " I can not eat any thing to-night. Eat 
 it yourself: you need it more than I do."
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 17 
 
 He turned away from the table, and, leaning 
 his head on his hand, gazed wearily at the 
 smoldering fire. 
 
 The woman sat down on a low stool near 
 him, leaving the food untasted. 
 
 " Mother," said Gilbert, " why don t you 
 eat? Eat it. You are very hungry." 
 
 She shook her head. " I got it for you, 
 boy : you hate it, you hate me. But I didn t 
 beg it. I paid for it. Yes, I paid for it, 
 six cents. Somebody s Thanksgiving pudding 
 and pie and turkey. It s nice and rich ; lots 
 of butter in it, and raisins ; and I paid for 
 it, six cents, all I had ; and you won t 
 eat it." 
 
 Gilbert took the plate in his hand, and 
 picked out a piece of turkey and of pie. " I 
 will eat this, mother : you and father must 
 take the rest. Indeed, I do not want more : 
 eat the rest. I can swallow this better if 
 you will."
 
 18 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 She could not doubt that he spoke the 
 truth when she saw the effort he made to 
 swallow the small quantity he had selected. 
 Her own and her husband s portion were 
 quickly dispatched. 
 
 " Where yer been to-day, Gil ? " said the 
 man when the last morsel had disappeared. 
 " Down ter the wharf?" 
 
 The speaker was a meager, attenuated 
 specimen of humanity, with bloodless face, 
 and hands that trembled incessantly. His 
 gray hair hung in thin sprays over his fore 
 head : his eyes were small and vacant. When 
 he spoke, although he directed his words to 
 Gilbert, he looked at him only for an instant ; 
 then his voice as well as his eyes wavered. 
 Its thin, sharp twang seemed doubly dis 
 agreeable to Gilbert to-night. He simply 
 nodded his head in reply to the question. 
 
 " He didn t see you," said the woman. 
 " Speak to him ! tell him ! "
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 19 
 
 " I have been to the wharf," replied Gil 
 bert with an effort, turning partly towards 
 his father. 
 
 " What yer seen ? " 
 
 " The same I see every day," said Gilbert, 
 " rich and poor, fine clothes and rags, smart 
 folks and lazy folks, folks that have to work 
 when they don t want to, and folks that 
 want work, and can t get it." t 
 
 "What else? Seen Rushton?" Gilbert 
 nodded. 
 
 " Do tell him, Gil," said his mother : " tell 
 him every thing. It ll cheer him up a little." 
 
 " Yes," he said presently, " I saw Mr. 
 Rushton." 
 
 " Speak ter yer ?" I 
 
 Yes." 
 
 " What did he say ? " 
 
 " He said," replied Gilbert slowly, * that 
 I did well to keep from idleness." 
 
 " Didn t give yer nothing ter do ! "
 
 20 DOUNDDROOK; 
 
 " No yes, " said Gilbert reluctantly. 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " He left his little giii in my care while he 
 went to the other end of the wharf." 
 
 " His little girl ! " exclaimed both his au 
 ditors. Gilbert nodded. 
 
 " Pretty little girl ? " asked his father with 
 that simple, childish look again. 
 
 " I hardly know : I think she was." 
 
 "Didn t look at her? Didn t speak to 
 her?" 
 
 " She spoke to me," said the boy, dwelling 
 slowly on the words, as if the recollection 
 were pleasant. 
 
 " Did ? " exclaimed both again. 
 
 " What did she say ? " queried the man. 
 
 " She said," replied Gilbert, evidently with 
 an effort, "that she had begged her father 
 to bring her down to the wharves, so that 
 she might see the great ships and the water." 
 Gilbert stopped ; but he perceived that his
 
 OB, AMY KUSIITON S MISSION. 21 
 
 audience were hanging on his words, and 
 resumed, " And then she told rue things 
 she had learned about the great ocean and 
 our country, and countries far off, how 
 she wanted to go to see them, and how " 
 . "Well, what?" 
 
 " And how she wished sometimes she had 
 not a rich father, and did not always have to 
 act and speak just so precise ; I think 
 that s the word." 
 
 " Precise ? what is that ? " said the old 
 man vacantly. 
 
 " I don t know," continued the boy : " I can 
 guess." And then, turning almost fiercely 
 upon them, he exclaimed, " How should I 
 know ? I don t know any thing. You never 
 sent me to school." 
 
 " But you know so much without," said 
 the mother. 
 
 " Know so much ! " cried the boy ex 
 citedly. " What do I know ? " Not enough
 
 22 BOUNDSnOOK; 
 
 to understand the words a little girl can use, 
 not more than nine years old. 1 know so 
 much! I remember learning a few little 
 words in the primer ; and then we came to 
 this mean place : and I ve never seen a book 
 since, only lived here in this dirty room, and 
 gone to the wharves every day to pick up a 
 few cents, if I could. You know I don t 
 know any thing, only to do work that 
 nobody else will touch, for a copper or two. 
 There s all I m worth to-night," he conclud 
 ed, flinging from his pocket a trifle of coin 
 into his mother s lap. " Perhaps it will do 
 you some good : I don t want to see it again. 
 Know something, do I ? Amy Rushton 
 knows every thing almost ; and she s sorry 
 because she s rich ; and I hate myself because 
 I m poor. I hate everybody that s poor ! " 
 
 " I told you so," said his mother, whim 
 pering, and putting her apron to her eyes. 
 " You hate your father and me. You hated
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 23 
 
 the turkey to-night ; and I didn t beg it, I 
 paid" 
 
 " There, mother, don t," interposed Gil 
 bert. " You ll make me crazy with your talk. 
 Look here. I want to know the truth ; and 
 I ve a right to. Am I your boy ? Are you 
 my own father and mother ? " 
 
 He stood before them, the old man with 
 his thin, bloodless face, and wavering eyes, 
 and the woman, crouching on the floor, star 
 ing up at him with her dull eyes and faded 
 features sharpened into something like fear, 
 and repeated the question : " Are you my own 
 father and mother ? " 
 
 " Our own boy ? " suddenly exclaimed the 
 woman. " Why, of course, of course, you 
 are. Isn t he, Jacob?" and she laughed 
 hysterically. 
 
 " Of course, our own ; of course," repeated 
 the man. " Go to the town records in Stock- 
 well. Of course. What s the matter with 
 the boy?"
 
 24 
 
 BOUNDBROOK. 
 
 Gilbert sat down, weary with excitement. 
 " I don t believe it," he muttered ; " and 
 some day I ll find out." 
 
 Half an hour later found old Marvin and 
 his wife sleeping heavily on the rude floor ; 
 while Gilbert sat by the cold stove, his head 
 buried in his hands, thinking.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A CHANGE. 
 
 HE same evening, Mr. and Mrs. Hush- 
 ton sat together in their elegant home, 
 talking, as was often their wont of 
 lateTof Amy. 
 
 " If," said Mr. Rushton, " I remove Amy 
 for a time, and find, that, under my friends 
 instructions, she bids fair to become a lady 
 in the truest sense of the word, I shall trust 
 that you, Lucy, will receive her back to our 
 home lovingly, and let her be to you what, 
 if not repulsed, she certainly could not help 
 being, a gentle, companionable daughter. 
 Will you not, Lucy?"
 
 26 LOUNDBKOOK; 
 
 " Well, we shall see," was Mrs. Rushton s 
 reply. " Here she comes now. A lady ! " 
 she whispered to herself. " We shall see." 
 
 The child had advanced half way, but 
 hesitated. With intuitive perception she 
 felt that her entrance had arrested the con 
 versation. 
 
 " Come, Amy," said her father. She 
 approached unhesitatingly then ; and he lifted 
 her to his knee. 
 
 " You are a very little girl ; are you not, 
 Amy?" 
 
 " Yes, father," she replied, looking up. 
 " I m little, I know ; but sometimes I feel 
 very old." 
 
 A sort of wistful plaintiveness in her tone 
 restrained the laugh that rose to his lips. 
 
 " What makes you feel old ? " he asked. 
 " It is a strange thing for a child not older 
 than my little Amy to say, a little child 
 who knows nothing about sorrow or care ;
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 27 
 
 who never had hard work to do, like the 
 little children we saw at the wharves to- 
 day." 
 
 " That s it, father," said Amy. 
 
 " What is it, daughter ? 
 
 " It s that makes me feel so. 
 
 "That? What?" 
 
 " Because I ve learned so much more than 
 they have, and can have so many things they 
 never can have, and see things they never 
 can, at places like the Museum, you know, 
 and the Aquarial Gardens." 
 
 Mr. Rushton did not reply. He only 
 stroked the little hand that lay so near his 
 own. , 
 
 " Amy," he said presently, " mother and I 
 are talking of a change for you." 
 
 She looked a little troubled, but asked no 
 question. 
 
 "I don t know how to spare my little 
 daughter, indeed, I don t," he added, im-
 
 28 BOUNDBUOOK; 
 
 pulsively caressing the child ; " but it will be 
 better so." 
 
 Mrs. Rushton rose, and swept out of the 
 room. 
 
 " Father," said Amy after a few moments 
 troubled silence, " must I go ? " 
 
 " I suppose you must, Amy." She put up 
 her hand with a quick motion to her eyes. 
 
 " Amy," said her father, taking away the 
 little hand, " it will not be so very hard. It 
 is a beautiful place where you are going. 
 The people who will take care of you are old 
 friends of mine ; and I shall come often to 
 see you, very often." 
 
 " But, father," said the little girl sadly, 
 " sometimes you will want me at home very 
 much, when your head aches ; and I shall 
 not know it, and can not come ; and I shall 
 want you to talk to me so much ! " 
 
 "Little daughter," said Mr. Rushton 
 cheerfully, " where you are going, there are
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 29 
 
 beautiful woods and brooks and lawns ; and 
 you will have a kind lady and gentleman to 
 teach you, and no servants to be always about 
 you, which you dislike so much, you know. 
 You will find it very pleasant." 
 
 "Papa," said Amy at this point, "mamma 
 says there are no ladies in the country." 
 
 " There are some where you are going," 
 observed Mr. Rushton rather gravely. " I 
 shall expect my little girl to become a true 
 lady. There are many different senses of 
 this word, daughter, which will be made 
 known to you as you grow up ; but I care 
 only that you should keep in your mind the 
 idea of a lady as I have taught it to you. 
 You understand me, Amy ? " 
 
 " Yes, father." 
 
 " And do you think you can bear bravely 
 the loss of some luxuries you have been 
 accustomed to, not always to be obtained in 
 
 the country, but which people can do very 
 
 t
 
 30 BOUNDBROOK. 
 
 well without. And will you learn to take 
 care of yourself, as Mrs. Percival will teach 
 you? for you will find it a very different 
 life there from this." 
 
 " I will try very hard, papa," said Amy, 
 her eyes filling. 
 
 But Mr. Rushton took her away to the 
 library, and together they had a quiet hour 
 with her favorite books. Only one question 
 Amy ventured as Christie came to take her 
 to bed : 
 
 " How soon am I going, father ? " 
 
 And, kissing her good-night, he replied, 
 " Not till the spring opens."
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 GOING AWAY. 
 
 jjNE night in the early spring, Amy 
 came to her father, as she always did 
 before retiring to bed; and, as he 
 kissed her, he said, " Amy, you are going 
 to-morrow morning." That was all ; but he 
 caressed her as if he could never part with 
 her. 
 
 " Father," said Amy, with the slightest 
 perceivable tremor in her voice, "you are 
 going with me ? " 
 " Certainly, darling." 
 " And mother ? " 
 " She can not go, Amy."
 
 32 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 Amy nestled in his arms a minute, then 
 looked up, and said, " Good-night, papa ! " 
 
 " Good-night, little daughter ! 
 
 She had not reached the door when he 
 called her back. But her little hands had 
 already gone up to her face ; and he met her 
 half way, and lifted her to his shoulder. 
 
 " Amy, don t break your heart over this." 
 
 " Papa," said Amy. 
 
 " What, dear ? " 
 
 " Are you going to send me away because 
 I have been naughty ? " 
 
 " Have you been naughty, Amy ? " 
 
 " I haven t meant to be," said the poor 
 child with a burst of tears. 
 
 " No, darling, I know you haven t ; and 
 that is not the reason at all. You can not 
 understand it now. I would be so glad to 
 keep you here ! but I want you to be edu 
 cated ; and it would not be best for the 
 present. By and by my little daughter shall
 
 OR, AMY BUSIITON S MISSION. 33 
 
 corne back, and we will all be so happy 
 together ! " 
 
 He said this in a low tone ; for the child s 
 maid stood at the door, waiting. Then he put 
 her down. " Good-night, again, daughter ! " 
 
 He turned abruptly away to the window ; 
 and Amy took Christie s hand, and was led 
 to her little room. 
 
 The next morning, how warm and spring 
 like it was ! Christie came very early to 
 dress Amy, and, when the child was ready 
 to go down, very respectfully inquired if 
 her little mistress would sometimes think of 
 her. 
 
 " Think of you, Christie ? " exclaimed Amy, 
 astonished. " I couldn t ever forget you. 
 And then I shall often come home, you know ; 
 and you ll have me to take care of just as 
 you do now. Won t you ? " she added ; for 
 something in the girl s face awoke a doubt. 
 
 " I am afraid not, Miss Amy," said Chris-
 
 34 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 tie ; " for your mamma says I am to go away 
 too." 
 
 Amy s eyes were wide open by this time. 
 
 " Going away, Christie ? I don t want any 
 one but you to take care of me. I don t 
 believe it ; but " She hesitated a moment ; 
 and then, opening one of her drawers, she 
 began to look over the contents. " If you 
 should go, Christie, oh! I hope you won t 
 have to, I want you to have something of 
 mine. There s my coral necklace : mamma 
 said I might do as I pleased with it. See ! 
 you can wind it round your wrist twice for 
 a bracelet, so. If any thing should happen, 
 you ll have that to remember me by, Christie. 
 Don t cry." 
 
 " I m sure I couldn t forget you, dear Miss 
 Amy," said Christie, sobbing, and taking 
 the necklace as if it were too dainty a thing 
 for her to touch. But O miss ! I m afraid 
 I ll never see you again."
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 35 
 
 " Oh, yes ! I guess you will," said Amy, 
 trying to be very brave. " There, some one 
 is coming ! I must go. Come, Christie." 
 
 They had just reached the head of the 
 stairway, when Mrs. Rushton appeared. 
 
 " What is that ? " she asked, pointing to 
 the necklace, unfortunately still in sight. 
 
 "It s my necklace, mamma," cried Amy, 
 springing to her side. " You said I should 
 do what I pleased with it. I ve given it to 
 Christie for her own. Oh ! don t take it 
 away from her, mamma ; don t ! " 
 
 "Child," said Mrs. Rushton, "how dare 
 you speak in that way to me ? Give her 
 back the necklace, girl. Do you hear me ? 
 Amy, take your necklace." 
 
 The girl, still sobbing with her apron to 
 her face, held out the gift, which Amy took, 
 and then, with sudden spirit blazing in her 
 blue eyes, dashed it on the floor. 
 
 "If Christie can t have it, I won t. It s
 
 36 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 not mine. I gave it to her. Good-by, Chris 
 tie ! " And, before Mrs. Rushton could 
 speak, she had almost flown down the stairs, 
 and rushed into the breakfast-room with 
 eyes and cheeks aflame still. 
 
 Mr. Rushton was there, waiting his wife s 
 appearance at table. 
 
 " What is the matter, Amy ? " he ex 
 claimed. 
 
 " Only a sweet fit of temper," replied 
 Mrs. Rushton, entering with soft tone and 
 graceful motion. " Amy, take your seat at 
 the table. Mr. Rushton, I beg to be excused 
 this morning. When this child has learned 
 to be a lady, she may come back to Cum- 
 mington Square. Good-morning ! a pleasant 
 ride to you." She was gone with her last 
 words. 
 
 Amy had looked at her with the passion 
 receding from her face, irresolute. The 
 revulsion of feeling had come. She could 
 not part from her mother so.
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON s MISSION. 37 
 
 " Mamma ! " she exclaimed, springing to 
 the door, and then running up the stairs in 
 search of her. " O mamma ! let me speak 
 to you, dear mamma. " But Mrs. Rushton 
 had reached and shut the door; and Amy 
 threw herself on the floor outside, in a 
 passion, not now of anger, but of remorse 
 and anguish that shook her little frame. 
 
 " O mother ! " she sobbed, " let me in one 
 minute. I ought not to have been so angry. 
 Mamma, dear mamma, let me see you. O 
 father!" 
 
 The last words were an appealing cry to 
 Mr. Rushton, who came up now, and, taking 
 the little one in his arms, went down to the 
 library, and sat with her a long time before 
 she was fully calmed. Then he told her 
 they could wait no longer, and must go at 
 once. 
 
 She sat up and leaned against him. 
 " Papa, won t mother let me see her ? I can 
 be quiet now."
 
 38 BOUNDBROOK. 
 
 Mr. Rushton knew his wife s inflexibility 
 too well. "I do not think it best, Amy 
 darling. When I see her, I will make it all 
 right for you ; and when you come home, 
 you can maybe." 
 
 She looked into his face as if she read every 
 thought beneath his words, and drew a long, 
 deep sigh. 
 
 " You said it was better for me to go away, 
 father: I know you know best." 
 
 It was a very mournful little voice that 
 spoke ; and Mr. Rushton felt it must not be 
 so. So he replied cheerily, put her down, 
 and bade her be at the door in ten minutes. 
 He went out to order the carriage ; and very 
 soon they were riding swiftly toward Bound- 
 brook.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 BOUNDBROOK. 
 
 ? UST before dark, the travelers entered 
 a small country village ; and, after 
 driving through a street rather sparse 
 ly lined with houses, they came out upon a 
 picturesque landscape beyond. 
 
 " Amy," said Mr. Rushton, " this is the 
 village of Boundbrook ; or, rather, we are 
 leaving the village itself behind. There is 
 the little country variety store ; there the 
 schoolhouse (you can hardly see it among 
 the trees) ; here the pretty piece of land with 
 trees and paths which they call " the Com 
 mon ; " now we are going clown the road 
 
 3d
 
 40 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 which leads off a little way to your new 
 home. You see how beautiful it is here, do 
 you not? At the foot of this hill there is 
 a spring beneath a great willow-tree ; and it 
 runs under the road, and out over the 
 meadows. Now we are opposite it exactly. 
 This little hill is called Rock Hill. In a few 
 moments we shall be at the house." 
 
 Almost as he spoke, the carriage turned to 
 the left ; and before them, on a little elevation, 
 around the base of which glided a narrow belt 
 of water, Amy saw a small cottage of gray 
 stone, irregularly shaped, and looking, in its 
 dress of moss and circlet of trees, as if it 
 had been placed there by the hand of Nature 
 herself. 
 
 " Father," said Amy under her breath, " is 
 that the house ? " 
 
 " That is it, Amy. How do you like it ? " 
 
 " It looks nice, father." She nestled closer 
 to him.
 
 OB, AMY RUSUTON S MISSION. 4l 
 
 " You are not going away to-night ? " 
 
 " No, Amy." 
 
 ; Father," said Amy again slowly, " you 
 will not forget to tell mamma I am very 
 sorry." 
 
 " Do you think, Amy," said Mr. Rushton, 
 " that you are really sorry ? Or is it only 
 because you are in the habit of saying it that 
 you want me to tell mother so? " 
 
 He watched her face with an amused 
 expression as he spoke. It was the first time 
 he had ever brought such a thought to the 
 child s mind; and now it was mere caprice 
 on his part, asking the question to see what 
 she would say. 
 
 Amy was silent a moment. " I think, 
 father," was her reply presently, "that some 
 times I have said so because I thought you 
 expected me to." 
 
 Mr. Rushton did not like the gravity that 
 settled upon the little face as she spoke, and
 
 42 BOUNDBKOOK ; 
 
 only answered lightly, " I hope you will 
 never have occasion to say it here, Amy. 
 Now, look out at the house." 
 
 Amy looked from the window, and took in 
 at a glance a very pretty picture of cottage, 
 hill, and trees (the latter in their first delicate 
 dress of green), a long flight of stone steps 
 leading up to the front-door, and, dimly seen 
 in the fast-fading light, the figures of a lady 
 and gentleman waiting to welcome them. 
 
 Long after she had grown to love the 
 house and its surroundings, she remembered 
 how strange was the impression made upon 
 her in that first hasty glance, and her invol 
 untary wonder whether she were to find 
 ladies in the country ; remembered, too, her 
 satisfaction as she caught Mrs. Percival s 
 smile, and was taken in her arms to feel 
 that her father was right (as she knew he 
 always was) when he said, " There are ladies 
 where you are going." Mr. Percival, too,
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 43 
 
 greeted her very tenderly ; and Amy s heart 
 was at rest on one point. 
 
 By and by they sat down to a nice supper ; 
 and Amy noticed, with a great deal of won 
 der, that the gentleman bowed his head, and 
 asked a blessing, just as she had seen a min 
 ister do once. She thought it very strange 
 that her father had not told her she was 
 going to live with a minister, and was not 
 quite sure that she should like it. But the 
 supper how delicious that was! More 
 than all, to Amy s taste, it was so delightful 
 not to have a servant standing behind her 
 chair nearly all meal-time, as at home. She 
 noticed, Avith a very pleased face, that her 
 father took it very quietly, as if he had never 
 been accustomed to any thing else. And 
 then the servant who brought in the hot 
 muffins stepped about so noiselessly, and 
 Mrs. Percival spoke to her so kindly and 
 even politel} 7 ", that Amy began to doubt, at
 
 44 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 last, if she were a servant. She had never 
 seen any thing like this before. 
 
 She had noticed, however, when Mr. Perci- 
 val said grace, a very slight look of wonder or 
 disappointment or displeasure she could 
 hardly tell which ; and it seemed all three 
 crossing for a moment her father s face. After 
 supper she was sure she saw it again, still more 
 strongly marked, when the gentleman, after 
 calling in the man-servant who was employed 
 about the place, took a book she supposed 
 to be the Bible, and began to read. Then 
 he prayed ; and, as he knelt, the family knelt 
 with him. Poor Amy s wonder gave way 
 to uneasiness. She could not tell if she were 
 expected to kneel also ; but she finally felt 
 safe in following her father s example, who 
 had only turned round in his chair, with his 
 face from the light. Amy could not see its 
 expression now at all. 
 
 After the prayer, a hymn was sung ; and as
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 45 
 
 it was sung by sweet, cultivated voices, Amy 
 felt as if that quite made up for the annoy 
 ance of the rest. She loved to sing ; but a 
 tune like this she had never heard before. 
 As soon as it was over, and the two servants 
 had gone to their accustomed duties, Mr. 
 Percival invited Mr. Rushton to his study. 
 Mr. Rushton assented silently, and the two 
 passed up stairs together without a word ; 
 but, as soon as the door was closed upon them, 
 Mr. Percival took his friend s hand, saying, 
 " You are surprised, friend Rushton." The 
 other had evidently no words at his com 
 mand at first. He turned from his friend, 
 and walked confusedly about the room ; while 
 Mr. Percival waited gravely and patiently. 
 
 " Surprised, Percival ! " Mr. Rushton broke 
 forth at length. This from you, Percival ! 
 Are you sane ? " 
 
 " Never more so, I believe, friend Rushton. 
 More than that, I feel as if I had hardly 
 *
 
 46 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 been sane all my life till recently. What 
 once seemed to me folly now seems the 
 truest wisdom. What I hated I love ; and 
 whereas I was blind, now I see. Mr. 
 Rushton paced the floor again ; and again his 
 friend waited patiently. 
 
 " That you, of all men," exclaimed Mr. 
 Rushton in a few minutes, stopping before 
 Mr. Percival, " should have become possessed 
 with this religious fanaticism ! I should not 
 have been afraid to have staked my fortune 
 on your remaining, as ever, the cool reasoner, 
 the clear-headed, the consistent disbeliever 
 in all this superstition and " 
 
 Mr. Percival laid his hand on that of the 
 excited speaker ; and, as he did so, Mr. Rush- 
 ton could not help noticing how very, very 
 sad was his countenance. It impressed him, 
 calmed him. Yet, as Mr. Percival did not 
 immediately speak, his overwrought feelings 
 burst forth again somewhat less vehemently. 
 
 *
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 47 
 
 " And Amy ! You knew that I would have 
 guarded her most carefully from any thing 
 that could tend to this ; yet you have allowed 
 me to bring her here, unconscious of it. I 
 should not have expected this from you, 
 Percival." 
 
 " Hear me, my friend," said the other. 
 " Not until very recently was I enabled to 
 cast off the last remnants of unbelief cling 
 ing to me, and accept in its stead the eternal 
 truth of God. My heart had been trying for 
 months to fortify itself more strongly in its 
 intrenchments of skepticism ; but, before the 
 new views which had been presented to my 
 mind, all my efforts availed nothing. No 
 mortal but he who has been in just my situa 
 tion can have any conception of my feelings 
 as I felt my old foundations sliding from 
 beneath me like the sand. Let me turn 
 where I would, every thing spoke of a God, 
 righteousness and justice, and judgment yet
 
 48 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 to come. I was ashamed that I, so long an 
 avowed skeptic, should allow myself to give 
 way to the shadow of a doubt in regard to 
 my opinions. So I kept myself away from 
 the audible voices which had at first arrested 
 my attention, thinking to collect such proofs 
 and testimony from my stores of reading as 
 would utterly refute them all. I read and 
 read, often all the night long ; and in the 
 silence of my own room would exultingly 
 say to myself, I have found incontrovertible 
 proofs, and, satisfied, would lay aside my 
 papers, and rest. But, with the first morning 
 light, how often have I risen with the same 
 uneasiness at work, and a restless turning to 
 my strongholds, to make sure that I had not 
 been mistaken in my conclusions of the night ! 
 I had always been an early riser, often walk 
 ing out long before the sun ; but now I shrank 
 even from contact with Nature. The very 
 breath of heaven condemned me. You are
 
 OR, AMY RUSnTON S MISSION. 49 
 
 weary of this, friend Rushton ; but I beg of 
 you to hear me through. When your letter 
 came to me, with the new year, I answered 
 it gladly, glad of your confidence, and glad, 
 too, at the prospect of something to call my 
 mind from, these distracting thoughts. But 
 one expression of yours haunted me day 
 after day. It was this : I trust you to 
 educate her according to your ideal of per 
 fect womanhood, guarding her from all -con 
 tact with fanaticism and the common 
 religious credulity of the masses ; for I find 
 that her moral training thus far has de 
 veloped a gravity and seriousness which 
 might be easily wrought upon. I answered 
 your proposal in all good faith, my friend ; 
 for it would afford me an opportunity of 
 getting new strength myself. You delayed, 
 however ; and the barriers of my unbelief 
 grew weaker, but I had not then courage to 
 write you. 
 
 4
 
 50 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 * I will not tell you now of all that has 
 passed since, how, from a partial accept 
 ance of the truth of Christianity, I was 
 forced to yield other points ; how I turned to 
 the Bible, and found my own condemnation 
 on every page, but also, thank God ! life and 
 redemption even for me. And strangely 
 enough, and yet not so strangely (for God 
 works without human means as well as 
 with), my wife had been contending silently 
 as I had ; and I had the delight of showing 
 to her Christ, the Way, the Truth, and 
 the Life. 
 
 " Now, my friend, I have allowed you to 
 bring Amy to me ; but no previous agreement 
 between us in regard to her shall have 
 weight. We can not take her, and not teach 
 her this very religious belief which you par 
 ticularly desire she should not accept. With 
 us, however, lies only the teaching. God 
 alone can make her a child of his kingdom.
 
 OR, AMY RUSTITON S MISSION. 51 
 
 I want the child ; and in all things but this 
 she shall be taught according to your wishes. 
 My means, you know, are not what they 
 were once, when you and I stood side by 
 side in commercial life ; but I have saved 
 from the wreck every thing necessary to 
 assist one to a complete education : and I 
 assure you, it will be an unbounded pleasure 
 to know that I am doing service for you." 
 
 Mr. Rushton had listened with face par 
 tially averted ; but now he turned fairly 
 towards his companion, and said, with the 
 slightest possible tinge of fine sarcasm be 
 neath his courteous tones, " Friend Percival, 
 if the last stage of this religious enthusiasm 
 of yours is of so recent a standing, I do not 
 fear much for Amy. Such a mind as yours 
 will return to its balance immediately." 
 
 " God forbid," said the other with deep 
 emotion, " that this should be a matter of 
 my intellect, and not my heart ! No, Rush-
 
 62 BOUNDBROOK. 
 
 ton, although ray reason may be and is 
 satisfied, yet my soul responds to this with 
 an intensity of affection which proves, I 
 trust, that I know the love of Christ, which 
 passeth knowledge. The love of God, the 
 new motives I feel constraining me to do 
 and to be all I should for his dear sake, is 
 that the result of a merely intellectual 
 belief? Oh, no, dear Rushton, no ! " 
 
 " Mr. Percival," said Mr. Rushton, turning 
 abruptly, " excuse me ; but I hate contro 
 versy. Will you allow me to occupy this 
 room to-night ? I do not wish to sleep." 
 
 Mr. Percival expressed his assent most 
 cordiall}", and withdrew.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE SLEEPLESS NIGHT. 
 
 J R. RUSHTON, when the sound of his 
 friend s footsteps had died away, went 
 to the window, and raised the curtain. 
 It was not a moonlit night ; but the stars 
 were bright, and their rays served to light 
 up with a soft splendor the garden and the 
 exquisite bit of landscape beyond, the lawn 
 sloping down to the edge of the blue river, 
 the rustic bridge and summer-house, the 
 scattered shrubbery, and, to the right, the 
 grove in its dress of delicate green. 
 
 Mr. Rushton leaned by the window, and 
 looked out, scarcely conscious of this. Mr. 
 
 53
 
 54 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 Percival s narrative, the annoyance which he 
 had felt in listening to it, came back to him 
 with fresh force ; and he felt as if he could go 
 down stairs and take Amy away instantly, 
 imcourteous as it might be. Then his 
 thoughts reverted to the time when he had 
 found her, not far from his own door, on a 
 chilly night, deserted, probably, by wicked 
 parents, since no one appeared to claim her. 
 He never knew, he never cared. Mr. Rush- 
 ton had a large heart, full of tender sym 
 pathy, which responded most actively to the 
 plaintive cry of the little one. How well he 
 remembered lifting her up upon a granite 
 block, that he might see her face, the tearful 
 eyes, the expressive sweetness of the little 
 mouth, the inarticulate sounds as she tried 
 to tell her name ! He could not even guess 
 what it was ; and so, when he had learned to 
 love her fondly, named her Amy, because it 
 had been his mother s name. She could not
 
 OB, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 55 
 
 have been more than three years old : that 
 was six years ago. He took her to his home, 
 and procured dainty dresses for her ; and how 
 well he recalled the earnest gravity of her 
 countenance when she surveyed herself in 
 her new clothes ! It seemed to him that it 
 had marked her ever since. 
 
 To him she was a child set apart from all 
 others. There was something in her delicate 
 reception of his kindnesses, and something 
 even more marked in her timid shrinking 
 from other friends rather bustling offices, 
 that distinguished her above all children he 
 had ever known. 
 
 She grew to be every thing to him. Let 
 him come home when he would, there was 
 the tiny form to nestle lovingly in his arms, 
 the wise little utterances of thought above 
 her years. They seemed so to him. 
 
 She kept him from many a folly and many 
 a vice, unconsciously to himself, however.
 
 6t> BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 At that time he was immensely successful in 
 his business. Sycophants fawned around him. 
 His company was always in demand at 
 dinner-parties, at balls, at the always jocund 
 club-room; but he preferred her to all of 
 these. 
 
 He had then been married several years, 
 and was childless. Not so readily as his did 
 the heart of his wife turn toward this little 
 one ; for pride of birth and station had deep 
 root there. Yet she consented to receive her ; 
 and Mr. Rushton felt that he had reached 
 the height of human happiness. The rest 
 we know. 
 
 And now what had he done ? He might 
 have placed her at Madame De Witts, a 
 fashionable school, where little or nothing 
 was learned save to dress genteelly, to walk 
 and dance elegantly, to smile languidly, and 
 converse affectedly. No : he would not have 
 Amy spoiled by any such arts as these.
 
 OR, AM7 RUSHTON S MISSION. 57 
 
 But again he could not keep her at home. 
 He had applied to his friend Percival, with 
 a feeling of exultation that he had such a 
 friend, wise, kind, a distinguished scholar, 
 and a perfect gentleman ; and now that he, 
 cool, thoughtful, sincere, should have be 
 come a religious fanatic ! 
 
 Mr. Rushton was not really a skeptic ; but 
 he had always admired Mr. Percival s inde 
 pendent way of thinking, the cleverness with 
 which he would pick flaws in the characters 
 of professed Christians, and the quiet scorn 
 with which he ridiculed the Bible as a tradi 
 tion handed down from weak minds. And 
 he had abhorred the stiff, frigid, upright, and 
 downright sort of devoutness which he had 
 sometimes seen, a religion, as he thought it, 
 of the intellect simply, that seemed to say, 
 " Stand by. I am holier than thou ; " and 
 whose prayers were only a repetition of the 
 Pharisee s, slightly modified to suit the times.
 
 58 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 He pictured to himself Amy as she would 
 graduate from Madame De "Witts, pert, silly, 
 furbelowed, and bejeweled ; and, in contrast 
 with this, her appearance as she would re 
 turn home from Mr. Percival s teaching, 
 with lugubrious countenance, or else with 
 eyes for ever turned upward, after the manner 
 of some pictured saints he had seen, with 
 her sweet mouth drawn down, singing 
 dolorous psalms, and uttering melancholy 
 exhortations. He could not have her so, 
 either. 
 
 All the night long he debated with him 
 self; sometimes standing by the window, 
 sometimes walking back and forth in uncon 
 trollable agitation. Restless and moody, the 
 early morning found him undecided, and 
 chagrined at his indecision. 
 
 Later in the morning, not aware that any 
 of the household were astir, he went down 
 stairs, and out upon the lawn. Following the
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 59 
 
 path that led down to the river, he suddenly 
 came upon Mr. Percival and Amy. His 
 friend rose to greet him ; while Amy took 
 possession of her father s hand. " I was 
 showing your little girl some natural beauties 
 to which I find she is a stranger," said Mr. 
 Percival, and added, in a lower, anxious 
 tone, " I kept you company in sleeplessness 
 last night, my friend. But has it effected 
 nothing for you ? " 
 
 " You kept me company ? " exclaimed Mr. 
 Rushton involuntarily. " Friend Percival, 
 you should not." 
 
 " Could I sleep while you were making a 
 decision which would involve so much ? My 
 dear Rushton, I could but spend the hours 
 in prayer." The earnest, loving look of his 
 noble countenance impressed Mr. Rushton. 
 This was not the face of an insane man, 
 or of one who had given himself up to a fit 
 of temporary enthusiasm. Involuntarily his
 
 60 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 " Amy," said he, " run along the path to 
 the river, and come back and tell me what 
 you have seen." 
 
 He watched her as she slapped away, with 
 a sigh. " Percival," said he, " you see my 
 weak indecision. If I could know that the 
 freshness and beauty of her mind would 
 never suffer by your religious teaching, I 
 would not hesitate. But I can think of her 
 only as coming back to me with a distressed 
 face and whining voice, reciting odious 
 psalms and hymns particularly suitable for 
 an old sinner like me." 
 
 " Mr. Rushton," said Mr. Percival after a 
 short silence, " you see that bird swaying to 
 and fro on the tree-top yonder. Could any 
 thing be more graceful than its movements, 
 more fresh and sweet than its song ? Yet 
 God s own hand made it; and it sings his 
 praises. Would it sing less sweetly if it knew 
 to whom it owed its beautiful existence and
 
 on, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 61 
 
 powers ? And if Amy, please God ! should 
 ever love to sing his praises too, think you 
 she would lose any quality you admire in her 
 now ? No : but every faculty she possesses, 
 every grace, would be brought into still more 
 perfect symmetry and beauty. 
 
 " I do not need to continue the parallel," 
 he resumed presently. " You have never 
 denied that nature is the visible token of 
 God s existence ; and the God that delights 
 in creating natural beauties such as these 
 around us would surely not delight in 
 causing all the gifts and graces of a beautiful 
 soul and person to vanish as soon as that 
 soul had learned to know his love." 
 
 " Your reasoning is good, friend Percival : 
 still my inclinations shrink from the trial. 
 My little Amy, so artless, so single-hearted ! 
 Well, be it so for a while at least : I will see 
 what a summer will effect." 
 
 "And God forbid," exclaimed Mr. Perci-
 
 62 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 val, grasping his friend s hand warmly, " that, 
 at the end of that time, you find her less art 
 less and single-hearted than she is now ! " 
 
 Mr. Rushton smiled, but as if he felt ill at 
 ease ; and the two gentlemen, now joined by 
 Amy, turned towards the house. In a few 
 hours Mr. Rushton s carriage was at the 
 door to convey him home. Amid her sorrow 
 at parting, Amy yet managed to whisper a 
 word in her father s ear unheard. " Father, 
 I would rather you would not tell mother I 
 said I was sorry for what I did yesterday 
 morning." 
 
 " "Why not, Amy ? " he asked, astonished. 
 
 " Because, father," her hand went up to 
 shield her eyes, as it so often did, " because 
 I have been thinking perhaps I was not so 
 sorry as I said I was." 
 
 O little Amy ! What will this sum 
 mer s teaching do for you ? 
 
 Mr. Rushton imprisoned both hands,
 
 OR, AMY KUSHTON S MISSION. 63 
 
 looked Amy full in the frank eyes a minute, 
 as if there were something there he would 
 fathom to its very depths, then gathered 
 her in his arms, and, giving her two not very 
 quiet kisses, sprang into the carriage.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 AT THE WHAEVES. 
 
 *R. RUSHTON went back to his home 
 and to his daily visitations at the 
 wharves. It was more a matter of 
 habit than of necessity, his going there so 
 often, and mingling so freely with much that 
 was coarse and gross, doubly so, too, to his 
 refined, aesthetic nature. But he was never 
 contaminated by it. 
 
 Gilbert Marvin went to the wharves every 
 day likewise ; went ragged and dirty, as 
 usual. He had thought he would try and 
 look better, hoping he might some day see 
 Mr. Rushton s little girl there again. But 
 
 <H
 
 AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 65 
 
 he had but one change of clothing : what 
 could he do ? He had to stay at home and 
 manage as best he could when his mother 
 washed that (which was not very often, to be 
 sure) ; but he was always tormented by the 
 fear that Amy would be there when he was 
 away: and so the weeks following Amy s 
 departure were to him a season of harassing 
 vexation. And still she did not appear. 
 
 Gilbert one day happened to come directly 
 into Mr. Rushton s path as he was walking 
 leisurely about. Mr. Rushton had frequently 
 a word for the boy ; and now he stopped him 
 for a moment s questioning. It was a way 
 he had of amusing himself. 
 
 " What are you doing, boy ? " 
 
 Gilbert, standing confused and downcast 
 before him, involuntarily spread out his dirty 
 hands, and muttered something about waiting 
 for work. 
 
 " Waiting ? Well, that s bad ! Your hands
 
 66 BOVNDBROOK ; 
 
 don t look very ready for nice work, do they ? 
 Hold, boy ! " said he, as Gilbert was edging 
 off. " Look up here : your name is Gilbert 
 Marvin, isn t it ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " Rather superior specimen of the class," 
 said Mr. Rushton to himself. " Good frame, 
 fair shaped head, eyes well set ; look as if 
 they sometimes had a thought beyond this." 
 
 " Well, Gilbert Marvin," said he presently, 
 " here is a bit of advice for you. If you want 
 to make headway in the world, don t stand 
 waiting for somebody to push you along. If 
 you want to know more than you do, ask 
 questions at the proper time and place, and 
 always keep your face and hands clean." 
 
 His tone was certainly very kind, but it 
 disconcerted Gilbert exceedingly : and, by 
 the time the gentleman ceased speaking, he 
 had bolted off as fast as he could. 
 
 Mr. Rushton laughed a little to himself, 
 and walked on.
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 67 
 
 Gilbert precipitated himself behind a huge 
 pile of lumber, and soliloquized. " Dear me, 
 I wish I d asked him something ; but then he 
 wouldn t have told a dirty boy like me. I 
 wonder what makes him speak to me ! Dirty, 
 am I ? Well, I know it ; but what s the use 
 of trying to be anybody? How the boys 
 would laugh at me if I should wash my face 
 and hands ! I wish I dared to ask him if his 
 little girl was ever coming to the wharves 
 again. I wish I dared to ask him about 
 those things she talked to me about. I wish, 
 oh, dear ! " 
 
 And here Gilbert s head went down be 
 tween his dirty hands a minute ; and then he 
 jerked it up again as if he were ashamed, and 
 braced himself more uprightly than before 
 against the pile of boards. There was no 
 one about. It was just noon-time. The men 
 and boys who usually collected about the 
 wharves for work, or to while away time,
 
 68 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 had either betaken themselves to some place 
 of public resort, or to sundry little nooks 
 among the lumber to eat a bit of dry bread 
 by themselves. And so the utmost quietude 
 reigned on the wharves that morning. 
 
 What a day it was ! clear blue and white 
 in the sky overhead ; clear blue and white in 
 the water below, save where the surface was 
 broken by ships and small fishing-boats 
 scattered about. There was the finest air 
 abroad, of that soft yet clear quality, that, 
 with its subtile touch, penetrates our being 
 through and through, and, while giving us 
 impulses towards action, yet holds us com 
 pletely in thrall. We feel as if we were fully 
 awake, and with every sense on the alert ; 
 while, practically, we are unconscious, and 
 dream and dream, as if we would dream on 
 for ever, with all our powers in just that 
 rare, delicate balance between inertness and 
 action. It is a state of delicious semi-intoxi- 
 
 p.a.t.irvn.
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 69 
 
 Gilbert braced himself against the pue of 
 boards, and endeavored to look unwinkingly 
 out upon the water. If he thought by this 
 to forget himself and his troubles, he took 
 an unwise course. No mortal was ever more 
 easily beguiled into thinking of self than was 
 Gilbert that hour he sat there alone. The 
 far-off voices of the men on board the distant 
 vessels ; the occasional soft dashing of the 
 water ; the bright vision of sky and sea ; the 
 fine subtile air, bringing to him just the faint* 
 est suggestion of pine-woods from the freshly 
 unladen lumber around, what wonder the 
 boy was lulled into building air-castles of 
 marvelous magnitude ! 
 
 He fancied himself stealing off in the night 
 in a little row-boat, which he knew wel^ 
 enough how to manage, to that schooner 
 lying off there waiting for a wind ; and on 
 board her he would go to distant countries 
 and make his fortune. He would never go
 
 70 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 again to that mean place he called home, to 
 the two people there who called themselves his 
 father and mother. He would cut himself 
 loose from every thing in his life thus far, 
 and, having made himself a rich gentleman, 
 would come home, and astonish Mr. Rushton 
 and Amy. But she would not be a little 
 girl then, and very likely would have forgot 
 ten him. He guessed he could make her 
 recollect him. After all, what business had 
 he to think of such people, he, dirty and 
 ragged ! And then all his travels round the 
 world would never give him learning, such 
 learning as Amy Rushton had already. 
 
 Gilbert went over this perhaps twenty 
 times ; his eyes meanwhile fixed upon that 
 Jar-off schooner. It was so delightful, the 
 thought of rowing out to her, and ending 
 these troubles. He knew where a small boat 
 was kept : it would be easy enough to get it. 
 Already he saw the little skiff dancing up
 
 OR, AMY KUSriTON S MISSION. 71 
 
 and down with the waves, felt the exertion 
 of reaching and hailing the vessel, and said 
 over to himself the story he would tell the 
 captain. 
 
 While Gilbert sat and gazed, suddenly 
 there came cutting through the air a sharp 
 but pleasant whistle. He started, and looked 
 about him. There was no one in sight. He 
 ran his eyes all over the huge mountains of 
 boards that rose up on each side, and glanced 
 into the nooks and little sheltered places 
 about ; but there was no one there. The 
 whistle rang out a second time, and a third, 
 this time more energetic and prolonged ; and 
 Gilbert, being able to follow the sound, caught 
 sight of a queer face peeping at him from a 
 little distance among the boards. 
 
 " Three times, and no more," said the 
 homely but genial face, face, we may well 
 say ; for, when the lips moved, every muscle 
 of the physiognomy moved likewise ; and
 
 72 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 its owner came briskly round to Gilbert s 
 side. " I thought I d bring you the third 
 time. Now, I m going to tell you some 
 thing." 
 
 Some perverse spirit moved Gilbert to say, 
 " You don t know nothing." 
 
 " Don t I ? " said the little fellow, amused, 
 and taking a seat at the boy s side. " You 
 should have said, Don t know any thing. 
 But I do know, I think, just what you ve 
 been thinking of for the last quarter of an 
 hour." 
 
 " Don t believe it," said Gilbert. 
 
 " Well, we ll see. There is a boy who 
 comes down to the wharves every morning 
 to find work. This morning a gentleman 
 spoke to him, a real gentleman, none of 
 your make-believes. He told him some true 
 things, set him thinking. He sits here and 
 thinks, thinks how he wants to be a gen 
 tleman too ; looks at the ships going off
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 73 
 
 to foreign lands, and wishes he could go off 
 in one of them." 
 
 "Who are you?" exclaimed Gilbert, now 
 thoroughly interested. " How do you know 
 what I think ? " 
 
 " Ah ! " said the other slowly, looking wise 
 and mysterious, " I have cognizance of 
 many things." 
 
 Gilbert did not understand all the words 
 in this sentence ; and something like respect 
 for the little fellow began to take the place 
 of his previous emotions. 
 
 " And he thinks," resumed the dwarf (for 
 such he was, having been a hunchback 
 almost from the cradle), " that he does not 
 know much. He does not, truly; but he 
 need not study many books to know all that 
 is necessarj*-." 
 
 "Needn t?" exclaimed Gilbert: "what 
 must I do ? " 
 
 " He should learn to read well," said the
 
 74 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 other; ".and, if he wishes, I will teach him; 
 learn good English, and look round him 
 meanwhile ; take sharp notice of men and 
 things ; watch ; keep his eyes open always. 
 If he has a clear head, is quick, and in 
 earnest, he ll do well." 
 
 " Do you know every thing ? " asked Gil 
 bert eagerly. " And is that all you ever 
 done?" 
 
 " All I ever did, you mean. No, not all : 
 I keep reading and studying now. But it 
 will give you a good start." 
 
 " I can t do it," said the boy in a dis 
 couraged tone. 
 
 "Hoity-toity ! " exclaimed the dwarf. " Is 
 he going to give up so easily? Then I m 
 off! " And up he jumped, and made as if he 
 would go away ; but Gilbert caught him. 
 
 " Wait a minute," said he : "I want you 
 to talk to me." 
 
 " No, you don t."
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 75 
 
 " I do, honest." 
 
 " Well, then, cheer up ; for I ve no time to 
 waste on a boy that s got the dumps." The 
 little hunchback sat down again with a kind 
 light in his eyes which the boy did not fail 
 to see. " Who are you ? " 
 
 "Why," said Gilbert, a little surprised, 
 " I thought you acted as if you knew me." 
 
 " Did I ? Well, you see I don t know every 
 thing. Are you the presiding genius of this 
 wharf? or are you a water-spirit, or son of 
 Neptune, or ? " Gilbert s cheek was redden 
 ing ; and the little fellow stopped his banter 
 ing. " What is your name ? " he asked 
 kindly. 
 
 "I m Gilbert." 
 
 " Gilbert, Gilbert," repeated the other mus 
 ingly, " a descendant of Sir Humphrey ? " 
 
 The word " descendant " Gilbert partly 
 guessed at, but did not answer the question 
 directly. " I am Gilbert Marvin," said he,
 
 76 BOUNDBROOK ; 
 
 endeavoring to look unconcerned ; " though 
 I don t know as the last name is my name 
 truly." 
 
 " Why ? " asked the dwarf, with a quick, 
 sharp look at him. 
 
 " It s the name of the people I live with," 
 said Gilbert. 
 
 " Oh ! then they re not your father and 
 mother?" 
 
 " Why, they say they are," returned Gil 
 bert a little confused. " But I don t think 
 I m like them at all." 
 
 " Ah ! you think you re made of a little 
 better stuff ? " 
 
 u I didn t say so." 
 
 " But you meant it ; " and the little fellow 
 looked at Gilbert, laughing pleasantly. 
 
 "I don t see what you re laughing at," 
 said Gilbert rather pettishly. " There s no 
 need of it, I m sure." 
 
 " No," said the other ; " perhaps not. I d
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 77 
 
 better draw my face down so, and whine 
 with you. That would be a great deal 
 better ; and then you and I would go whin 
 ing about all our lifetime. That would be 
 jolly, wouldn t it?" 
 
 The queer faces the dwarf made, and his 
 emphatic way of talking, made Gilbert laugh 
 this time ; at which his new friend seemed 
 well satisfied. " Now," said he seriously 
 and kindly, "perhaps you think my advice 
 not worth minding ; but it s just this : I 
 wouldn t stop to think any thing about my 
 real relationship to these people at present. 
 If you ve no actual reason for believing they 
 are not your father and mother, be a manly 
 boy, and treat them as if they were. But 
 you may fix your mark higher ; and, if there 
 is any thing in you, you ll rise fast enough. 
 You won t do it sitting down to dream and 
 ivhine. Be wide awake, and brisk as a bee. 
 Don t look glum, as you did when you threw
 
 78 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 yourself down here. Don t stop to stare at 
 the ships. Sometimes it wouldn t hurt you ; 
 but twon t do you any good now." 
 
 " Won t you tell me who you are ? " asked 
 Gilbert. 
 
 " My name is Robert Bernhard," replied 
 his companion. There was one other ques 
 tion Gilbert wanted to ask, but did not dare 
 to. The dwarf saw it in his face. 
 
 " You are wondering how old I am ; aren t 
 you ? " he asked pleasantly. " Well, tell me 
 your age, and I ll tell you mine." 
 
 " I don t know mine," said Gilbert, color 
 ing, " not exactly. I guess I m about four 
 teen or fifteen." 
 
 " I think you are. And I am twenty-five, 
 and not so large as you nearly. But I must 
 go now." 
 
 "No," said Gilbert : "tell me who Sir 
 Humphrey was ? " 
 
 " Good ! " cried the dwarf, much pleased.
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 79 
 
 " That s one way to learn. Don t be afraid 
 to ask questions when it s a proper time. Sir 
 Humphrey Gilbert was an Englishman and 
 a great navigator ; that is, a person famous 
 for making voyages on the water. He died 
 over two hundred years ago. Some other 
 day I ll tell you more. Good-by now ! " 
 
 He was off ; and Gilbert rose up, and went 
 about searching for work, thinking of what 
 two people had said to him that day. It 
 was strange, this day s experience. Would 
 it all slip away from him, this new impulse 
 he had received, and leave his mind dark 
 and forlorn again ? Let us hope not. He 
 remembered what the little hunchback had 
 said about whining, and, clearing his brow, 
 began to whistle. 
 
 " Here, boy," said a man coming out from 
 behind a huge pile of clapboards, " here s a 
 good afternoon s work for you, and a round 
 shilling \v hen it s done. Lucky you whistled,
 
 80 
 
 BOUNDBROOK. 
 
 or I should have given the job to that boy- 
 yonder." 
 
 Gilbert went to work in earnest, and whis 
 tled merrily all the afternopn.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 NEW THINGS. 
 
 UNE drew near the middle of her 
 course. The gray stone cottage had 
 become intwined with the heavy foli 
 age of woodbine and honeysuckle ; and 
 the shrubbery scattered about the lawn had 
 put on its brightest and densest green. Mr. 
 Rushton had been once alone to see Amy, 
 and left her with an odd feeling of regret 
 and gladness ; for he could not perceive 
 that her mind had in any wise lost either its 
 childish, quiet joyousness, or sweet gravity. 
 The gravity he would never have liked, if it 
 had not been that which gave so much of 
 
 81
 
 82 BOUNDBBOOK; 
 
 force and character to her words; but, as 
 long as there was no lack of freshness and 
 happiness, he could endure that she should 
 be sometimes serious ; and he found, to his 
 surprise, that with the same earnest, steady 
 depth of thought which had always char 
 acterized her, yet she was more light-hearted 
 than he could recollect ever to have seen 
 her. He engaged her in conversation deeper 
 than he had ever ventured with her before ; 
 but in all her thoughtful replies there was 
 the same joy shining through ; and not more 
 than once or twice did the very grave lines 
 form about her mouth as of old ; nor did her 
 hand once go up to shield her face. 
 
 " Amy," said Mr. Rushton, when he was 
 near leaving, " what shall I tell mother for 
 you ? " 
 
 " Please tell her I should like to see her, 
 father." 
 
 " I will, Amy. Is that all? "
 
 OB, AMY RUSIITON S MISSION. 83 
 
 He was evidently trying to draw from the 
 child something relative to her first message 
 home, which had been so decidedly recalled. 
 But, though Amy guessed what he wished, 
 she was either not ready to speak, or did not 
 wish to speak at all ; for she sat silent by his 
 
 I side, looking intently from the window. 
 But this position she soon relinquished for 
 a place on her father s knee, which enabled 
 her to avert her face entirely. Mr. Rushton 
 waited patiently and with a good deal of 
 curiosity. 
 
 " Father," said a very low voice presently. 
 " I am listening, Amy." 
 " Will you be angry if I say something ? " 
 " That is what I want you to do, Amy." 
 " But I mean something about God? " 
 " You may say just what you please, little 
 daughter." 
 
 With that Amy sat up, and, wrapping both 
 arms about her father s neck, gave him a
 
 84 BOUNDBROOE; 
 
 very full, sweet kiss. It was returned with 
 interest. Then, keeping her new position, 
 she began to speak again. 
 
 " Father," and Mr. Rushton felt a closer 
 clasp of the arms around him, " I have 
 learned something very new here." 
 
 " I am glad you are learning new things, 
 Amy." But he did not mean the "new 
 things ".that she did. 
 
 " Are you ? " There was a clear, glad 
 ring in her tone, that almost made Mr. Rush- 
 ton start. " Did you bring me here so I 
 might learn something about God ? " 
 
 " Why no, Amy," said Mr. Rushton 
 presently, " I did not care so much to have 
 you learn that ; but," he resumed, without 
 giving her time to speak, " so long as it must 
 be so, I will not object : only I can not have 
 my Amy any less happy and bright than she 
 always was. Amy, I will not have you 
 going about with a long, sad face on."
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 85 
 
 He spoke rather vehemently now, ana, at 
 \ 
 
 the same time, drew the child from her posi 
 tion, and, reinstating her upon his knee, scru 
 tinized her closely. She bore it well. 
 
 " Father," said she presently with a tiny 
 smile about her mouth, " I don t see why it 
 should make me sad. I was sad sometimes 
 at home, because I knew there was some 
 thing about God I did not understand, and I 
 could not ask anybody ; but now I can know 
 all I want to, and I am very glad." 
 
 Glad ! If ever a little face expressed the 
 fullness of contentment and happiness, that 
 was Amy s at that moment. 
 
 Glad that she could know all she wanted 
 to about her heavenly Friend. And we of 
 riper years, day by day coming nearer to the 
 hour when this mortal must put on immor 
 tality, covering our eyes that we may not 
 see him, and stopping our ears that we may 
 not hear him ! Is not this what we do ?
 
 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 Ever and anon God comes close to us, and 
 whispers, " Art thou not now ready to take 
 me for thy friend ? " " Nay," we say, " not 
 yet. I will first make to myself a friend of 
 man, or I will have a god of mammon, or of 
 fame, or of pleasure." Oh, so many of us 
 say this by our acts, and cheat ourselves 
 with the belief that we are voyaging securely, 
 and will anchor safely at last ! Where is 
 the anchor that can bind us to the shores of 
 heaven, when we are practically putting 
 forth every effort to avoid it ? 
 
 " Amy," said Mr. Rushton after a while, 
 " has this any thing to do with a message for 
 your mother?" 
 
 Such eyes as she raised to his ! their 
 bright gladness touched with a little wistful 
 doubt; and the doubt and wistfuluess 
 deepened and deepened. 
 
 * Father, that is the only thing that 
 troubles me. I know I was very naughty ;
 
 OB, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 87 
 
 but then, whenever I think of it? I can t help 
 feeling a little proud that I didn t keep the 
 necklace when mother told me to." 
 
 " Amy, Amy ! Deeper and deeper you 
 are going into the philosophy of right and 
 wrong." That was what Mr. Rushton said 
 to himself, not to her. He only passed 
 his hand meditatingly over her fair, flushed 
 brow, and said nothing. 
 
 Probably he had nothing to say. But 
 Amy was very deeply disappointed when he 
 put her from his knee with only the remark 
 that it was time to order the carriage. 
 
 " Father? " she said pleadingly. 
 
 He turned round as he was going toward 
 the door, and, noticing her standing irresolute 
 where he had left her, held out his hand. 
 She sprang to him instantly. 
 
 " Father, aren t you going to say any 
 thing more to me ? " 
 
 " Amy, I have nothing to say." And the
 
 88 BOUNDBROLK; 
 
 child, looking up into his face, knew that he 
 spoke truth. She released his hand, and 
 walked back to the window very slowly. 
 Could it be that her father, who was so good, 
 who knew so much, could not help her at all 
 about this ? It was a keener disappointment 
 than she had ever known before. She had 
 been accustomed to lay every thought before 
 him ; and not even to Mrs. Percival, whom 
 she loved so much, could she confide any 
 thing upon this point. So she must now 
 keep it all to herself. Never to be able to 
 send such a message to her mother as 
 perhaps she ought, because there was no one 
 
 * 
 
 to help her feel as she ought. 
 
 So Mr. Rushton left Amy, and went back 
 home with a mixture of regret and gladness. 
 Mrs. Rushton saw neither in his manner, and 
 attempted to sound him a little. 
 
 " Mr. Rushton," she said to him after he 
 had been at home several hours, "how did 
 you find Amy ? and what is she doing there ? "
 
 OR, AMY ItUSHTON S MISSION. 89 
 
 " I found her," said Mr. Rushton, " very 
 well and very contented. What is she 
 doing ? She is running about the woods and 
 fields, feeding the lambs and the ducks, and 
 making as rapid advancement in her studies 
 as I could wish." 
 
 " And as rapidly advancing towards being 
 a lady, I suppose. Feeding lambs and 
 ducks! ha, ha!" And Mrs. Rushton, half 
 reclining upon a sofa, put her delicate hand 
 kerchief to her lips, that her involuntarily 
 loud laughter might be tempered to the true 
 genteel softness. 
 
 Mr. Rushton took no notice of her innu 
 endo. He had become accustomed to such 
 things, and, if he had not, was too much 
 absorbed to catch it now. Probably his 
 thoughts had taken a far different turn ; for, 
 turning to her, he said abruptly, " I have 
 never told you that I found Mr. Percival a 
 confirmed religious enthusiast."
 
 90 
 
 BOUNDBROOE. 
 
 " Religious ? " exclaimed Mrs. Rushton. 
 " Then Amy will follow suit. A pretty time 
 we shall have here if she ever comes back ! 
 By the way, is her temper any sweeter than 
 it was the morning she went away ? " 
 
 " I think it is," said Mr. Rushton slowly. 
 " Nor was it so much ill-temper then as it 
 was that her sense of justice was keenly 
 wounded." 
 
 " Pshaw, justice ! Has she ever said she 
 was sorry ? " 
 
 " I think she is very sorry," was his reply. 
 But at this point he rose up, and left the 
 room.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A GBEAT PLEASURE. 
 
 : R. PERCIVAL S visitors were few. 
 The neighborhood was very quiet ; and, 
 from one week s end to another, Amy 
 hardly saw any persons but the members of 
 the family. She would have liked it other 
 wise, for she was very fond of having many 
 about her ; and it was therefore with a 
 feeling of great pleasure that she saw one 
 evening, as she was sitting on the stone steps 
 in front of the house, a gentleman coming 
 up the graveled walk. She rose as he drew 
 near, and answered, in reply to his inquiry 
 for Mr. Percival, that neither Mr. nor Mrs. 
 
 91
 
 92 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 Percival was at home, but they would prob 
 ably be very soon. 
 
 " Then, with your permission, I will wait 
 for them. No, thank you : I will not go into 
 the house ; and you need not run away, 
 either, little girl," giving her his hand as he 
 spoke, and seating her beside himself on the 
 lower step. "Are you Mr. Percival s little 
 daughter?" 
 
 " No, sir : I am Amy Rushton." 
 
 " You see, I am not acquainted here, Miss 
 Amy. This is not a large village ; is it ? " 
 
 " Not just here, sir," replied Amy ; " but 
 a couple of miles away, where the mills are, 
 there are a great many people." 
 
 " But here there is no church, is there ? 
 Nor a sabbath school? "Where do most of 
 the people attend church ? " 
 
 " Some of them at West Boundbrook, sir, 
 where we do. But I think many do not go 
 anywhere."
 
 OR, AMT RUSHTON S MISSION. 93 
 
 " Yes, I supposed so. Miss Amy, what a 
 pleasant thing it would be if these could be 
 brought together to hear about the best 
 things God has done for us ! God s un 
 speakable gift, his unspeakable gift, " he 
 repeated, as if half to himself; and for a 
 while he seemed to forget Amy, who took 
 the opportunity to take closer observation 
 of him. 
 
 He seemed, even to Amy s child-eyes, to 
 be a very young man. His hair was carelessly 
 pushed back from his brow, he had taken 
 off his hat on first seating himself; and his 
 face was clear in its rosy-brown complexion 
 as a child s. She had noticed, when he spoke, 
 that his mouth was very pleasant, and his 
 brown eyes kind and happy. Altogether, it 
 was a face that Amy liked. 
 
 " Little girl," said he rather suddenly, 
 turning to her, " this is a very beautiful 
 place just here. What do you do with so 
 much that is delightful ? "
 
 94 SOUNDBROOE; 
 
 " I don t do much with it," she replied 
 with a child s simplicity. " I like it." 
 
 He looked at ber, half smiling. " I think, 
 if I lived here, I should talk to it sometimes, 
 and I m sure it would talk to me, about the 
 Lord who made fr, Miss Amy, do you love 
 him ? " 
 
 " No, sir," Amy ejnlied. " I like to hear 
 about him ; but 1 d > not love him." She 
 flushed as she saii iv, fueling that his eyes 
 were upon her. 
 
 " I am very sorry, A ^ replied with pleas 
 ant gravity, " that yeu ~N not love him. 
 Yet you say that you like to hear about him. 
 What is it that you like best ? " 
 
 " I like best the stories Mrs. Pe r cival tells 
 me about Jesus being on the /-nrth, and 
 about the wonderful things he did, and how 
 the people and the children went aftf* him," 
 Amy replied with some hesitation. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Percival came up at the
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 95 
 
 moment ; and for Amy the conversation was 
 ended. But, when the gentleman held out 
 his hand to her as she left them for the night, 
 it seemed as if the question he had been 
 asking her were in his eyes still. She went 
 away to her room, secretly hoping he would 
 talk to her again. 
 
 Nor was she to be disappointed. Next * 
 day, after her studies were over, Mr. Perci- 
 val said, " I have something pleasant to tell 
 you, Amy." 
 
 She guessed in her heart it was something 
 connected with Mr. Ellery, as she had heard 
 him introduce himself to Mr. Percival, but 
 did not ask the question. Mr. Percival 
 continued, " The gentleman whom you saw 
 here last night has just entered the seminary 
 at West Boundbrook, in order to become a 
 minister ; and his heart is so much engaged in 
 his work, that he is anxious to collect the 
 children and other persons of this neighbor-
 
 96 BOUNDBROOR , 
 
 hood into a sabbath school. How would 
 you like it, Amy, a sabbath school in our 
 little schoolhouse at Boundbrook ? " 
 
 Amy clapped her hands. " I should like 
 it more than any thing else, Mr. Percival. 
 But how funny it would be to have it in 
 a schoolhouse ! And will you go, and Mrs. 
 Percival ? " 
 
 " Certainly. But what makes you so glad ? 
 that you are to go, or that these dear peo 
 ple about us are to be taught about the Lord 
 Jesus ? " 
 
 Amy looked up and down, thoughtfulness 
 taking the place of gladness for the moment. 
 " I didn t think of anybody but myself," she 
 said humbly. And then the question flashed 
 into her mind, " Should I have thought of 
 somebody else first if I loved God ? " She 
 concluded most likely she should. But Mr. 
 Percival noticed the drooping eyes, and for 
 bore further questioning.
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 97 
 
 It seemed to Amy as if Sunday would 
 never come ; but it did come at just the time 
 appointed for it. 
 
 So, also, the hour appointed for the first 
 meeting of the Boundbrook sabbath school at 
 length arrived ; and Amy, with hand tightly 
 clasping Mrs. Percival s, entered the school- 
 house. The schoolroom was small, but very 
 pretty, and nicely furnished in modern school 
 fashion. It seemed to Amy a very strange 
 place for a sabbath school, however. 
 
 Mrs. Percival led her presently to one of 
 the smaller seats, and left her. For fifteen 
 minutes she sat absorbed in watching the 
 people as they came in, old and young, some 
 in neat, some in tawdry attire ; some alert 
 and happy, some shuffling and ashamed. It 
 was a new and amusing scene ; and now she 
 thought she would not have any thing dif 
 ferent if she could. (How sweet was the 
 smell of flowers and new-mown hay, that
 
 98 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 floated across the room from the fields out 
 side ! ) After prayer, and some consultation 
 among the older ones, the members of the 
 school were formed into separate classes. To 
 her great delight, Amy was placed, with some 
 other little girls, under the care of the gen 
 tleman who had talked with her at Mr. 
 Percival s. 
 
 Every thing went on smoothly after that, 
 except that two or three of the little girls 
 seemed to find a great deal to laugh at. But 
 Mr. Ellery s earnest voice soon called their 
 thoughts to something else ; and Amy quite 
 forgot their merriment, quite forgot every 
 thing, indeed, but her teacher s words. And 
 then, it seemed so soon, the signal was given 
 for the school to close ; and she had hardly 
 come to herself, when the same voice to 
 which she had been listening so intently 
 asked, very low and close to her, if she loved 
 God yet.
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 99 
 
 Oh ! what would Amy not have given to 
 have honestly answered, Yes. Could she not ? 
 Instantaneously she searched her heart for 
 something upon which she might base such 
 a reply; but there was no affection there. 
 She thought perhaps she wished to please 
 God ; but so, too, she had wished to please 
 some of her teachers at home, whom she 
 knew privately she disliked. To wish to 
 obey was not to love ; and, at this point of 
 her rapid self-examination, Amy looked into 
 Mr. Ellery s kind eyes, and the second time 
 gave answer gravely but truthfully, " No, sir." 
 
 There was no time for any thing more ; 
 for just then a hymn was given out to be 
 sung. And, immediately upon the closing of 
 the school, Mr. Ellery s attention was en 
 grossed by the other teachers ; and Amy was 
 taken in charge by Mrs. Percival for the 
 walk home. Mr. Percival presently joined 
 them ; and slowly they wended their way 
 toward the gray stone cottage.
 
 100 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 Near the turn of the road at the foot of 
 Rock Hill, the attention of the little party 
 was called by Mr. Percival to a boy, appar 
 ently of some fourteen or fifteen summers, 
 sitting, with his head down, by a rock at the 
 roadside. His clothes were dirty and ragged, 
 his feet bare, his head illy covered by an old 
 straw hat, beneath which his hair hung in 
 tangled masses. 
 
 As they drew near, the boy raised his 
 head. What was it made him start and stare 
 at sight of Amy ? What was it swept over 
 her with a vague sense of something 
 familiar? Surely- she never could have seen 
 that boy ! Still she stood moveless, till, on 
 a sudden, his head went down ; and then 
 Amy knew. 
 
 " Mr. Percival," said she with timid eager 
 ness, " I have seen him before. May I 
 speak to him? Please let me, Mr. Perci 
 val."
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 101 
 
 " You must be wrong, my child. It can 
 not be you know him ! " 
 
 "But I have seen him with father at the 
 wharves. Please mayn t I speak to him ? " 
 
 Mr. Percival went up to the boy with her, 
 standing a little aloof, watching to see the 
 result of this strange recognition. 
 
 Amy had no knowledge of the boy s name ; 
 and when she had stepped to his side, find 
 ing that he kept his position as if unaware 
 of her presence, she had no alternative but 
 to say (and she said it very low and 
 timidly), Boy." 
 
 It was a rare picture. The time, just at 
 sunset, a shower of fine gold sifting through 
 trees and bushes, flashing across the hill-top, 
 and burnishing every spire of the short grass 
 by the roadside, until they looked like so 
 many golden needles ; the bending figure of 
 the fair little girl, with a world of eagerness 
 and pity and wonder in her eyes ; and the
 
 102 BOUNDBROOK. 
 
 ragged boy, shrinking awa} from her, much 
 as we, conscious of our moral impurity, and 
 filthy rags of unrighteousness, might shrink 
 from the wondering, pitying gaze of an angel. 
 
 Amy s first advance met with no response ; 
 and with a little more clearness, and less of 
 timid hesitancy, she spoke again, adding, 
 " Don t be afraid of anybody here." 
 
 The sun drops behind the horizon, the 
 golden rays flee to the farthest eastern hill 
 top, the leaves of the trees above begin to 
 quiver in the freshened evening breeze ; but 
 the ragged figure is moveless still, and the 
 tender, eager eyes keep their intent look 
 upon him.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 GILBERT AT BOUNDBROOK. 
 
 JNE day towards the last of the week 
 previous to this, Gilbert Marvin went 
 home from the wharves in the middle 
 of the forenoon, and, walking straight to 
 his mother, threw several pieces of money 
 into her lap. " There," said he, " that will 
 keep you from starving a few days. I m 
 going away." 
 
 " What ? " said the woman, looking 
 frightened. 
 
 " You needn t look at me so, nor say any 
 thing, either. I m going. Now, stop that, 
 do ! " Mrs. Marvin had begun to wring her 
 hands and cry, 
 
 103
 
 104 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 "O GU, Gil!" If she spoke the name 
 once, she did twenty times. 
 
 " Dear me," said Gilbert angrily, as he 
 went round the room picking up a few 
 things, " always that ! " As he was going 
 about, he inadvertently came near his father, 
 whom he had meant to avoid. Mr. Marvin 
 plucked him by the sleeve of his jacket. 
 
 " Where yer goin ? " he asked vacantly. 
 
 " None of your business ! " said Gilbert, 
 twitching away from him. " Let me alone ! " 
 He went out, and left them thus. 
 
 This was Friday morning. Gilbert left 
 home with the intention of finding Stock- 
 well, his father s native place ; but, his course 
 thither not being very definitely marked out, 
 he lost his way two or three times, and was 
 obliged, in each case, to retrace his steps. 
 Thus Sunday evening found him, not at 
 Stockwell, but at Boundbrook, and, most 
 unexpectedly, in the very presence of Amy 
 Rushton.
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 105 
 
 His ragged clothes and the dirt that clung 
 to him would have made him anxious to 
 escape from her at the moment : but hunger 
 and the weariness of his journey overwhelmed 
 him with despondency ; and he cowered 
 beneath her sweet pleading, feeling as if lie 
 could never lift his head again. Intuitively 
 Amy comprehended his situation, and con 
 tinued her plea. " Come up to the house with 
 us," said she; "and Mr. Percival will give 
 you something to eat, and help you." 
 
 The boy s heart began to revive at the 
 prospect of food ; and in a few moments he 
 raised his head, and stole furtive glances 
 around. " Come, my lad," said Mr. Percival, 
 now stepping nearer, " come up to the house, 
 and we willflsee what we can do for you." 
 
 Amy, meanwhile, had gone back to Mrs. 
 Percival ; and Gilbert, shaking some of the 
 thick dust from his clothes, followed them, 
 towards their home, keeping at a little dis 
 tance in the rear.
 
 106 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 Arrived at the house, and being duly 
 washed and fed, he was ushered into the 
 sitting-room, and there told the story of his 
 leaving home to three deeply-interested 
 listeners, keeping back, however, his real 
 motive in so doing. 
 
 " You say you are going to Stockwell, my 
 boy," said Mr. Percival as he concluded. 
 " What do you intend to do there ? " 
 
 Gilbert colored, and did not answer. 
 
 " But what, in the mean time, will your 
 father and mother do ? Are they able to do 
 any thing for themselves, to get any sort 
 of a living without you ? " 
 
 The boy replied rather gruffly, that he 
 didn t know but they could if they were put 
 to it. 
 
 " Are they well and strong ? " 
 
 " He isn t. He shakes all the time." 
 
 "He? who?" 
 
 "My father," was forced from Gilbert s 
 reluctant lips.
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 107 
 
 " That sounds better, my son. Are they 
 intemperate ? " 
 
 " What? " said Gilbert inquiringly. 
 
 " Do they drink liquor? rum, whisky, or 
 anything of that kind ? " 
 
 " Not, now. They used to." 
 
 " What induced them to leave off the 
 habits ? " 
 
 Gilbert did not know. No : the boy did 
 not know how true a friend, in the shape of a 
 homely little dwarf, had, some time before his 
 own personal acquaintance with him, exerted 
 every effort of which his kind heart was 
 capable, to persuade them, and help them in 
 many an unseen way, to give up the ruinous 
 cup. He did not know how closely this same 
 friend had looked after their interests and 
 his, though keeping himself always in the 
 background if possible ; did not know whose 
 hand had left many a little comfort or dainty 
 for the father, palsied not so much with
 
 108 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 years, as with rum and sickuess and ex 
 posure ; did not know whose coming carried 
 pleasure into that dingy room, when he had 
 left them peevish and complaining ; nor 
 whose cheery tones were heard there in spng 
 or laughter, or as often in prayer. For the 
 little dwarf "unfortunate Robert Bern- 
 hard," as some called him was as happy- 
 hearted a Christian as the Lord ever blessed. 
 Unfortunate ? He did not think so. 
 
 " When you lived in Stockwell," asked 
 Mr. Percival, " were your father and mother 
 as poor as they are now ? " 
 
 Gilbert could hardly remember, but he 
 thought his father might have been a smart 
 man once. 
 
 " Do you know," asked Mr. Percival, 
 " what day this is ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir. It s Sunday." 
 
 " And do you know whose day it is ? " 
 
 " Perhaps I don t know what you mean,"
 
 07?, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 109 
 
 said Gilbert ; " but I know what we used to 
 call it there. We used to say it was the " 
 
 " Stop," said Mr. Percival, not unkindly, 
 but with an intonation which brought Gil 
 bert to a recollection of his whereabouts. 
 " I don t wish to know what you called it. 
 The sabbath, my boy, is the Lord s day ; and 
 now, as its hours are not yet passed, we will 
 devote the rest of it to other conversation, 
 and talk more of yourself in the morning." 
 
 With the early dawn the household was 
 astir ; and Mr. Percival, taking Gilbert into 
 his study, learned more of his disposition 
 and plans than Gilbert had cared to disclose, 
 or would, but for the kind, judicious ques 
 tioning of Mr. Percival. 
 
 In vain the gentleman, however, tried to 
 induce him to return very soon, if not im 
 mediately, to his parents. The t>oy grew 
 sullen and angry. " I don t see why every 
 body need tell me that," he muttered.
 
 110 BOUNDBROOK ; 
 
 " Because," said Mr. Percivftl, "they are 
 evidently dependent upon you for their daily 
 food. Little as you do for them, that little 
 is your duty, and should be your pleasure. 
 It is both selfish and unfeeling in you to 
 leave them to themselves in this way. At 
 least let me persuade you to return to them 
 before many days have elapsed. I will write 
 to my friend Mr. Rushton ; and he will, per 
 haps, find you better employment." 
 
 " I don t want any help," said Gilbert 
 proudly ; " and I am going where I please." 
 
 He started up, and, facing Mr. Percival for 
 a moment, turned to go. 
 
 " One thing more," said the gentleman 
 very kindly. " One in heaven has said, 
 4 Honor thy father and thy mother. Re 
 member, my boy, that He who made you, and 
 placed you where he chose, goes with you. 
 Remember that you can not go from him." 
 
 Gilbert, finding himself released, as it
 
 OB, AMY BUSHTON S MISSION. Ill 
 
 were, began to come down from his haughti 
 ness. It was not quite so fine to go, without 
 making a display of his independence. 
 There was no alternative, however. He saw 
 that now he was expected to go ; and though 
 Mr. Percival s words and manner could not 
 have been more kind than they were, his 
 quiet dignity did not encourage Gilbert to 
 speak again. He moved toward the door, 
 and went out alone. 
 
 As he went down the garden-walk, the 
 revulsion of feeling common to one of his 
 moody, changeful nature followed. No 
 sooner had he reached the main road than 
 he threw himself down in a fit of passion 
 and despondency. 
 
 " I don t care," he said to himself, rolling 
 about in the grass with his face in his hands. 
 " Don t anybody treat me anyhow ! Don t 
 anybody think I am anybody ! I wish I was 
 dead ; I do ! Oh, dear ! "
 
 112 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 Some moments passed in the utterance of 
 such ejaculations ; and then he sat up and 
 began to look about him. 
 
 It was one of the rarest of summer morn 
 ings, freshness and dewiness all about him, 
 and the sweetest fragrance floating from 
 meadow and grove and orchard. Over all a 
 fair sky bending serenely. 
 
 Gilbert was not insensible to beauty. " I 
 guess Amy Rushton likes to live here," he 
 said to himself, coming out of his despond 
 ency a little. " Queer I should come across 
 her ! and I ain t a-goin away without seein 
 her again : that s what I ain t. I ll wait here 
 a while. Shouldn t wonder if she came round 
 before long." 
 
 He was not wrong in his conjecture, for 
 Amy was always dancing about in the early 
 morning ; and it was not long before she 
 came running a race down the road with her 
 pet lamb.
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON 8 MISSION. 113 
 
 Seeing Gilbert, she turned instantly to go 
 back. 
 
 " Oh, don t go ! " exclaimed Gilbert in real 
 distress lest she should. 
 
 " I must," she replied with decision ; for 
 she felt that Mr. Percival would not be 
 pleased with this. " Come, Lammie ! " But 
 Lammie was obstinate, and wouldn t stir. 
 
 In a moment Gilbert was by her side. She 
 was much displeased, and stepped back from 
 him ; but, when she saw that he had been 
 crying, pity got the better of her wounded 
 feeling. 
 
 " I wish you d speak to me," said Gilbert, 
 giving utterance to the thought uppermost 
 in his mind. Then he felt embarrassed, and 
 stood kicking the dust with his feet. 
 
 " I am very sorry for you," said Amy, also 
 speaking her first thought, as children are 
 wont to do. 
 
 " I don t know as you need to be," said
 
 114 BOVNDBROOK; 
 
 the boy, with a little of his independence 
 returning. " But I do think it s real mean." 
 
 "Mean! What?" 
 
 "Why, to have folks always telling you 
 you re doing wrong, and all that sort of stuff." 
 
 " If we deserve it," Amy began. 
 
 " Well, I don t," put in Gilbert vehemently. 
 " You know I don t. They do it because 
 I m poor and ragged. What s the harm if I 
 do leave the old folks ? And besides," lower 
 ing his tone, " I ll tell you, if you won t tell : 
 I don t think they re my father and mother ; 
 and I m going to find em." 
 
 " I can t stay here," said Amy, turning 
 resolutely away. 
 
 " Amy Rushton ! " exclaimed Gilbert, 
 " you shall stay. I ve been looking for you 
 every day at the wharves, since you told me 
 so many things there ; and I haven t had any 
 body to tell me any thing since, only a crooked 
 little fellow that used to come down once in
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 115 
 
 a while. I ve been learning to read some. 
 And now I m going, stay just one inmute, 
 I m going to find out my real father and 
 mother." 
 
 The boy s unexpected freedom with her 
 name had offended Amy s sense of delicacy, 
 and his vehement manner half frightened her; 
 yet, through it all, how she pitied him ! for 
 what, she could hardly have told. It was all 
 very strange to her ; but what could she do ? 
 
 She did the best thing she could, poor, 
 puzzled child ! standing there against her 
 convictions of duty, and yet curiously 
 drawn toward the boy. She lifted her eyes ; 
 and as they rested on his, with all the inno 
 cent pity of her heart shining from them, she 
 said again, "Jam very sorry for you." 
 
 He was satisfied to let it be so now ; possi 
 bly her steady, truthful tone quieted his 
 disturbed spirit. " I think you are real 
 good," he said presently in a more subdued
 
 116 BOUNDBROOK. 
 
 voice. " Must you go now ? Thank you for 
 stopping." He turned to go on as he spoke. 
 " Goocl-by ! " 
 
 " Good-by ! " said Amy ; and they sepa 
 rated thus, two pairs of feet meeting again 
 on life s highway, and again taking up an 
 opposite march. With what may such a 
 meeting be fraught !
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 BEBELLION. 
 
 MY went home, and, letting the 
 lamb go to seek his own pleasure, 
 very slowly climbed the steps, and 
 went into the sitting-room, where Mr. Per- 
 cival sat with a book in hand, but not 
 reading. 
 
 " What now, little one ? " he asked, noti 
 cing her grave face. 
 
 " I was coming to tell you something, Mr. 
 Percival," she replied, going up to his chair. 
 " Are you too busy to talk now ? " 
 " No, dear : what is it ? " 
 Amy told him the story of her recent 
 
 117
 
 118 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 meeting with Gilbert. She was too con 
 scientious not to have done so. 
 
 " I don t know that I can blame you, 
 Amy," the gentleman said thoughtfully ; 
 " but I hope he will not come again, unless he 
 can come with a better spirit." 
 
 " He is very strange, Mr. Percival." 
 
 " Yes, a strange boy, Amy. Yet I have 
 been much interested in . him, and can not 
 read, this morning, for thinking about him. 
 His character is illy balanced, and his pride 
 and self-will strong. Do you understand 
 these words, Amy? I forgot I was talking 
 to a little girl." 
 
 " Yes, sir : I think I know. You mean he s 
 not always the same, and won t see that he 
 ought to do better ? " 
 
 " That is very nearly it, Amy." 
 
 " Mr. Percival," she asked presently, 
 " would he be so if he loved God, as you 
 and Mrs. Percival do ? "
 
 OB, AMY SUSHTON S MISSION 119 
 
 " I think he would be more willing to be 
 taught then, Amy. His inclinations would 
 not be altogether different from what they 
 are now, but he would love to try to do 
 right." 
 
 " It is a very great thing to love God, 
 isn t it ? " inquired Amy after a long silence. 
 
 " Yes, dear ; though so very simple that 
 even Amy might know what it is." 
 
 " But I don t " after another thoughtful 
 silence. " I never knew any thing about him 
 till I came here. I am glad (and I told 
 papa so when he was here), I am glad to 
 learn about him ; but I am sure I do not love 
 him." 
 
 " I did not once, Amy." 
 
 Her eyes looked surprise, but she asked no 
 question. 
 
 " And it is not very long since I began to, 
 dear child." 
 
 " Mr. Percival," said Ainy now, " I
 
 120 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 thought people that loved God had always 
 loved him a little, or had always been trying 
 to. I don t think that is exactly what I 
 mean, either," she added ; " but it seems to 
 me, you and Mrs. Percival and Mr. Ellery 
 must always have been a little different from 
 other people." 
 
 " Amy," said Mr. Percival, " what should 
 you think if I should tell you, that, not many 
 months ago, I hated God ? " 
 
 " Do you mean so, Mr. Percival ? " 
 
 " Yes, my child." There were tears in 
 his eyes, and Amy knew he would never tell 
 her any thing but the truth. 
 
 She was silent and perplexed. 
 
 "But now, Amy, I think, if I understand 
 myself, that I love him very, very much." 
 
 Then the gentleman took her upon his 
 knee, and told her, not as he told Mr. Rush- 
 ton, but so that she could understand it per 
 fectly, the story of his changed life, what
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 121 
 
 he meant by saying he had hated God, and 
 how now he wished nothing so much as to 
 love him more and more deeply every day. 
 He noticed that her face became graver and 
 graver as he proceeded. As he ceased speak 
 ing, she asked, " Mr. Percival, do you mean 
 that my father and mother and I hate 
 God, because we don t love him ? " 
 
 " I was talking of myself, Amy." 
 
 "But you didn t tell me of any wicked 
 things you did, Mr. Percival. Does every 
 body that don t love God hate him ? " 
 
 " I will tell you what Christ says about it, 
 Amy." He opened a Bible that lay near, and 
 bade her turn to Luke xi. 23. She did so, 
 and read, " He that is not with me is against 
 me, and he that gathereth not with me 
 scattereth." 
 
 For the first time since she had been at 
 Mr. Percival s, rebellion rose in the little 
 heart. Hitherto all had been sunshine.
 
 122 BOUyDBROOK; 
 
 The talk of God had been new to her ; it 
 had had a sort of fascination for her : but 
 against this her pride rose up. 
 
 " I don t love God, perhaps, Mr. Percival," 
 said she ; " but I don t hate him. My papa 
 does not hate him : he does not hate any 
 body." 
 
 " My dear child," exclaimed Mr. Percival, 
 surprised and saddened at her tone ; for Amy 
 spoke with rising spirit, and her blue eyes 
 had an expression he had never seen before. 
 
 " Mr. Percival, may I go?" said Amy in 
 a few moments. 
 
 His first thought was to keep her longer ; 
 but, on reflection, he said, " Yes," and put her 
 from his knee. 
 
 She went quickly from the room, and up 
 stairs to her own chamber. 
 
 " I think it s very strange in Mr. Percival," 
 she said to herself with burning cheeks, " to 
 talk as if we all hate God ! My father never
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 123 
 
 said any thing against him. He s too good 
 to hate anybody, or talk about anybody ; and 
 I know he does not hate him. I don t see 
 what Mr. Percival means ! I m not going 
 down stairs again this morning." 
 
 With an air of wounded dignity, which 
 hurt the childish, innocent face very much, 
 Amy gathered up her study-books scattered 
 about, and piled them all by themselves on 
 the table. Her slate and exercise-book, with 
 pens and ink, were arranged in order next ; 
 and, taking a story-book, she sat down to 
 read. 
 
 At first she read very rapidly, as if literally 
 swallowing the words as fast as she could, 
 till she became aware she was not getting 
 any idea of what she was looking at; and, 
 turning back, began over again. In a few 
 minutes the same conviction came upon her 
 again so forcibly, that she shut the book, and 
 sat looking from the window. It seemed to
 
 124 EOUNDBROOK; 
 
 her that her cheeks grew hotter every moment. 
 Indeed, if she had looked in the glass, she 
 would hardly have known herself. We are 
 apt to view ourselves in looking-glasses only 
 when we are in our best estate, or wish to be 
 so ; which certainly was not Amy s condition 
 this morning. 
 
 The forenoon passed away thus. As the 
 hour for study and recitations drew nigh, 
 Amy wondered if some one would not come 
 to call her. But no one came. Was she 
 forgotten? Did not Mr. Percival care 
 whether she had her lessons or not ? Then 
 her heart began to long for her father ; but 
 rebellion at Mr. Percival s words was too 
 deep to admit of softening even at this 
 thought. Her eyes were tearless, and her 
 little cheeks red and hot still. 
 
 When she could endure the solitude no 
 longer, she went down stairs, and out upon 
 the lawn, thence to the river-side, and,
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 125 
 
 sitting down there, remembered how she had 
 run along the shore the first morning of her 
 stay at the cottage. And from that thought 
 she went over her life for the past few months. 
 How beautiful every thing had seemed to 
 her ! How she had learned to love every 
 spot even of the garden and the house, the 
 lambs and the doves, and even the clumsy 
 ducks ! And now it was all changed. Oh, 
 if her father were only here ! He always 
 made things right. Then she remembered 
 that she had once heard Mr. Percival say he 
 always trusted God to make things right for 
 him. At this her pride rose again. Of 
 course, God wouldn t make things right for 
 people who were against him. She was not 
 sure that she cared to have him. Poor child ! 
 in her wrong feelings she thought she had 
 a right to be angry about this, as if, in some 
 way, she were helping to sustain her own 
 and her father s dignity. "They against
 
 126 BOUNDBROOK ; 
 
 God ! no, never ! " And her cheeks grew 
 hotter, and the angry tide of feeling made 
 her quiver. 
 
 Even when she heard the dinner-bell sound 
 in the cottage, she gave no answering sign 
 If her lessons were of no consequence, neither 
 was her dinner. Proud little Amy ! 
 
 She was not to be left long to herself, how 
 ever. Mrs. Percival s step was heard on the 
 walk ; and directly her arms were about the 
 child. " Amy," she exclaimed in tender 
 sorrow, " my dear little girl ! " She would 
 have added more, had she not seen that Amy 
 was in no mood yet to listen. She therefore 
 merely remarked, presently, that Mr. Perci- 
 val was waiting for her at dinner. 
 
 "Mrs. Percival," said Amy, hiding her 
 face, " may I be excused ? Please let me 
 stay here. I do not want any dinner." 
 
 For a minute the lady hesitated. She had, 
 with some difficulty, restrained herself from
 
 OB, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 127 
 
 going to the child before, but had yielded to 
 Mr. Percival s conviction that it was better 
 to leave her to think alone. 
 
 " I will leave you, Amy," she said after a 
 while, " but shall send you something from 
 the table, which I wish you to eat, and shall 
 expect to see you at tea-time. Oh, my dear 
 child ! if you could see how deeply you are 
 grieving those who love you, and the dear 
 Lord above all ! " 
 
 She sent out presently from the table 
 something nice for Amy ; but the little girl 
 had really no appetite, and, forcing herself 
 to swallow a few mouthfuls, begged the ser 
 vant to take it away. 
 
 All the long afternoon she kept her seat 
 by the river-side, even till the tea-bell rang, 
 and she knew it would not do to remain 
 longer. 
 
 Tea was over. Through the meal Amy 
 had sat with downcast eyes, and, oh, such
 
 128 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 hot cheeks ! Would they never stop burn 
 ing ! Mr. Percival had spoken to her so 
 tenderly, just as he was wont, that she felt 
 as if she should choke ; and the glass in her 
 hand had trembled so that she was obliged 
 to set it down. Eating was out of the 
 question. 
 
 Then the servants came in for devotions, 
 and Amy sat as usual in her small chair by 
 Mrs. Percival ; but she could not sing with 
 the others to-night. It was the first time 
 for many weeks, for the child well knew now 
 the psalm-tunes that had sounded to her so 
 old-fashioned at first. There was not one 
 there but sadly missed the little treble voice 
 that always chimed in with the rest. There 
 was not one there but felt the deep, touching 
 tenderness of Mr. Percival s prayer, as if 
 he, even in his nearness to God, were yearn 
 ing for something that was wanting in the 
 little household.
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 129 
 
 It was over : the servants had gone silent 
 ly out. Mrs. Percival rose to attend to some 
 duty. Amy rose too : her eyes were blinded 
 with tears ; for a moment she felt as if they 
 were all going away from her without a 
 word. She could hardly see where Mr. Per 
 cival was ; but she started towards him, and 
 was in his arms in an instant. 
 
 They let her cry as long as she would. 
 Those blessed tears how they cooled her 
 hot cheeks, and eased her aching head, and, 
 more than she was aware, her aching heart 
 too! 
 
 " Mr. Percival," she began once ; but the 
 words choked her, and a fresh burst of tears 
 followed. By and by she began again. 
 " Can you forgive me ? " 
 
 " Yes, indeed, dear child." 
 
 " But I ve been so so proud and angry 
 all day." 
 
 " We can forgive it all, dear." 
 
 9
 
 130 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 " But I ve been angry with you^ Mr. Per- 
 cival." 
 
 " I know all that, Amy." 
 
 It was a long time before she was fully 
 quieted, and then not without repeated 
 assurances of forgiveness. 
 
 Mr. Percival began telling her stories of 
 his boyhood days to divert her from dwelling 
 too much upon the events of the day. But 
 she was not so easily to be drawn from this. 
 
 " Mr. Percival," she asked during a pause 
 in the story-telling, " may I tell you a story ? 
 something I thought I never could tell 
 anybody." 
 
 " If it is not too long, Amy." 
 
 "It s not very long, Mr. Percival. It s 
 about being angry at home the morning I 
 came here." So she told him the story of 
 Christie and the necklace, and added, " Fa 
 ther was very sorry then to see me so angry : 
 he would be more sorry now, I think. Mr.
 
 OB, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 131 
 
 Percival, I was sorry I was so angry with 
 mamma ; but I wasn t sorry I didn t keep the 
 necklace, and I am afraid I never shall be 
 quite. What can I do about it ? " 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Percival exchanged glances. 
 How should they help the inquiring little 
 one? 
 
 "Amy," said Mr. Percival at length, 
 " when I am in doubt what to do about any 
 thing, what do you suppose I do ? " 
 
 " Do you pray ? " said Amy inquiringly. 
 
 " Yes, dear." 
 
 " But I can not pray like you. And I m 
 angry so often, I never shall love God. And 
 Mr. Percival," she said, hiding her face in 
 her hands, " I haven t been loving you to 
 day. I ve been against you, and against 
 God, because I would be angry. I know 
 what you meant now. I meant to be angry. 
 I hated good things and good people ; and 
 I m afraid God can t forgive me."
 
 132 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 " Do you suppose lie loves you less than 
 we do, Amy ? Hasn t he seen all your heart 
 to-day ? and doesn t he, just as well, see now 
 that you are very sorry ? He does not need 
 that you should tell him that as you do me ; 
 though you can not help doing so, if you feel 
 it. And so, too, he knows all about your 
 being angry at home. Have you ever asked 
 him to forgive you for that? " 
 
 " No, sir," said Amy humbly. " But how 
 can I, if I do not love him ? " 
 
 " Let us go farther back than that, dear 
 child, and see if you can find any excuse for 
 not loving him. Think of the little children 
 in Jerusalem and in the towns where Jesus 
 walked. Suppose that, when they heard that 
 he was blessing some of their little com 
 panions, they had indifferently or purposely 
 kept away from him : would they have had a 
 good excuse for not having a blessing too ? 
 They would not go to him for it. And now
 
 OR, AMY KUSHTON S MISSION. 133 
 
 is it reasonable in Amy to say she can not 
 pray because she does not love God, when it 
 is her first duty to ask his gentle Spirit to 
 come into her heart, and make her love 
 him ? " 
 
 The tears stood in her eyes. " Won t my 
 naughty temper make any difference to him, 
 Mr. Percival ? " 
 
 " No, dear, no more than to us now ; 
 since you are truly sorry." 
 
 For the first time true light began to break 
 in. It was an hour never forgotten.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 NEW LOVE AND LIFE. 
 
 {OR weeks Amy watched for Gilbert to 
 return. She was not pleased with 
 him ; but something that she was too 
 young to try to analyze drew her thoughts 
 toward him with a strong desire to see his 
 face again. In this she was not to be grati 
 fied not yet. The strange boy, as she 
 always called him, did not come back to the 
 gray stone cottage. 
 
 One night, however, Mr. Rushton came ; 
 and her joy was unbounded. There was no 
 gravity mingled with her childish delight ; 
 
 134
 
 AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 135 
 
 and her father was well pleased with the 
 unshadowed countenance. 
 
 " Amy," said he, as they were alone after 
 tea, " you are as happy as a bird. You do 
 not want to go back to the city ? 
 
 " No, father." 
 
 " But the cold winter is coming ; and the 
 river will be frozen ; and there will be no 
 green leaves on the trees ; and the pet lamb 
 must stay in the barn through the snowy, 
 stormy days." 
 
 " I shall want to see all that," she replied 
 quickly. 
 
 "Why, my child?" 
 
 " Because I shall find out if God doesn t 
 make things pleasant in winter." 
 
 " There are sunny days in winter, after 
 all, " quoted Mrs. Percival, entering at the 
 moment. " But, Mr. Rushton, you see Amy 
 makes a great deal of her own sunshine. 
 She is always flying straightway to the 
 light, if there is any to be found."
 
 136 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 " Always happy, Amy ? " said Mr. Rushton 
 inquiringly. 
 
 " Yes, papa. I am now." 
 
 "Why now, Amy? What does that 
 mean?" 
 
 The child hesitated for an instant only. 
 " You know I told you once why I was not 
 always happy in the city, father." 
 
 Mr. Rushton very seldom trifled with her, 
 or he would have obeyed his first impulse to 
 pretend not to remember. He answered 
 quietly, "Yes, Amy." 
 
 "And you know all that is different 
 here?" 
 
 " Yes. But, Amy, you told me so the last 
 time I came ; and yet you look even happier 
 and brighter than you did then." 
 
 " I am happier, papa." Mrs. Percival had 
 gone, having only passed through the room ; 
 and, as Amy never kept any thing from her 
 father, she added, after a moment s thought-
 
 OB, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 137 
 
 ful silence, " Papa, when you were here last, 
 I was glad because I could learn about God ; 
 but now I m glad because I love him." 
 
 Mr. Rushton s face was turned away : he 
 could not look at the child. There was no 
 mistaking that tone : childish though it was, 
 it was convincing, satisfied, triumphant 
 even. When he did at last look at her, the 
 countenance but bore out the impression of 
 the words. 
 
 " Perhaps, Amy," he said, " you do not 
 understand this now, or yourself either. I 
 think little girls like you ought not to think 
 of such things. And wouldn t it be better 
 for you to think more of what your father 
 believes than of what Mr. Percival does ? " 
 
 " Mr. Percival does not tell me all this," 
 she answered. "I know it all in myself* 
 papa." 
 
 " Father," she began again in a very low 
 tone, and hiding her face on his shoulder, " I 
 have been very naughty here."
 
 138 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 " What, Amy ? " 
 
 " I have, father. I was angry with Mr. 
 Percival all day, at something he said in the 
 morning that I didn t quite understand ; and 
 I wouldn t go to my lessons, nor eat my din 
 ner ; and oh, I was very naughty ! I was 
 never so angry at home, papa." 
 
 " What did Mr. Percival say that made 
 you angry, Amy?" 
 
 Amy told him the whole, and added, " But 
 it seems to me now the best day I ever had 
 in some things." 
 
 "What things?" 
 
 " I think," said Amy humbly, " that I was 
 beginning to be proud because I hadn t been 
 real naughty since I came here ; and perhaps 
 I might have begun to think I loved God a 
 little. But, when I saw that the naughty 
 thoughts were in my heart all the same as 
 ever, it made me see that there was a great 
 deal for God to forgive before I could love 
 him."
 
 Off, AMY RUSIITON S MISSION. 139 
 
 " But why was that day the best day, 
 Ainy?" 
 
 " Because, father, it made that so plain to 
 me ; and Mr. and Mrs. Percival were so kind, 
 and loved me just the same, and forgave me, 
 and wouldn t let me speak about it after 
 ward ; and they showed me that I had grieved 
 God very much, but he loved me, and would 
 forgive me, and never remember it any more, 
 if I were very, very sorry. And I was, 
 papa. And, when I tried to pray about it, I 
 couldn t help loving him," she added with a 
 bright, artless smile ; and then throwing her 
 arms about his neck, " I want you to, 
 father." 
 
 Mr. Rushton said no more. He still kept 
 the child in his arms ; and, as they sat thus in 
 the gathering twilight, he went through a 
 sort of waking dream. He saw himself 
 growing old, saw Amy growing to woman 
 hood, taken away from Mr. Percival s care,
 
 140 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 sheltered once more at their home in the 
 city, surrounded with every luxury ; and yet 
 she was no more a part of these as she had 
 been during her childhood s days. In some 
 undefined way she seemed separated from 
 them all, and, yes, even from him. It seemed 
 as if he tried to retain her ; as if, losing his 
 hold upon her, he found himself going about 
 searching for his treasure. But ever, as she 
 was within his reach, she slipped away, so 
 surely. Involuntarily he tightened his clasp 
 of the little form. 
 
 " Why, papa," said Amy, " I am here. 
 Did you think I was going ? " 
 
 " No, dear, no," he said hurriedly. " I 
 believe I ll go and find Mr. Percival." He 
 put her down and went out into the garden. 
 
 The next morning found him at home. 
 " How did you find Amy ? " said Mrs. Rush- 
 ton, as usual.
 
 OR, AMY RUSIITOX S MISSION. 141 
 
 Now, Mr. Rushton was not a man given to 
 discourtesy anywhere, much less in his own 
 family ; but at this he uttered an angry 
 " Confound it all ! " 
 
 "Why, Mr. Rushton," said the lady, sur 
 prised, "what is the matter? Is Amy 
 pious ? " 
 
 He did not seem to hear her. 
 
 " You might have known it would be so," 
 she resumed. " A nice household this will 
 be when she returns ! She is fast becoming a 
 lady, I suppose." 
 
 " Lucy," said Mr. Rushton, now standing 
 before her, " whatever else Amy may be, she 
 will never be less than a lady, both by 
 nature and education. You do not under 
 stand the child. Religious she may be ; but I 
 fancy it will be in a way you never saw 
 before." 
 
 " No bigotry ? " said Mrs. Rushton with a 
 complacent smile.
 
 142 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 "Bigotry?" said Mr. Rushton. "I tell 
 you, Lucy, it isn t in the child ! She will be 
 as far from that as that graceful Egyptian 
 lily is from becoming a stiff, ungainly thorn- 
 tree." 
 
 " Really," returned the lady, " you are 
 getting excited. I am seriously alarmed 
 ^bout you." 
 
 She looked as though she was, sitting there 
 in her capacious easy-chair, her idle fingers 
 toying with the fringe of her silk dress, and 
 her soft voice rising and falling in languid 
 affectation. 
 
 Mr. Rushton went to his library, found 
 the last " Gazette," and endeavored to for 
 get himself in the " shipping-news," which 
 always possessed great interest for him. 
 How strangely it was made out ! The ship 
 "Nestor" had been spoken somewhere off 
 the South-American coast, and reported 
 homeward bound ; spoken again, only a day
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 143 
 
 or two later, among the islands of the Medi 
 terranean. No, impossible ! He was con 
 founding two separate reports. Mr. Rushton 
 threw down the paper in despair. He would 
 not try "shipping-news" again till he was 
 less disturbed. " Disturbed, was he ? " 
 He wished he had not been so unguarded as 
 to show it. And what had disturbed him 
 so ? That Amy was " pious," as Mrs. Rush- 
 ton had said? Yet she was brighter and 
 lighter of heart than when at home. Was 
 that religion? Had he never known what 
 religion was? 
 
 No : Mr. Rushton never had known ; had 
 never seen in any one true heart-religion 
 lived out. Unfortunately, it had fallen in 
 his way to see a certain show of sanctity, 
 but never a self-forgetful, earnest, Christian 
 life. His friend Mr. Percival had once said 
 this to him on the occasion of a visit there ; 
 to which he had replied, " I have seen what
 
 144 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 is called religion, Percival ; and you would 
 not have me understand that there is origi 
 nating here a new system, to which all that 
 goes by the name of Christianity shall bow 
 down?" 
 
 " No, my friend," gravely replied the other, 
 " far be it from me to remove the ancient 
 landmarks. What I meant to imply was 
 this, that all that is religion in name can not 
 lay claim to the spirit of it, and is not actu 
 ated by the mainspring of true religion ; 
 which is love to God, and faith in the Lord 
 Jesus Christ." 
 
 " Or," put in Mr. Rushton, " superstition, as 
 I have heard you call it a thousand times." 
 
 " Yes," said the other with a pained look. 
 " Mr. Rushton, if I could recall the sentiments 
 I used to utter so freely, what would I not 
 give ? Superstition ! " he repeated, a glad 
 light all at once breaking over his fine face. 
 " If faith is superstition, let me thank God
 
 07?, AMY RUSHTOX S MISSION. 145 
 
 again that he allowed me to live long enough, 
 and gave me grace enough, to accept such a 
 superstition as that, in place of the dreadful 
 unbelief which was destroying my spirit s 
 life. Superstition? it is rest, freedom, 
 peace, joy. Peace I never had before ; nor 
 did I know what true joy was : as for rest, 
 I was always craving something I had not ; 
 and freedom was I not continually shackled 
 and fettered by the positions into which my 
 false theory brought me ? Every day I see 
 it more and more clearly." 
 
 " But," Mr. Rushton had said at this point, 
 " belief is not every thing." 
 
 " It is something, in that it affects a man s 
 life," said the other. " But there is some 
 thing higher, the life hid with Christ in 
 God ; the pure, earnest motive ; the depth of 
 consecration that gives power with God and 
 with man. 
 
 " You have gone beyond me," Mr. Rushton 
 10
 
 146 BOUNDBROOK. 
 
 replied almost bitterly. " I can not understand 
 you. And must Amy always talk enigmas 
 tome?" 
 
 "Dear friend, I trust not." It was all 
 Mr. Percival had said ; but Mr. Rushton 
 knew what meaning lay underneath the 
 words. 
 
 Vague as it was, Mr. Rushton was begin- 
 ing to have some comprehension of what the 
 religion of Christ is. It was this disturbed 
 him so this evening of his arrival home. It 
 seemed to be setting Amy apart from him ; 
 yet he could not but confess to himself that 
 she was happier, and. yes, even more loving 
 (if that could be), than when at home. 
 Strange paradox ! the love which seemed to 
 remove her from him yet brought her nearer 
 than before. There are many such in the 
 Christian life.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 MAGGIE BURNS. 
 & 
 
 JEFORE Mr. Rushton left the gray 
 stone cottage the last time, he had 
 put into Amy s hand a nicely-bound 
 blank-book. "Amy," said he, "I should 
 like very much to know your thoughts, and 
 something about your life here every day. I 
 want you now to begin regularly to write in 
 this whatever you think would interest me, 
 or that interests you, and bring it to me 
 when I come to see you." 
 
 " Shall I write in it every thing that 
 pleases me, father ? " 
 
 147
 
 348 BOUNDBROOK 
 
 " Every thing, m}^ child : that is what I 
 want." 
 
 There was a little doubt and hesitancy in 
 Amy s face the first time she took her book 
 to write in it. It is very certain, if she 
 could have had her own way, that it would 
 never have been used at all. But it 
 was her father s wish ; and Amy never for 
 an instant questioned whether she should 
 obey that. As regularly as the day came 
 round, when morning study was over, she 
 went up to her own room, and with a deal 
 of anxiety sometimes, and a great show of 
 carefulness about pens and ink, she wrote 
 out the history of the previous day as faith 
 fully and conscientiously as ever a devout 
 Catholic told his rosary. Gradually the 
 task became easier ; and the childish anxiety 
 lest every thing should not be just right 
 for father s eyes, though never laid aside, 
 gave way to a quieter mood and a deepening
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 149 
 
 interest in the occupation. One day she 
 wrote on this wise : 
 
 " Nov. 15, 18 . Papa wants me to write 
 whatever pleases me : then I must write a 
 great deal about him. I am not sure that 
 he will like that. When I carried my 
 journal to him the last time to read, it was 
 just as I had been writing about the little 
 Sunday school here ; and I had put down 
 some things Mr. Ellery said, I asked him 
 if it was what he wanted me to write. He 
 looked at me quickly, and said, * You write 
 yourself out, Amy, and that is what I want. 
 I did not understand him : so I write it down 
 lest I should forget to ask him. Perhaps 
 he will tell me. 
 
 " Dec. 20, 18 . I have something very 
 nice to write to-day. Yesterday morning 
 Mrs. Percival received a letter from papa, 
 saying that I was to go home for Christmas 
 and New Year s. Now I shall have a chance
 
 150 BOVNDBROOK ; 
 
 to tell mamma just how I feel about the 
 necklace : I could not write it as I wanted 
 to. I have been very naughty to her : I do 
 not wonder she does not love me, she can 
 not. I do not see why I have always been 
 so much more naughty with her than with 
 father. But I am sure I love her. 
 
 " Mr. Ellery called yesterday afternoon ; 
 and, when I told him I was going home for 
 the holidays, he asked Mrs. Percival if he 
 might take me to see Maggie Burns; and, 
 as she was very willing, I went. Papa will 
 remember who Maggie is, the little girl in 
 our Sunday-school class that has that dread 
 ful lameness. When I came here, she was 
 as well and strong as I am. 
 
 " I wish father could have gone too. I 
 wish he could have seen Mr. Ellery take 
 Maggie in his arms so carefully, and heard 
 the beautiful things he said to her while 
 she lay listening so still. And I felt so sorry
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 151 
 
 for Maggie (and perhaps it was partly what 
 Mr. Ellery was saying too), that I found I 
 was crying without knowing it, only a 
 little, softly ; but I think he guessed it, for he 
 put his hand round to me, and drew me up 
 to him on the side opposite Maggie, and then 
 he talked to us both. But Maggie says she 
 can not see how this trouble is sent to lead 
 her to Jesus, as Mr. Ellery says. All the 
 night, sometimes, she says she lies awake, 
 and thinks about it ; and in the morning 
 she is no nearer to Jesus, but only farther 
 off. I can not quite understand it ; for she 
 has no angry temper to keep her away from 
 him as I had. 
 
 " Jan. 14. I was glad, after the pleasant 
 holidays, to come back to Mr. and Mrs. Perci- 
 val ; and I think they were almost as glad as 
 I was. 
 
 " I must write it here, because father said 
 he would rather I would write it than tell
 
 152 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 him, how I told mamma that I had begun 
 to love the Lord. I would rather not think 
 any thing more about it ; because it makes me 
 feel as if I had not done it in the right way. 
 But I only thought then how happy I was, 
 and how much I loved her, and just told her 
 so the first night I was at home, when I 
 went to kiss her before going to bed. Then 
 I asked her to forgive me for being so angry 
 about Christie s not having the necklace, and 
 she laughed. I could not be mistaken, she 
 only laughed. And I felt so that I could not 
 keep the tears back they always will come 
 so quick. And I said, Mamma, I never can be 
 quite happy till you forgive me. Oh, yes ! 
 you can, she said : you just told me you were 
 very happy ; and you can go to bed now.* 
 I went to bed ; but I felt as if I had not made 
 mamma understand me, and had made every 
 thing wrong again. But, when I had prayed 
 about it, I was sure God would make it
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 153 
 
 right ii some way if I were to show mamma 
 that I meant all I said by my actions. How 
 well I understand now what Mr. Percival 
 used to say about God s making things right 
 for him ! 
 
 " Feb. 4. It seems to me I do not think 
 much about any thing but Maggie. Since 
 the weather grew colder, she is worse every 
 day. Yesterday I went to see her. I 
 carried her some nice jelly Mrs. Percival 
 sent ; and, after she had tasted it, she put it 
 down, and said, 
 
 " Amy, do you think I am going to die ? 
 " It was so sudden, it frightened me ; and 
 Mrs. Burns went out of the room very 
 quickly. I could not say any thing. After 
 a while, Maggie asked me to come close to 
 her : so I did, and she put her hand by the 
 side of mine. How little and white it 
 looked ! though I was crying so, I could 
 hardly see it. It came over me all at once
 
 154 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 that she would die soon ; and I sobbed 
 out, O Maggie ! you mustn t die ; you 
 mustn t ! 
 
 " I don t want to, she said ; but she was 
 crying. I remembered then that Mr. Ellery 
 had asked me to try not to cry when I was 
 there ; and I tried very hard not to. After 
 a few minutes more she said again, I don t 
 want to die, Amy. I want to stay here and 
 help mother. 
 
 " I knew all she meant by that ; for Maggie 
 is the oldest. She is some years older than 
 I ; and her father is not rich. Mrs. Burns 
 works very hard. 
 
 " I think Maggie was waiting for me to say 
 something. But the most I was thinking of 
 was, whether she loved the Lord so well that 
 she could leave all that with him. I was try 
 ing to think how I should say it ; when I forgot 
 all at once to try, and just said it as I felt it. 
 1 O Maggie ! do you love God well enough
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 155 
 
 to go ? It was a long time before she 
 answered ; and then she said, I m afraid I 
 don t, Amy. 
 
 " But he loves you so much, Maggie ! 
 was all I could say. 
 
 " He can t, Amy, she said, when I 
 lie here and fret all day about mother and 
 the rest. 
 
 " I told her I was sure that he loved me 
 when I was a great deal naughtier than that. 
 
 " You couldn t be, Amy, she answered. 
 Then I told her all about myself, more than 
 I had ever told any one ; and I told her, too, 
 how Mr. Percival had told me that we had 
 all been alike in our sin of not giving our 
 hearts to God ; and, in that, one needed his 
 forgiveness as much as another. I was 
 afraid I did not help her very much ; for I 
 felt so about her dying, I could hardly speak. 
 But she seemed to be thinking about it a 
 great while ; and then she said very slowly, I
 
 156 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 think I can see that, Amy. What you mean 
 by loving God is loving to think how he has 
 forgiven you, and loving to tell everybody 
 about him, and praying for them (as you have 
 for me), and not fretting : is that it ? and 
 loving to try to please him too ? 
 
 " I thought it was like that ; and I said Yes. 
 But I wondered how she knew I had been 
 praying for her. By and by she said, That 
 makes you keep on loving him. She said 
 it as if she were thinking : so I did not speak. 
 After another while she said again, Did 
 you ever tell any one else all that, about 
 yourself ? I said, No ; because it had 
 always seemed to me as if that was some 
 thing that was between God and me. 
 " Then what made you tell me, Amy ? 
 " I burst into tears then : I could not help 
 it. But she was just as quiet as she always 
 is. By and by she took my hands, and 
 begged me not to cry. Do you love me,
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 157 
 
 Amy ? said she. I put my arms round 
 her, and told her I loved her dearly. 
 
 " Then, said she, Amy, if you love 
 everybody, and want them to be Christians, 
 you must tell them that story just as you 
 have me. Will you tell it to the girls in our 
 class, dear Amy? and, if I don t live, tell 
 them I wanted you to ? 
 
 " It was a hard promise to make ; but I said 
 I would try. She put up her face to mine, 
 and kissed me ; and I thought she smiled. 
 How I used to like to see Maggie smile ! 
 
 " It was growing late in the afternoon then ; 
 and, as Mrs. Burns came in again presently, 
 I had to say good-by to Maggie. I was 
 sure this time she smiled as we kissed each 
 other. 
 
 Feb. 10. When father read what I wrote 
 about Maggie, he called me to him, and said, 
 Who teaches you to write, Amy ? And 
 when I said, No one ; only I was studying
 
 158 SOUNDSnOOK; 
 
 grammar, he said he wanted me always to 
 write as nearly as I could just what was said 
 between Maggie and me, or any one else. 
 I have always tried to ; but I put it down to 
 help me to be very careful to remember. 
 I wonder why he cares so much. 
 
 " Feb. 20. It seems such a little while 
 since Maggie and I had that talk together ; 
 and now I can hardly see to write it 
 Maggie is dead. I can not make it seem so. 
 I want to think of her as at home instead of 
 in heaven. 
 
 " I did not know it till the day after she 
 died. I was walking by the roadside, when 
 Mr. Ellery came up. I saw that his face was 
 sad ; and when he said, Amy, can you bear 
 to hear what I have to tell you ? I 
 knew it all. I could not speak, nor 
 scarcely breathe. But, while he held my 
 hands tight, he began to talk about Maggie 
 so lovingly, as he always did ; and then he
 
 OB, AMU RUSUTON S MISSION. 
 
 said Mrs. Burns had sent to ask him to come 
 to the house and bring me. He had asked 
 Mrs. Percival ; and, if I would like to go, we 
 would go now. But he did not wish me to 
 say yes if I would rather not. 
 
 " He spoke so quietly, and so much as if 
 Maggie was alive, that I could do nothing 
 but go with him. We went down the lane 
 to the house. Mrs. Burns met us at the 
 door ; and we followed her into the room 
 where Maggie had been sick. Mr. Ellery 
 prevented Mrs. Burns as she went towards 
 the bed. Shall we not pray first ? he 
 asked gently. But he did not let go my 
 hand, even while we knelt and I was glad, 
 for I trembled, and I was stronger to have 
 him hold me. 
 
 " Can you see her now, Amy ? he said 
 after we rose. You need not, unless you 
 wish. 
 
 " But I did ; and we saw her dear face, so*
 
 160 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 white ! but it seemed to me as if she were 
 smiling, just as she smiled that day. 
 
 " Mr. Ellery stroked the hair on her fore 
 head. He used to do that when she lay in 
 his arms. Dear little girl ! said he ; happy 
 little Maggie ! Mrs. Burns, this ought not 
 to make us sad, to go so early, so quietly, 
 to the heavenly home. It was a pleasant 
 death, no, not death I " This is the resur 
 rection and the life. He that believeth in 
 me, though he were dead, yet shall he live." : 
 
 " I know it, I know it ! she sobbed ; 
 but I can not feel it. 
 
 " I hardly knew what I was doing ; but 
 I could not bear to see Mrs. Burns cry. I 
 went up to her chair, and put my arms round 
 her neck. It seemed as if I must comfort 
 her ; but I did not know how. Presently 
 she took me in her arms. I would rather 
 not write here all that she said ; but the 
 last was, Maggie said, since you were here
 
 OR, AM7 KUSHTON S MISSION. 161 
 
 last, she had felt as if the dear Lord helped 
 her to bear the thought of leaving us. She 
 gave herself and us all into his care very 
 calmly and happily, and went away as if 
 she were only going to sleep. 
 
 " Mrs. Burns was still crying ; but she 
 grew more quiet, and kissed me and blessed 
 me as she said for Maggie s sake and her 
 own. Then Mr. Ellery said more pleasant 
 things about Maggie, and comforted Mrs. 
 Burns ; and after a while we went away. 
 I can not write any more about it. Per 
 haps papa will not care if I do not. But, 
 every time I think of Maggie, it seems as 
 if I could hear her saying, * You must tell 
 that story to the girls in our class, just as 
 you have me, and tell them I wanted you 
 to. 
 
 " How can I do it ? Perhaps it will not 
 be so hard, for Maggie s sake. Mr. Ellery 
 says I must not forget that it is for Christ s 
 11
 
 162 BOUNDBROOK. 
 
 sake too. He thinks I am finding out what 
 my mission is. I know I can not see things 
 so plain as he does ; but I had never thought 
 that a little girl could have a mission. It 
 always seemed to me that was something 
 that belonged only to great, wise people. 
 Mr. Ellery says it does not, but that every 
 Christian has their share of God s work to 
 do, no matter whether they are young or 
 old, or rich or poor, or whether they are 
 learned or ignorant. Some can do it better 
 by talking to crowds of people, and some 
 by only a word here and there, and some 
 others only by trying to live as nearly like 
 Christ as possible, and loving everybody for 
 his sake ; and that, he says, we can all do. 
 I am sure it is all I can."
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE " OLD, OLD STOKY." 
 
 J R. ELLERY S class in the Bound- 
 brook sabbath school consisted of 
 five girls, including Amy, who was, 
 by "two or three years, the youngest. Mag 
 gie had made the sixth. She had been a 
 very quiet child, not often speaking, and 
 then only when drawn out by her intense 
 interest in a subject ; but her face always 
 showed that she was intelligently though 
 silently laying up the instructions of the 
 teacher. 
 
 There are many such in our sabbath 
 schools, saying little or nothing on the one 
 
 163
 
 164 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 great lesson we meet to learn ; yet the 
 words of truth which are uttered fall into 
 honest, intelligent hearts ; and we know the 
 promise, " He that goeth forth and weepeth, 
 bearing precious seed, shall doubtless return 
 again with rejoicing, bringing his sheaves with 
 him." These same silent listeners are often 
 nearer the kingdom than we think. More 
 wrestling with God on the teacher s part, a 
 more childlike trust in the divine promises, 
 a more complete consecration to the one 
 object, brings at last the reward, the thirty, 
 the sixty, and the hundred fold ; and if, 
 even in this life, no fruit is seen, who shall 
 say that a glorious harvest may not be ripen 
 ing in secret, to burst upon the glad eyes 
 of the sower of the seed when he shall have 
 gone up higher. "According to your faith 
 be it unto you." 
 
 We have let Amy tell in her own words 
 the story of Maggie: let us relate how she
 
 OR, AMY BUSHTON S MISSION. 165 
 
 told to the listening class, as she had to 
 Maggie, the way in which she had learned 
 the old, old story of Jesus and his love. 
 
 It was the Sunday after Maggie s death 
 and funeral. The children had loved Mag 
 gie for her still, unobtrusive ways ; and her 
 care for her younger sister and brothers at 
 home had given her an affectionate, womanly 
 manner with all her mates, which was very 
 winning. There was a sad silence in the 
 little class when the lesson drew to a close 
 that evening. 
 
 Amy had said nothing to Mr. Ellery of 
 her intention to fulfil her promise to Maggie 
 at this time : but she felt it too sacred to be 
 put off longer ; besides, she could not be sure 
 of seeing them all again. It was a very low 
 voice that asked if she might speak, a voice 
 that trembled in spite of itself, but grew firm 
 and self-forgetful as it went on. It was no 
 gift of talking that made the words come
 
 166 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 easily ; for Amy had not that. It was the 
 depth of love to her Saviour that had been 
 born in the simple child-heart, and the ten 
 der anxiety that all might see him as she saw 
 him, that gave them such earnestness and 
 wistful beauty. No eloquent preacher s 
 impassioned description of . the scene in 
 Gethsemane, or the Saviour s sublime suf 
 fering on Calvary, could have moved an 
 audience as those unaffected utterances of a 
 child s honest heart, telling how she had 
 been ignorant of God, and had first learned 
 about him ; how she had gone to him with her 
 wrong heart, and been forgiven (more at 
 length than we can tell it here), but giving 
 truthfully the impression of the feelings, 
 which, as she had told Maggie, seemed to be 
 only between God and herself. 
 
 Amy had not been aware that any were 
 listening save those for whom she had 
 specially spoken. The large class of young
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 167 
 
 people near by had caught the first words 
 she had uttered ; and an instantaneous hush 
 had settled upon them. Not a movement 
 among them prevented a syllable being 
 understood ; and the intent faces spoke 
 volumes. Never had that sabbath school 
 broken up so quietly ; but Amy knew no 
 reason for it, nor thought of any. She 
 thought of nothing but the little counte 
 nances that had been before her, and her 
 eager hope that they would love the Lord 
 Jesus. 
 
 Not long after this, Mr. Rushton came 
 to see Amy, and as usual, before he went 
 away, asked for the journal. Amy brought 
 it hesitatingly. " Father," said she as he 
 took it, "there are some things I have not 
 written." 
 
 " Why not, Amy ? " 
 
 "Because they seem things that ought 
 not to be written ; " and added, " I would
 
 168 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 rather not write so much about myself, 
 father." 
 
 " Not for me, darling ? " 
 
 " I could for you, if anybody, father." 
 
 Mr. Rushton noticed her flushed cheeks, 
 and musingly opened the book. There were 
 her faithful records of every day still ; but, as 
 he could see, often only the mere outlines of 
 events. He understood Amy well enough to 
 know why. 
 
 " Don t you like to write, Amy ? " he 
 asked. 
 
 " Oh, yes, papa ! some things." 
 
 Mr. Rushton made an effort to treat it 
 carelessly. 
 
 " Well, dear," said he, " I ve tried you 
 sufficiently. I don t care to have you doing 
 this. It is a pleasant thing enough once in a 
 while ; but you shall write no more in this 
 style. When you want me very much to 
 know all about any thing, write me a letter.
 
 OR, AMY RUSHfON S MISSION. 169 
 
 That will be better ; won t it ? But I must 
 
 . -4 
 have the book." 
 
 His hearty, careless tone was not altogether 
 assumed ; and it served to set Amy at rest, as 
 he wished. Henceforth the journal was to 
 her a thing of the past ; but to Mr. Rushton 
 what was it ? He carried it home, and locked 
 it carefully in his private desk. Sometimes, 
 when he was weary of the world about him, 
 he would retire to his room, and as carefully 
 take out the little treasure. Over and over 
 he would read the childish story of Maggie 
 Burns, written out in the neat but unformed 
 child s hand, and smile to himself that he 
 had bade her write truthfully. He had not 
 been without an object in that. Then he 
 would replace it, and walk back and forth 
 slowly, with his hands behind him, and head 
 bent, thinking. How often, as he fell into 
 this mood, would his wife come up, and with 
 her soft laugh inquire what new steps he
 
 170 BOUNDBJtOOK; 
 
 was practicing! Then he would smile at 
 
 % 
 
 her in that way she could never under 
 stand, and, coming to himself, would accom 
 pany her down stairs with that old feeling 
 coming over him, that Amy was slipping 
 away from him and from them all. Yet it 
 never quickened into action his half-formed 
 purpose to take her away from Mr. Per- 
 cival s. 
 
 The spring went on ; and the Boundbrook 
 sabbath school increased in numbers, and, to 
 those who were watching for the germinating 
 of the seed sown in tears, in signs of deepen 
 ing interest. The pioneers of the enterprise 
 were few, Mr. and Mrs. Percival, Mr. Ellery, 
 and one or two others ; but they were brave 
 and trustful hearts, and never doubted of an 
 ultimate blessing. To such the blessing 
 always comes. God s conditions never wait 
 for fulfilment when those on his people s part 
 are performed.
 
 OR, AMY RUSTITON S MISSION. 171 
 
 Amy went to a neighbor s one day in April 
 on an errand for Mrs. Percival, which was 
 something she always begged to do when 
 possible. The sky was clouded when she 
 left the friend s house for home ; but, not anti 
 cipating rain immediately, she went on until 
 the fast-coming shower warned her to take 
 refuge somewhere. Happily an old building 
 was not far off ; and under its wide porch she 
 found shelter. She had not stood there long, 
 before she was joined by Bertram Morley, 
 who came from the opposite direction. 
 
 " Why, Miss Amy ! " exclaimed he, " how 
 is it you are driven to this place for shelter ? " 
 Amy explained. 
 
 " Well," said the lad, he might almost 
 have been called a young man, " we must 
 make the best of it. Take this seat, Miss 
 Amy," spreading his handkerchief on an old 
 stool. " I m in a sorry condition to play the 
 knight to a little lady like you."
 
 172 LOUNDBROOE; 
 
 " There is no need," Amy returned, laugh 
 ingly. " You shall do that when I have my 
 snow-white pony." 
 
 " Oh ! there must be a palfrey in the case, 
 then, according to the old ballad we were 
 reading the other day. You want all things 
 in true knightly style, and, of course, will 
 expect me to be armed and equipped with 
 sword and lance, ready to do battle with 
 either for your sake." 
 
 " Yes ; or you could not be a true knight, 
 you know. And, of course, you would not 
 be a false one," said Amy, laughing again. 
 
 " Thank you, no. But I m not knight 
 enough to protect you from this rain. 
 Delightful, isn t it ? Are you really to have 
 a pony, Miss Amy ? " 
 
 " Yes ; but not a white one like the lady 
 in the story. It s to be brown, I think." 
 Bertram looked very much as if he would be 
 glad to play the knight in such case. " How
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 173 
 
 pleasant that will be ! Can Mr. Percival 
 teach you to ride ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes ! he can teach me any thing. 
 That is what I am here for, you know, 
 to learn." 
 
 " I am learning," said Bertram, after 
 silently contemplating the rain for a few 
 minutes ; " but there is something you could 
 teach me, Miss Amy." 
 
 * I teach you, Mr. Bertram ! " exclaimed 
 Amy. " I don t know half as much as 
 you ! " remembering she had heard that 
 Bertram was one of the best scholars in the 
 academy at West Boundbrook. It flashed 
 over her as she spoke that she had heard, too, 
 that he was "rather wild." Amy knew 
 pretty well what that term meant. 
 
 " You could," Bertram replied ; but he did 
 not tell her what. He leaned against the 
 side of the doorway, and began to watch 
 with great apparent interest the descending
 
 174 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 rain. Presently he laughed outright. " Ex 
 cuse me, Miss Amy," said he ; " but the rain 
 made me think of a stupid fellow in our 
 school, who got confused one day when the 
 teacher was asking where the rain came from ; 
 and we, who were sitting behind him, told 
 him the most ridiculous things to say, and it 
 was a minute or two before he saw that we 
 were fooling him. The whole school was in 
 a roar of laughter." 
 
 Amy looked astonished. " Do you do as 
 you please in school ? " she asked. 
 
 " Why, no," Bertram answered, " not 
 always, to be sure." Her unfeigned look of 
 astonishment and pain rested on Bertram s 
 face. He colored, and was vexed with him 
 self the next minute. " It was only a little 
 fun," said he. 
 
 " But to do wrong for a little fun," said 
 Amy, and stopped suddenly, remembering 
 that Bertram was some years older than she.
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 175 
 
 " Well, it was wrong, I admit it, Miss 
 Amy. I m always doing such things. It s 
 in me. I can t help it. I might as well try 
 not to breathe. But the rain is nearly over, 
 I think, now, Miss Rushton. If you will wait 
 in this secluded spot for the return of your 
 knight, you shall presently behold him 
 coming to your relief, not with spurs and 
 lance, but, alas for romance ! with overshoes 
 and umbrella; Await my return, fair lady." 
 And, before Amy could protest against it, he 
 was off in the direction of Mrs. Percival s. 
 
 While he was gone, Amy fell to thinking. 
 What was it she could teach him? She 
 thought she knew one thing he did not ; but 
 she could hardly hope that he meant that, 
 and, if he did, it must have been more in fun 
 than in earnest. Amy wondered if she had 
 any thing to do for him ? Why not ? Her 
 mission was very simple. It was only to do 
 ivhat she could.
 
 176 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 In a short time he returned, and laid her 
 rubbers at her feet. " Alas that I have no 
 richer trophies to lay before you ! " he sighed 
 with a comical face. 
 
 Amy laughed, and thanked him heartily 
 for his kindness. " They are better just now 
 than richer trophies, Mr. Bert." But her 
 face grew wistful as she looked up at him. 
 
 " What are you thinking about, Miss 
 Amy ? " he asked with sober earnestness. 
 
 " I was wishing," she replied with childish 
 simplicity, " that I could do something for 
 you." 
 
 " Well," he said, as if he were expecting 
 she would do that " something " directly. 
 
 Amy was humble, and naturally rather 
 shy and timid. 
 
 But the thought of her little mission, and 
 her deep interest in Bertram, for he was one 
 of their nearest neighbor s family, and they 
 had been the best of friends ever since she
 
 OR, AMY RUSIITON S MISSION. 177 
 
 had come to Mr. Percival s, made her 
 brave. "I wish I could help you to be a 
 Christian, Mr. Bertram," she said. 
 
 She had said it, moved by her tender anxi 
 ety for the boy, but with no hope of any 
 response. And perhaps it was this that 
 made her voice rather fall away at the last. 
 
 Bertram stood soberly expectant ; but she 
 said no more. In truth, the little heart was 
 too full just then. 
 
 "Miss Amy," said he, after waiting a 
 moment, " I am willing to have you talk to 
 me. I told you you could teach me some 
 thing ; and I meant it. I was not in fun. 
 I m wild, I know, and full of nonsense ; but I 
 do think about other things sometimes. You 
 think I m not in earnest ; but I believe I am. 
 And I wish I wish you would only tell me 
 that little story about yourself, that you told 
 the girls in your class after Maggie died." 
 
 Amy s face dropped in her hands. 
 12
 
 178 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 " I ve been thinking about it a great deal 
 since," said Bertram, " when I haven t been 
 with the boys, and often when I have. 
 Couldn t you tell me any more, Amy ? " 
 
 " I told them all," said Amy, raising her 
 head, and speaking very humbly. " I promised 
 Maggie I would." They were silent again. 
 
 " Miss Amy," said Bertram, breaking the 
 silence first, and speaking low, " I ve wished 
 ever since then that I was a Christian. But 
 I m so easily tempted, and always getting 
 into some scrape. I couldn t be the right 
 sort of one. I don t know as it would be of 
 any use for me to try." 
 
 " It seems to me," said Amy, u that you 
 haven t any thing to do with that part of it. 
 It s God that makes you a Christian ; and it s 
 God that keeps you. one. You won t have it 
 to do all alone." 
 
 It was a new thought to Bertram, or rather 
 it came to him then as something new.
 
 OR, AMY RUSH TON S MISSION. 179 
 
 Doubtless it was because the Spirit was 
 really at work in his heart. Still he wanted 
 to question farther. 
 
 "But, Miss Amy," he asked, "if God 
 does it all, then I ve nothing to do ? He will 
 make me a Christian when he pleases." 
 
 " Can he if you are not really earnest 
 about it, Mr. Bertram ? " 
 
 " Can you show me any thing that will 
 prove that ? I have a Testament with me." 
 He produced a small one from his pocket. 
 
 " I do not know a great deal of the Bible," 
 said Amy, turning over the leaves. "But 
 here, after this story about the man who 
 went to his friend at night for bread, it says, 
 Ask and seek and knock. It does not say 
 God will give just because we are willing 
 that he should. It seems to me there is 
 something for us to do, Mr. Bertram, because 
 there s what God promises, for asking, re 
 ceiving ; for seeking, finding ; for knocking,
 
 180 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 opening. It s plain, isn t it? I never 
 thought of it just like that before. 
 
 " It isn t just being willing, Mr. Bertram," 
 she resumed. 
 
 " I was willing to be a Christian when I 
 first began to learn about God here ; but he 
 couldn t make me one until I was in earnest 
 about it." 
 
 "No," said Bertram thoughtfully, who 
 had taken tlie Testament, and was marking 
 the place. " That would be treating us as if 
 we had no minds of our own ; and perhaps 
 God wouldn t want a love that didn t come 
 of our own will at last. 
 
 " I m afraid I m keeping you too long, 
 Miss Amy. Shall we go now? Let me 
 carry the umbrella. There are some drops 
 falling yet." 
 
 They went home rather silently, Amy s 
 heart full of one thought. It found expres 
 sion when they parted at the door. " Mr.
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 181 
 
 Bertram," said she, "you won t forget one 
 thing?" 
 
 " What is that ? " he asked, thinking he 
 knew, but willing she should tell him. 
 
 " To be in earnest." 
 
 Bertram s cheeks flushed ; and, boy though 
 he was, his lips quivered. " I mean to be 
 in earnest, Miss Amy," he said soberly. 
 " Will you pray for me ? " 
 
 " Yes," was answered with a child s sim 
 plicity ; but the boy felt the depth of feeling 
 that lay beneath. He went home to seek 
 for the better way. And whatever Bertram 
 Morley did was done with his whole heart.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 GOD S HARVEST. 
 
 "WO Sundays after this, when the even 
 ing lessons were over at the sabbath 
 school, Mr. Ellery rose, and in a few 
 words addressed the people, saying that he 
 believed God s Spirit was. striving with some 
 hearts there, and tenderly and solemnly 
 urging them not to resist his pleading. 
 There might be some, also, who felt that 
 they had already begun to walk in a new 
 way; and perhaps they would like to tell 
 others what a blessing they had found. It 
 might be there were those there who would 
 be led to Christ by such testimony. As he 
 
 182
 
 AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 183 
 
 sat down, the room was hushed to absolute 
 silence, the " silence of silence," one 
 might have said. 
 
 Bertram Morley rose. In a few simple, 
 straightforward words he stated his new 
 purposes, how he had, in the midst of his 
 wild frolics and his studies, and when alone, 
 for weeks been hearing, as it were, a voice 
 calling to him, " My son, give me thine 
 heart." He told how at first he had resisted 
 it, and at last had been won by its pleading 
 to give himself, with all his sinfulness, to 
 God. Then he had first known the joy of 
 forgiveness. Never before had he felt how 
 little power he had to resist temptation ; but 
 he was sure of help from a higher source now. 
 The joy of feeling that God was his friend 
 was more than every thing he had ever 
 known in his life. " And now," said he, " I 
 want you all to come with me. Who will 
 come?"
 
 184 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 There was silence no longer. Some wept. 
 Most of the lads in the class to which Ber 
 tram belonged sat with bowed heads and 
 pale cheeks. God was in controversy with 
 them : would they still withhold his due ? 
 
 One rose and sat down with only the 
 murmured words, " Pray for me," on his 
 lips ; another, and another. The ice was 
 broken ; reserve gave way. One told broken 
 ly, how a little child s story of her own con 
 version, not intended for his ear, had reached 
 it, and his heart too, and had roused him to 
 look at his own needs. 
 
 Thus was God, making a child s words the 
 immediate spring of it all, about to gather 
 for himself a harvest here. Yet she had 
 only done " what she could." 
 
 It proved to be a deep and thorough work. 
 Week after week the earnest solemnity of 
 the meeting continued, broken only by the 
 frequent, joyous testimony of those who had
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 185 
 
 found the " pearl of great price." From the 
 village where the mills were, two miles dis 
 tant, numbers came to see what was going 
 on. They had heard there was a " religious 
 excitement." They did not find it as they 
 expected. True, it was excitement, if the 
 attention of people concentrated in thorough 
 earnest on one theme can be called excite 
 ment. But it was not noise : the feeling was 
 too deep for that. It was not the froth, 
 which rises to the surface, and floats away in 
 vapor, or settles back into the element be 
 neath. God was in the midst of it. His 
 hand girded his people for the work. 
 
 Once during this time, Mr. Rushton came, 
 remaining as usual over night. At twilight 
 Mr. Percival excused himself for an hour or 
 so, saying that he wished to attend a prayer- 
 meeting. " I should be very glad," he 
 added, " if you would attend with me, but 
 can not ask you to leave Amy."
 
 186 BOUNDBROOE; 
 
 " Does Amy never go ? " inquired Mr. 
 Rushton. 
 
 " We have not thought it best in the 
 evening," Mr. Percival returned. 
 
 " I have a great curiosity, for which you 
 will perhaps pardon me," said Mr. Rushton, 
 "to see these meetings, of which I have 
 heard elsewhere. With your permission, 
 Mrs. Percival, Amy shall go with us this 
 evening." 
 
 This arrangement being made, the little 
 company wended their way to the school- 
 house, where they found a large number 
 assembled. Of the meeting itself we will 
 not particularly speak. Amy s inward com 
 ment was, that it seemed as if God was talk 
 ing with every one there. Doubtless she 
 was right. 
 
 " Amy," said Mr. Rushton next morning, 
 as they were in the garden walking before 
 breakfast, "are all your meetings here like 
 that last night?"
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 187 
 
 " I have only been to sabbath school, 
 father. After that, there is a meeting; and 
 it is like this, I think." 
 
 " And these people who say they have 
 been converted do you know any of them ? 
 Are they different at all from what they were 
 before ? " 
 
 " I know some of the children, papa, two 
 or three in the class with me. They were 
 very naughty sometimes, and often in the 
 class were rude, and did not listen : they are 
 different now." 
 
 " And those lads that spoke what do you 
 know of them ? " 
 
 " I know Bertram Morley best, father: he 
 is very different. Some of the girls told me 
 he used to do very wrong things at school, 
 and, out of school, was always getting into 
 trouble with people. Some of these other 
 boys used to swear dreadfully." 
 
 " And do you think they will never do 
 these things any more, my child?"
 
 188 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 Amy wondered at her father s questioning. 
 " I think they will try to keep from it in a 
 way they never did before." 
 
 " And you think they will all be the best 
 sort of people now ? " he continued, with a 
 touch of irony in his voice that Amy did not 
 perceive. 
 
 " Not unless they are real true Christians, 
 father." 
 
 " Are you ever naughty now, Amy ? " 
 
 Her answer was sad but truthful. " Yes, 
 father, I have been proud and angry too." 
 
 " Just as angry as you ever were, my 
 child ? " 
 
 " No, papa," she replied with tears : " at 
 least, not for so long. I had to fight hard 
 with myself. But " 
 
 " But what, dear ? " seeing that it was dif 
 ficult for her to speak. 
 
 " Jesus helped me." 
 
 " How did you know that ? "
 
 OR^ AMY RUSIITON S MISSION. 189 
 
 " Because, when I prayed, the angry feel 
 ings began to go away." 
 
 Mr. Rushton changed the subject. " Who 
 was that gray-haired man that spoke about 
 having given up his business, liquor, I 
 think?" 
 
 " I don t know his name, father. He conies 
 from the Mill Village. It s all true: Mr. 
 Percival knows all about him." 
 
 Mr. Rushton asked no more questions ; but, 
 as they walked slowly about the garden, 
 Amy s heart struggled with a question she 
 had often wanted to ask. It came. " Fath 
 er, don t you believe in loving God and 
 Jesus ? " 
 
 He could not bring pain into that little 
 pleading face by saying No. 
 
 " You think I don t, Amy. Am I not good 
 enough? " he asked lightly. 
 
 " You re my dear, good papa ! " exclaimed 
 the child, clinging to his hand. " But " 
 She could not <?^ *V "
 
 190 BOUNDBROOE; 
 
 "Then, don t distress your little heart 
 about me. I ll tell you what I do believe 
 in, Amy. I believe in a good life ; and I 
 want to see the highest standard reached by 
 my little girl : tisn t so much matter about 
 me. It s every thing to live right, Amy. 
 Most people talk too much, but don t act ac 
 cordingly. I like to see one s actions agree 
 with one s words. Isn t that best, dear? 
 Come, there s the breakfast-bell." 
 
 Amy went in to breakfast somewhat com 
 forted, but not fully satisfied. It was a sor 
 rowfully earnest petition that went up for 
 her father that night from the childish lips. 
 If he could have heard it ! 
 
 We have no space to spare for a detailed 
 account of the revival in Boundbrook ; but 
 a light was kindled then that never went out, 
 nor ever will. When God shall make up his 
 jewels, many from that little mission-school 
 " shall shine as the brightness of the firma 
 ment and as the stars for ever and ever."
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 191 
 
 Weeks and months, years even, speed by 
 with incredible swiftness. We plant seeds, 
 and have scarcely, as it seems, ceased from 
 our planting, and, lo ! they have sprung up 
 and are blooming for fruit. Men launch into 
 some branch of business ; and, before they 
 have hardly commenced to understand its 
 intricacies, they find themselves growing old 
 in it. The child who pleased us with the 
 utterances of childish thoughts but yester 
 day has suddenly matured into the youth. 
 
 So with our friends at Boundbrook in the 
 lapse of a few years ; yet so lightly have 
 they passed over them, that Mr. and Mrs. 
 Percival are scarcely changed. Amy counts 
 fifteen now in years : they think her a child 
 yet, and very contented is she to be so. Mr. 
 Rushton sometimes thinks her wanting in 
 knowledge of the world ; albeit he has many 
 times taken her home for the holidavs to
 
 192 
 
 give her glimpses of the life she is yet 
 to take up. To this life Amy is beginning to 
 look forward with a secret dread. Upon her 
 girlish understanding convictions are gradu 
 ally dawning that were never wont to find a 
 place there. She tries to put them away ; 
 tries to think of her mother as mother; con 
 demns herself for not gaining her love ; 
 writes her affectionate letters: but the old 
 reserve is there still. The other friends with 
 whom we made acquaintance at Boundbrook 
 are working there yet. Bertram Morley and 
 the other lads who with him began to live 
 for God have gone more or less steadily on, 
 rejoicing in a brightening and a widening 
 path. Bertram will study for the ministry. 
 Outwardly the sabbath school has in many 
 respects changed. The same classes are not 
 found in all parts of the schoolroom. A few 
 have gone over the threshold to new homes 
 of their own ; some have crossed the thresh-
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 193 
 
 old of the pearly gates. New faces are there. 
 The school has increased to twice its former 
 numbers. Their next step will be to build a 
 church edifice. 
 
 Where is the class of little girls to which 
 Amy belonged, and their teacher? Little 
 girls no longer. You would hardly recognize 
 any except Amy in the young ladies that 
 meet as regularly as ever in the dear old 
 place. Ah, how often still do they think of 
 Maggie there ! 
 
 Twice has Mr. Ellery been called away 
 from his studies at the seminary ; so that 
 now he is but just completing them, pre 
 paratory to going out into the work in the 
 wide world. And this is his last Sunday at 
 Boundbrook. They gather round him at the 
 close of school; but words are not many. 
 There are too many tender memories stirred. 
 Does Maggie look down from her heavenly 
 home, smiling to think how safely they have 
 
 13
 
 BOUNDBKOOK; 
 
 been kept there, and how surely they are 
 coming towards her ; smiling to see how 
 thoroughly girded for the battle is Mr. Ellery, 
 and how swiftly, even in a long life, the con 
 flict will have passed ; smiling at Amy s fair, 
 innocent face, and the sweet lips, with their 
 childish expression still, that told her the old 
 " sweet story," whose truth was made known 
 to her so soon in glory ? Perhaps ; we can not 
 tell. It is pleasant to think it may be so. 
 But, when Maggie s name was spoken there 
 that evening, it was with sacred joy, not 
 grief. " She has only gone a little while 
 first," said one. " And in going made the way 
 clearer for us," said another. They thought 
 of the little child s story, that had been re 
 peated for their sakes at Maggie s request, 
 and were silent. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Percival, with Amy, lingered 
 on their way home till Mr. Ellery and Ber 
 tram Morley should join them. " Let us
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 195 
 
 walk together this last time," said Mr. Per- 
 cival. " Bertram, do you leave us with Mr. 
 Ellery?" 
 
 " Yes, sir, to-morrow morning." 
 
 " We shall miss you sadly. But you go to 
 get ready for the glorious battle-field." 
 
 "And yet," said Bertram humbly, "it 
 seems to me I could hardly have courage to 
 leave the dear old place without Mr. Ellery, 
 even though it will not be for long. If God 
 wills, I shall soon come back to study here." 
 
 " May God so will ! " said Mrs. Percival fer 
 vently ; " for we do not know how to spare 
 you, Bertram." 
 
 Mr. Ellery was walking near Amy. " You 
 will find double work to do now," he said. 
 " May I leave a commission with you ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes ! Mr. Ellery," said Amy eagerly. 
 " I shall be glad to do any thing I may." 
 
 " Thank you. You know the Spencer 
 family that live at the edge of the woods as
 
 196 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 you go to West Boundbrook. Will you see 
 them sometimes, if possible ? You will soon 
 find what you can do for them. But I must 
 lay one restriction upon you, Amy." 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " That you never go alone." 
 
 " I am not afraid, Mr. Ellery," she re 
 turned. 
 
 " I know it ; but, unless you promise, I 
 shall give the commission to some one else." 
 
 " Then I promise." 
 
 He thanked her. "You will be doing 
 highway and hedge work there, Amy. 
 You understand me ? " 
 
 He knew she did, seeing the light in her 
 intelligent eyes. " And, far more than doing 
 it for me, you are doing it for the Master. 
 Bring them in to the feast with you, Amy. 
 The Master will be looking for them there. 
 Oh, my child! what a delight to serve our 
 Lord thus, to gather the lame, the halt, and
 
 OR, AMY BUSHTON S MISSION. 197 
 
 the blind to sit at his table ! And yet there 
 is room ! : 
 
 His eyes always so kind, and to Amy so 
 expressive of sympathy with whatever 
 thought was in her mind were fixed on hers 
 as he spoke, and brightened with a deep joy 
 that even she had never seen there before. 
 She did not know how intelligently her own 
 answered them. He only added, " Do not 
 forget your mission, dear child. Only four 
 little words express it, Do what you can. " 
 They had reached Mr. Percival s gate : there 
 were a few brief words of parting, and, 
 almost before any of the party realized it, 
 they were gone. More than one heart echoed 
 " gone," sadly, yet hopefully, as those that 
 love the Lord. Let the years again close 
 over them, till three shall have been counted 
 off by the circuit of our revolving planet.
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 LAST DAYS AT BOUNDBROOK. 
 
 " Who can paint 
 
 Like Nature ? Can imagination boast 
 Amid its gay creation hues like hers ? 
 Or can it mix them with that matchless skill, 
 And lose them in each other, as appears 
 In everv bud that blows ? " 
 
 i 
 UCH were the words that Mr. Rushton 
 
 quoted, standing by the parlor-window 
 in the gray stone cottage, which looked 
 out upon the lawn and the blue river. It was 
 the occasion of his last visit there before he 
 should come to take Amy away finally. All 
 day the family had been enjoying to the full 
 
 108
 
 AMY KUSHTON S MISSION. 199 
 
 tlie fragrant spring weather, by riding, boat 
 ing, and excursions into the woods. The 
 return of the mellow twilight had brought a 
 correspondingly subdued mood ; and for near 
 ly half an hour each had been busy with his 
 own thoughts, until the quietness had been 
 broken by Mr. Rush ton s voice. 
 
 " Who, indeed, like Nature ? " said Mr. 
 Percival, joining Mr. Rushton and Amy at 
 the window. " Is not this beauty the hand 
 writing, as it were, of Nature s God ? his 
 silent but weighty epistles to us ? Let me 
 place beside yours some lines from one of 
 our modern poets, 
 
 " Go abroad 
 
 Upon the paths of nature ; and when all 
 Its voices whisper, and its silent things 
 Are breathing the deep beauty of the world, 
 Kneel at its simple altar ; and the God 
 Who hath the living waters shall be there. "
 
 200 BOUXDBROOK; 
 
 " They are beautiful, truly," returned Mr. 
 Rushton. " Come, Mrs. Percival, our circle 
 is not complete : let us have your tribute to 
 the hour and the theme." 
 
 So the lady, joining them, throws one arm 
 about Amy, and, gazing thoughtfully upon 
 the landscape just softening into the first 
 gray tinge of twilight, repeats, 
 
 " A paler shadow casts 
 Its mantle o er the mountains : parting day 
 Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues 
 With a new color as it gasps away, 
 The last still loveliest, till tis gone, and all is gray." 
 
 " I have repeated these lines," she added, 
 "more as appropriate to the scene than 
 because the passage is my favorite, though I 
 like it. It is very fine ; and I would that 
 Byron had never written sentiments less 
 worthy of his genius." 
 
 " Now, Amy," said Mr. Rushton, " it is
 
 OR, AM7 RUSHTON S MISSION. 201 
 
 *n|k 
 
 your turn. What have you to bring as your 
 favorite ? What is it that has kept you so 
 thoughtfully musing ? " 
 
 Amy s clear eyes rested on his face a 
 moment before she spoke. All through the 
 conversation of the last few minutes, there 
 had been floating through her mind, awak 
 ened by an old association, some disconnected 
 fragments of the one hundred and fourth 
 Psalm. She had heard them repeated at just 
 such an hour as this by lips that exulted to 
 dwell on such a theme. And, with almost 
 the same feeling of exultation, she gave them 
 now : 
 
 " O Lord, my God, thou art very great : 
 thou art clothed with honor and majesty. 
 
 " Who coverest thyself with light as with 
 a garment : who stretchest out the heavens 
 like a curtain : 
 
 " Who layeth the beams of his chambers 
 in the waters : who maketh the clouds his
 
 202 BOUNDBROOK; + 
 
 chariot : who walketh upon the wings of the 
 wind : 
 
 " "Who laid the foundations of the earth, 
 that it should not be removed for ever." 
 
 " He appointed the moon for seasons : the 
 sun knoweth his going-down." 
 
 " Amy," said Mr. Rushton, interrupting 
 her with a slightly vexed look, " where do 
 you get that ? " 
 
 They were very expressive lips that an 
 swered, " From the Bible, father." 
 
 " And is there nothing finer in literature 
 than that ? I am afraid your reading has 
 been exclusive, Amy." His last words were 
 uttered with that fine touch of sarcasm of 
 which Mr. Rushton was sometimes capable ; 
 and, turning from the group at the window, 
 he crossed the room to a table, and began 
 nervously turning over the leaves of a port 
 folio. He very soon became aware" that Mr. 
 and Mrs. Percival had left them alone.
 
 OR, AMY KUSHTON S MISSION. 203 
 
 Amy was keeping her stand at the win 
 dow ; her face indeed showing pain, but it 
 was not the pain that sees no light beyond 
 the present trial. It was not in Mr. Rushton 
 to indulge such humor long. " Amy," said 
 he abruptly, " come here, my daughter." 
 She went quickly to him. 
 
 " I don t wish to wound you, Amy," he 
 said ; " but I must protest against this 
 exclusiveness. I can t have you becoming 
 so rigid in your religion. This may do very 
 well for your friends here, but consider that 
 it would be quite out of place in society such 
 as you will find at our own home." 
 
 " Father," said Amy, and he felt that the 
 clear eyes, honest as a child s still, were on 
 his face, though he did not look up to meet 
 them, " God is not out of place anywhere ; 
 and why should his words be ? " 
 
 ; Then I will only say, Amy, it will not be 
 best for you to quote such words there."
 
 204 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 " Father, dear father, can any thing be 
 better than to be truthful ? Did you not ask 
 me for what was in my thoughts ? " 
 
 " That is what I protest against. I don t 
 know why such things need be uppermost in 
 your thoughts ? Has Mr. Percival trained 
 you to be always pondering Bible verses ? " 
 
 It was unlike Mr. Rushton, the bitterness 
 and petulance with which this was said ; and 
 Amy s composure was nearly overthrown. 
 
 But she answered presently, " No, dear 
 father : Mr. Percival has taught me very little 
 of this." 
 
 " Are you not well read in the poets ? I 
 had supposed you were, Amy." 
 
 " I believe Mr. Percival thinks I have read 
 them to some profit, father; but I find 
 grand poetry in the Bible." 
 
 " Give me a stanza appropriate to the 
 subject we were contemplating," said he, 
 ignoring her last remark.
 
 OK, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 205 
 
 Amy collected her scattered thoughts as 
 well as she could, and gave the first that 
 came into her mind : 
 
 " The tender twilight -with a crimson cheek 
 Leans on the breast of evening. 
 How tenderly the trembling light yet plays 
 On the far-waving foliage ! Day s last blush 
 Still lingers on the billowy waste of leaves 
 With a strange beauty, like the yellow flush 
 That haunts the ocean when the day goes by." 
 
 " Thank you, Amy. I do not know the 
 author." 
 
 " McLellan, father." In her ordinary 
 mood Amy would have added more ; but her 
 voice would not be steady now. Mr. Rush- 
 ton apparently did not notice it. 
 
 " Now, daughter, let me have something 
 from the French." 
 
 She gave him a stanza from "U Enfant 
 Aveugle"
 
 206 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 " Good. The German." 
 
 It was done, with voice that began to 
 steady itself. 
 
 " Thank you. What was your last Latin 
 reading ? " 
 
 " Parts of Horace and Livy, father." 
 
 " Yes : shall we hear a few lines from 
 Horace ? " 
 
 She gave a well-remembered quotation. 
 
 " It s a good selection, daughter ; and now 
 sing to me with the piano or harp, as you 
 please." 
 
 " Shall I choose from religious or secular 
 music, father ? " 
 
 " Whatever you like best, Amy." 
 
 Whatever she liked best ! She would 
 rather he had not said that. She turned 
 over the leaves of her music till she found a 
 sweet little Scotch ballad. 
 
 Choosing her harp, she seated herself 
 beside it ; and the song was rendered with
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 207 
 
 happy effect. She had a sweet and pure 
 though not strong voice ; and, as Mr. Rush- 
 ton listened, it seemed to him as if it might 
 almost be " his mother s voice singing in 
 paradise." 
 
 As he did not ask for more, Amy left her 
 harp, and went to his side. It was growing 
 dark ; and she could not see that his eyes 
 were dim, but she felt it the instant he 
 spoke. He gathered her in his arms as if she 
 had been a child still. " Amy, darling, I 
 have been cruel to you to-night. Will you 
 forgive me ? ; 
 
 " Forgive you, dear father ? " she put her 
 finger on his lips : " there is nothing that 
 needs forgiveness." She kissed him again 
 and again. " O father, if you would come 
 with me in the way I love best I I want you 
 to be a Christian, father." 
 
 He did not answer her ; and when, after a 
 while, he spoke, his words went far wide of
 
 208 SOUNDBROOK; 
 
 her thoughts. " Amy, how do you think 
 you will bear all that you will be brought 
 in contact with at our own home ? " 
 
 How often she had thought of this! "Not 
 in my own strength, father." 
 
 " In the company that comes to our house 
 you will find many who will sneer at you in 
 their polite way, some, without doubt, who 
 are wise, profound thinkers : can you meet 
 them bravely ? " 
 
 " I am not afraid, father," said the clear, 
 steady voice. " It is not I, it is Christ that 
 liveth in me. His words will bear their 
 weight anywhere." 
 
 " But if, as it might happen, seeing your, 
 shall I say rigid adherence to these doctrines, 
 they should attack you openly, have you 
 arguments with which you could meet 
 them ? " 
 
 " I could give a reason for the hope that is 
 in me, father," she replied humbly. "The
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 209 
 
 truth of the gospel needs no better argument. 
 I know whom I have believed. 
 
 He thought he had never heard her voice 
 clearer and sweeter. 
 
 " Amy," said he after a few minutes si 
 lence, " where are your friends Mr. Ellery 
 and Bertram Morley ? " 
 
 " Mr. Ellery is at the same place. Bertram 
 is here at the seminary, studying." 
 
 " Are they successful, or likely to be so ? " 
 
 " Mr. Ellery is spoken of as being very 
 gifted, father ; but he is one who thinks only 
 of the object of his ministry, not of parading 
 his gifts. And Bertram father, I think you 
 would not know him. He preached at our 
 new church here last Sunday." 
 
 " Indeed ! If he is finer looking as a man 
 than as a boy, I would like to see him ; for it 
 seemed to me there was never a nobler face, 
 except Mr. Ellery s. They might be broth- 
 
 14
 
 210 BOUNDBROOE, 
 
 ers in that respect. How far away is Mr. 
 Ellery?" 
 
 " I think it is not more than twenty miles 
 to Dayton, where he preaches." 
 
 " Does he come often to Boundbrook ? " 
 
 " Oh, no, father ! He is too constantly at 
 work." 
 
 The entrance of a servant with lights 
 interrupted the conversation here, and it was 
 not resumed.
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 MRS. RUSHTON. 
 
 RS. RUSHTON was deep in consul 
 tation with her seamstress. Costly 
 
 fabrics lay scattered about the room, 
 - & 
 
 silks and delicate muslins and laces. Per 
 fumed boxes filled with elegant handkerchiefs, 
 boxes of gloves, boxes of jewelry, lay here 
 and there in careless confusion. 
 
 Now, Mrs. Rushton was usually haughty 
 and uncommunicative with the young girl 
 who came daily to sew for her, and who 
 was no other than a sister of our little dwarf, 
 Robert Bernhard ; but, in the excitement 
 
 to which her feminine vanity was raised by 
 
 211
 
 212 UOUNDKROOK. 
 
 the display around, she became as gracious 
 as she would have been in her drawing-room 
 with her rich neighbor Mrs. Delano. 
 
 " You see," said she, taking up a delicate 
 evening silk, " that Miss Amy is coming home 
 this week ; and Mr. Rushton has given me 
 carte blanche to provide whatever is necessary 
 for her appearance here. It is nine years 
 last spring since he took her to be educated 
 at some sort of an old-fashioned, out-of-the- 
 way place in the country, where the people 
 all at once took it into their heads to be 
 religious. He did not see fit to remove her 
 however; though I thought Madame De 
 Witt s a far better place for her, being an 
 old aristocratic school. They do not pay 
 much attention to dress where she has been ; 
 and I am determined, that, in that respect at 
 least, she shall come up to the standard of 
 Cummington Square." 
 
 Mrs. Rushton paused, perhaps for com-
 
 OK, AMY SUSHTON S MISSION. 213 
 
 ment ; but the little seamstress s face was as 
 passive as marble. She had learned the art 
 of concealment here. 
 
 " I sometimes fancy," pursued the lady, 
 " that Mr. Rushton thinks it may be actually 
 pleasant to have some one here who has 
 religious peculiarities, like Miss Amy. It 
 will be quite out of the common course. He 
 never liked her to be like any one else ; and 
 a little spicing of religion will so distinguish 
 her above others of our circle. He will not 
 let her be too religious." 
 
 Mrs. Rushton paused again ; but Elsie 
 Bernhard s face was as far from revealing 
 her thoughts as before. She dared not trust 
 herself to reply, lest something in her words 
 might be inopportune or unseemly. And so 
 the little seamstress was speechless, and her 
 fingers flew faster with her work. 
 
 The lady resumed, " You may now, Bern- 
 hard " (Mrs. Rushton never condescended
 
 214 BOVNDBROOK ; 
 
 to affix the Jfm, and Elsie would have been 
 quite too familiar) " take hold of this silk, 
 not this : this is for Miss Amy, this gar 
 net, for me ; and make it with full trimmings, 
 for I am to go out to Boundbrook on the 
 grand occasion of Miss Amy s return ; and I 
 wish this to wear. Meantime, you can be 
 planning in your own mind what shall be 
 done with Amy s dresses." 
 
 " A fair woman without discretion," mur 
 mured Elsie to herself as Mrs. Rushton left 
 the room. " Miss Amy will have need of 
 her religious faith here." 
 
 The evening was fair and warm on which 
 Mr. and Mrs. Rushton rode through Bound- 
 brook. One of the finest of October sunsets 
 was drawing on ; soft clouds had marshaled 
 themselves above the horizon, and were shift 
 ing about in ever-varying shapes and hues, 
 purple and gold and crimson ; then crimson 
 took the place of gold, and gold fled higher
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 215 
 
 up, to be again vanquished by purple, and 
 at last by the more sober gray. What must 
 be the glory of the inner sanctuary of the 
 skies ! 
 
 Mrs. Rushton was in her best mood. The 
 day was fine ; so was her carriage ; so, too, 
 was her dress. She was very talkative ; but 
 Mr. Rushton seemed unusually silent. 
 
 "Mr. Rushton," she exclaimed at length, 
 " one would think you were not pleased to 
 take Amy home." 
 
 He smiled, in that absent way that always 
 puzzled her, and opened his lips to speak ; 
 but, as the horses just then turned from the 
 main road into the one leading to the cot 
 tage, there all at once floated into the 
 carriage the sound of a clear, ringing voice. 
 Mrs. Rushton professed to be a connoisseur 
 in music, and leaned eagerly forward to 
 catch the last notes. " Mr. Rushton," she 
 exclaimed, " that s an air from Verdi ! Who 
 s ocera here ? "
 
 216 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 " I think we shall see the singer to-night," 
 observed Mr. Rushton dryly. " You do not 
 recognize the voice." 
 
 "Not Amy!" .faltered Mrs. Rushton. 
 " That s no common voice ! " 
 
 No." 
 
 " Oh ! I thought it could not be Amy ! " 
 
 " It is even so." 
 
 " What ! religious, and sing opera ? " 
 
 " Whatever the air may be," said Mr. 
 Rushton, " I have heard the words ; and they 
 are like the words of any psalm-tune for 
 purity." 
 
 " But, Mr. Rushton, can we not see her 
 now ? I am aching with curiosity." 
 
 " I see you are, Mrs. Rushton," said her 
 husband coolly. " But I will introduce you 
 at the house first, and come out and seek her. 
 She is in the grove probably, aud does not 
 see us." 
 
 Accordingly, after Mr. Rushton had seen
 
 OR, AMY SUSHTON S MISSION. 217 
 
 his wife complacently seated with Mrs. Per- 
 cival, he took his way to the grove. He had 
 well-nigh despaired of finding Amy ; when 
 a low hum of voices arrested his ear, and, 
 proceeding a few steps farther, he found him 
 self upon the edge of a hollow, in the midst 
 of which was collected a group of little girls ; 
 and among them, evidently the center of the 
 circle, was Amy. 
 
 His presence was not noticed ; and, leaning 
 against a tree, he allowed himself to be a 
 spectator of the scene. The girls hands 
 were filled with gay autumn leaves and flow 
 ers, which they were busily twining into gar 
 lands. All the time a steady flow of talk 
 went on, now playful, now more earnest, as 
 Mr. Rushton gathered from the movements, 
 and the words which the light wind wafted 
 to his ear. At length one of the girls arose, 
 and, approaching Amy, bent beside her, 
 and fastening one garland about her head,
 
 218 BOUNDBROOK ; 
 
 and another, after the manner of a sash, about 
 her waist, led her among the group. 
 
 It seemed as if they would never be satis 
 fied, nor she. Blushing at their words of 
 childish admiration, and unaffectedly depre 
 cating their loving praises, she yet moved 
 among them as one whose life was in a 
 measure bound up with theirs, and as if she 
 could not carry away too much of their love 
 with her. 
 
 " The sun is very low," she said at last, 
 " and I am expecting my father to-night. 
 Dear children, when I am in the great, noisy 
 city, I shall think of you in your quiet coun 
 try homes, and always with a prayer for you. 
 "We have knelt together too many times to 
 forget that ; have we not ? I shall not forget 
 to ask that Mary may be less distrustful, 
 Delia not too confident, and that Jessie may 
 remember that he that ruleth his own spirit 
 is better than he that taketh a city. And
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON 8 MISSION. 
 
 for these little ones," she added, " that they 
 may very soon know Him who said, I love 
 them that love me ; and those that seek me 
 early shall find me. 
 
 If Amy s eyes were moist as she spoke, 
 the others were overflowing. 
 
 Mr. Rushton noiselessly drew back, and 
 returned slowly to the house. 
 
 " Haven t you found her ? " exclaimed 
 Mrs. Rushton, as he entered. 
 
 " She will be here presently, I think ; " and 
 with this Mr. Rushton immediately led the 
 way to another subject, giving no opportu 
 nity for Mrs. Rushton s impatience to burst 
 forth again. 
 
 Amy presently came up the stone steps, 
 and still adorned with her sylvan garlands, 
 and with a quiet, happy light on her brow, 
 which agreed well with her softly flushed 
 cheeks, and rather grave mouth opened ^he 
 sitting-room door.
 
 220 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 They had sat very still, waiting her com 
 ing; and entering as she did, unaware of 
 their presence, it was not strange that the 
 color faded, and her first movement was an in 
 voluntary uplifting of her hand to her brow. 
 But Amy was no actress ; and the next 
 instant her greeting was given as unaffect 
 edly as a child s, first to her father ; and 
 then he led her to Mrs. Rushton. 
 
 The lady rose up with a great rustling of 
 silk flounces. " How do you do, daughter 
 Amy ? " she said in much the mechanical 
 tone in which one repeats an oft-learned and 
 rather uninteresting lesson. 
 
 And Amy replied very sweetly and cour 
 teously, her cheeks meanwhile acquiring an 
 unusual brilliancy. 
 
 " You have a taste for rural decorations, 
 have you not ? " was the next remark ; and 
 the lady s eyes ran over the bright garlands. 
 
 Amy looked down at her sash, and smiled, 
 but a little gravely.
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON 8 MISSION. 221 
 
 " You must have been in very engrossing 
 company not to have perceived your father 
 when he was out hunting for you," continued 
 Mrs. Rushton. " Is it common here for 
 young people to entertain each other in the 
 woods ? " 
 
 Amy s eyes went up doubtfully to her 
 father, who was standing beside her. 
 
 "I believe Amy and her company were 
 right in being best suited with the woods 
 to-day," said Mr. Rushton. " Excuse me if I 
 unwittingly became a witness of your little 
 party, daughter : but I remained only while 
 you were invested with these tokens ; and I 
 think it was as pretty a coronation as I could 
 wish to see." 
 
 " A coronation ! " said Mrs. Rushton. " It 
 isn t May Day." 
 
 " There are more crowns than May 
 brings," said Mr. Rushton, turning away. 
 " Amy, daughter, we will excuse you if you 
 wish."
 
 222 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 " There are more crowns than May 
 brings," repeated Mrs. Rushton curiously, 
 after Amy had left the room. " Mr. Rush- 
 ton," she inquired the next moment, " has 
 Amy any admirers here ? " 
 
 " I think she has," was the reply. Mr. 
 Rushton was sometimes absent-minded. 
 
 " I don t believe you know what you re 
 saying," said Mrs. Rushton, divided between 
 perplexity and conviction. "I mean, has 
 Amy any lovers here ? " 
 
 " Why, yes, I must say I believe she 
 has." Mrs. Rushton was in no doubt now. 
 
 " Mr. Rushton ! " The words came with 
 rather unladylike emphasis from her very 
 delicate lady-like lips. " What are you going 
 to do about it? 
 
 " Nothing, Mrs. Rushton." 
 
 " Nothing ! And let them come to our 
 house in Cummington Square, Mr. Rushton ? 
 You re beside yourself ! Have you seen any 
 of them ? What are they ? "
 
 OP, AMT RUSHTON S MISSION. 223 
 
 " Six little girls," said Mr. Rushton qui 
 etly. " They love her devotedly, and shall 
 come to see her if they like." 
 
 " Oh ! " said Mrs. Rushton, sinking back, 
 almost weak with the revulsion of feeling. 
 " How you did frighten me ! But are there 
 no others?" 
 
 " I believe there are none that will make 
 us more trouble than these." 
 
 " Well, I wouldn t have believed it would 
 have scared me so. But you see, though I 
 don t take any particular interest in her, yet, 
 if she must be called our daughter, the honor 
 of the family must be kept up. You see, 
 Mr. Rushton ? " 
 
 " I see," said the gentleman politely.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 CTJMMINGTON SQUARE. 
 
 R. and MRS. PERCIVAL went home 
 with their visitors for a stay of a few 
 days at Mr. Rushton s city mansion. To 
 Amy these were days long to be remembered, 
 set apart among all others as forming a soft 
 ening link between the quiet, unostentatious, 
 but really refined life at Boundbrook, and the 
 fashionable magnificence of Cummington 
 Square. 
 
 How all too quickly the time of her friends 
 departure came ! 
 
 " Amy, dear child," said Mrs. Percival, as 
 
 224
 
 AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 225 
 
 they were alone for an hour previous, " you 
 will never forget that you are our daughter 
 too." 
 
 The young girl s answer was not what she 
 might have expected. Deep love and grati 
 tude shone in the eyes that were lifted to 
 hers ; but the serenity that usually marked 
 Amy s face was not there. Mrs. Percival s 
 heart almost stood still at the passionate 
 outbreak. 
 
 " O Mrs. Percival, if I could only , go 
 back with you ! I am your daughter. I 
 have no mother here." 
 
 The lady caressed her as if she had indeed 
 been her mother. " You have a dear, loving 
 father," she said. 
 
 " Yes, a dear father, only too loving, but 
 no mother. No, she is not my mother : she 
 does not love me ! I can not love her as I 
 ought. It seems to me I am further from it 
 
 15
 
 226 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 every time I see her. Oh ! if iny own dear 
 mother died, why has not father told me ? " 
 
 " I have no doubt, dear, that your father 
 has done wisely in withholding from you 
 whatever relates to this." 
 
 " Then, do you know all, Mrs. Pereival ? 
 How often it has been on my lips to ask you ! 
 But I always resolved to wait till father should 
 be ready to tell me. I felt it would not be 
 true to him to go to some one else. And I 
 will not know now. No, I will wait. I will 
 never let him see that I feel her coldness. I 
 must, I will try again to love her." 
 
 " Dear Amy," said Mrs. Pereival, " the 
 effort to love will bring its own sweet reward. 
 Do not give up the endeavor to win her love. 
 In this we are to be like Christ. How un 
 lovely must we appear to him ! Not a corner 
 of our hearts that is without fault to his pure 
 eyes ; yet his tender love yearns toward us. 
 If, while he suffered on the cross, he saw,
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 227 
 
 down to the end of time, the long line of 
 human beings that were to be ransomed by 
 that sacrifice, with all their individual peculi 
 arities and waywardness (as we can scarcely 
 doubt he did), and yet could so patiently, so 
 lovingly, endure that terrible hour, what can 
 we say in excuse for not loving every one ? 
 The Son of God could die for us, and we 
 can not love even for his sake ! How must 
 we appear to him, turning with scorn, or in 
 difference even, from one for whom he en 
 dured his Father s wrath ! " 
 
 "How, then, do I look in his sight?" 
 murmured Amy. " O Mrs. Percival I this 
 is such a disappointment to me, that it seems 
 as if I can not bear it. No mother here ! 
 And now I am losing you." 
 
 " Amy dear," returned Mrs. Percival, 
 " do you love your Saviour ? How much 
 more may you know his love now ! How 
 much more closely may you cling to him !
 
 228 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 * This is the victory that overcometh the 
 world, Amy, even our faith, " she resumed 
 presently. " You are to be here, in the midst 
 of this household, a living example for the 
 truth. O dear child ! what a work God is 
 putting into your hands here ! " 
 
 Calmed by her earnest words, Amy raised 
 her head from her hands ; and though sorrow 
 was uppermost there still, yet peace was re- * 
 turning. " Yes," she said, " faith must get 
 the victory, or God is not honored. His 
 grace is sufficient : I know that by other ex 
 periences. I must prove it here, or, rather, 
 I must keep so near to him, that he will prove 
 it by me. It is his work, the victory that 
 overcometh. Victory is of faith, and faith 
 is of God. So it is I, and yet not I, but 
 Christ that liveth in me." 
 
 " How close is the union," said Mrs. Per- 
 cival, after some moments silence, " between 
 Christ and him who believes ! so close, that
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 229 
 
 we can scarcely tell where the human will is 
 lost in the divine. We can only say, It is I, 
 yet not I, but Christ. " 
 
 " This must be my chief thought," said 
 Amy, " that God puts me here to work for 
 him." She smiled. " Mr. Ellery used to 
 talk about highway and hedge work, and 
 draw a comparison between Christ s servants 
 going out to gather all to the marriage- 
 supper of the Lamb, and the servants of the 
 man who made the great earthly feast, and 
 called in the people from all the vicinity. 
 They were compelled to come in." 
 
 " Well, Amy, you began that work at 
 Boundbrook : be sure there is no less to 
 be done here. The arrangements are made, 
 are they not, for the little Spencer girl to 
 come here to you ? " 
 
 " She will come as soon as father sends for 
 her, Mrs. Percival." 
 
 " Happy child ! How her pale face will
 
 2,30 SOUNDS ROOK; 
 
 brighten at the news that she is to live with 
 you ! And be assured, Amy, I will endeavor 
 to carry out Mr. Ellery s commission to 
 you in regard to the family faithfully." Mrs. 
 Percival s eyes grew soft as she thought how 
 Amy had attended to their. wants in heat and 
 in cold, shrinking from no hardship, gather 
 ing the children about her when some per- 
 verseness or mismanagement kept them from 
 school, until her sweet, cheerful pleading 
 won them to go ; taking care that the poor 
 old grandmother should have her daily read 
 ing, and the hard-worked, petulant mother 
 the help of heart or hand, as either might be 
 needed. Mrs. Percival knew more than this, 
 but not from Amy. " Inasmuch as ye have 
 done it unto one of the least of these, ye 
 have done it unto me, " were her next spok 
 en words. " O dear Amy ! in the midst of 
 this luxurious life, do not forget your high 
 mission. You may be here a servant of Christ,
 
 Off, AMY ItUSUTON S MISSION. 231 
 
 as truly as he who has taken upon himself 
 the vows of the ministry ; and the Lord 
 will be thy keeper, thy shade upon thy right 
 hand. Gather them all in, dear child." 
 
 The sound of carriage-wheels was heard 
 below at the moment ; and, after that, words 
 were few. 
 
 So Amy parted with her friends, and, 
 watching them till the carriage turned from 
 sight, re-entered the house to take up her 
 share of the life at Cummington Square. 
 Life was it? She queried with herself 
 whether this was life, or but a mockery of 
 the name. She went up and down the long, 
 broad staircases, and through the wide halls, 
 visiting every room, from the breakfast-room 
 upward, lingering longest in the library, the 
 favorite resort of her father, and in which 
 she could recall the pleasantest memories of 
 her child-life here. The massive walnut 
 bookcases, filled with the choicest volumes of
 
 B UXDBROOK ; 
 
 literature and art and science ; the rare pic 
 tures ; the marble busts of dead and living 
 heroes, with the more fanciful statuettes of 
 Hebe and Psyche and others ; the harmony 
 of the rich colors of carpet and curtains, 
 would alone have rendered the place like 
 enchanted ground ; but here she had sat on 
 her father s knee while he patiently made 
 clear to her what had seemed like unfathom 
 able mysteries ; here he had delighted her 
 with history and with fairy-tales, and poured 
 into her never-satisfied ear stories of his boy 
 hood. Mr. Rushton had been a good teach 
 er for the inquiring little mind. Though 
 he often was absorbed in business, his tastes 
 were refined, and his mental acquirements 
 far above the ordinary. Amy felt as if that 
 had been in some degree like life ; for then it 
 had been her duty as well as pleasure to 
 receive : now her being demanded more than 
 that. Indolence formed no part of Amy s
 
 OB, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 233 
 
 character, either by birth or education. The 
 great question comes up to her as she stands 
 on the threshold of her new life, not only 
 " What am I to be here ? " but " What am I 
 to do?" She knew very well what the daily 
 routine of the household was at Cummington 
 Square, rising to a late breakfast, loitering 
 or reading till lunch, driving out to call on 
 fashionable acquaintances, returning to a 
 sumptuous dinner, and, in the evening, at 
 tending parties, lectures, or concerts. Happi 
 ly Mr. Rushton was not a theater-goer. Yet 
 Amy saw very little in this at all practical, or 
 that could conduce to a real healthy mental 
 or physical life. And again the question 
 comes to her, " What are you to do here ? 
 What is your religious life to be here ? Are 
 you a Christian, Amy ? Then, like your 
 Master, you must rejoice to make loving and 
 working your life. He sat with the rich, but 
 he walked and talked with the poor likewise ;
 
 234 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 and in nothing did lie lower the dignity of 
 his divine character. With scribe and Phari 
 see, with publican and sinner, he was equally 
 the gentle, meek, helpful Saviour, and yet 
 the One who taught as having authority, 
 the One who spake as never man spake. 
 As these thoughts rushed upon the young 
 girl s mind, her head was bowed in her 
 hands, and from her heart went up the un 
 spoken prayer, " Father, I am of myself 
 nothing, thou knowest ; but, if I am thy 
 child, show me what a child can do for thee 
 here. So help me, dear Lord, that thou 
 mayest be loved and glorified where now 
 thou art unknown and unloved. If I love 
 thee a little, help me to love thee much, 
 for the sake of Him who first loved me." 
 
 A bright and warm October sun was shin 
 ing in at the east library-window, making a 
 golden track across the warm-hued Persian 
 carpet. Amy felt as if she could almost have
 
 OH, AMY RUSIITON S MISSION. 235 
 
 knelt, and kissed the gay sunbeams ; for she 
 was not one to hug sorrow to her heart, giv 
 ing it, as many do, a high place among her 
 household gods, and counting herself a hero 
 ine because of the sighs and tears she shed 
 for its sake. Deep pain she might feel, and 
 often did ; but her religious character was 
 too healthful and sunny to allow her ever to 
 be miserable. 
 
 Such was Amy as she had grown up under 
 Mr. and Mrs. Percival s happy teaching ; not 
 at all as her father s fears had once pictured 
 her, gloomy, long-faced, and whining, but 
 light-hearted, and with a face as fresh and 
 innocent as a child s. Amy was no genius, 
 yet she was not lacking in strength of mind ; 
 and, with a gentle dignity all her own, she 
 was thoroughly earnest, sensible, and refined. 
 
 She crossed the room to a seat by the win 
 dow, and rested her head upon the low, broad 
 window-sill. She smiled to herself to feel
 
 236 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 the warmth upon her head. It was like the 
 pressure of a kind hand, soothing and re 
 freshing after some tempest has passed over 
 the soul. And the sunshine was one of God s 
 visible tokens, one of his gifts of joy. It was 
 to Amy almost as if God s own hand had 
 been laid on her head. And did not he, 
 once crowned with thorns, in reality stand 
 by her ? He who, after his fiery baptism of 
 suffering, had walked and talked so sweetly 
 with his own, did not he walk with his chil 
 dren now ? Oh, then ! if she was his child, 
 could she not, as it were, put her hand in his, 
 and be very glad ? And when she felt the 
 sunshine on her head, as she knew it was the 
 shining of his sun, why should she not, even 
 in chill and gloom, feel that he gave glad 
 sunshine still? 
 
 That was Amy s reasoning ; and then this 
 was Amy s second heart-prayer : " Father, 
 my life has been greatly blessed, and it has
 
 OR, AMY KUSHTON S MISSION. 237 
 
 been all from thee. I know not the way 
 thou wilt lead me now ; but in all things help 
 me to feel that thou art my Light and my 
 Sun ; and may I be very glad in thee, and 
 very patient ; and help me to love as thou 
 wouldst have thy children love, for the sake 
 of Jesus who died, and in whom we have the 
 promise of eternal life." 
 
 It might have been a half-hour that the 
 young girl had sat there, when Mrs. Rushton 
 entered, and drew close to the figure by the 
 window. If Amy had been dressed in flow 
 ing and costly robes, Mrs. Rushton would 
 possibly have stopped to contemplate the 
 scene as an interesting tableau; but there 
 was nothing particularly attractive in the 
 fawn-colored merino, pretty and becoming 
 though it was with its blue trimmings. Her 
 question was both abrupt and slightly impa 
 tient, " Amy Rushton, what are you doing 
 here ? "
 
 238 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 Amy, startled from her deep revery, looked 
 up, and, obeying her first impulse, replied 
 with the frankness that always characterized 
 her, " Mother, I was thinking that the Lord 
 is here." 
 
 " What ! " Mrs. Rushton drew back with 
 an awe-stricken look ; and the color actually 
 receded from her face. " What do you 
 mean, girl ? " said she sharply. But Amy 
 was looking into the sunbeams again, and did 
 not seem to hear her. 
 
 The lady forgot that she had come in to 
 talk with Amy about her dresses, which the 
 seamstress was ready to fit. Farther and 
 farther she drew back from the young girl, 
 until she reached the door, and with one 
 nervous and hurried step was on the stair ; 
 nor did she breathe freely till in her own 
 room. 
 
 " What has disturbed your mother so, 
 Amy ? " said Mr. Rushton, entering a mo-
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 239 
 
 ment later. He had been coming through 
 the hall, and had seen his wife s hurried 
 exit. 
 
 " I suppose, father, something I said," 
 Amy returned regretfully ; " but I did not 
 intend it : it did not occur to me that it 
 might disturb her." 
 
 What was it, Amy ? " 
 
 " She asked me what I was doing, and 1 
 spoke my first thought." 
 
 
 
 " And what was that, daughter ? " 
 
 " That I was thinking that the Lord was 
 here," she replied with bowed head. 
 
 Mr. Rushton drew her arm within his, and 
 began to walk up and down the long room. 
 
 " Amy," said he, after they had slowly 
 accomplished the distance one way, "you 
 must not say such things here." 
 
 It was spoken very kindly, even lovingly ; 
 but Amy s heart stood still. They had 
 walked the length of the room again before
 
 240 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 she could command her voice to speak. 
 " Father," she said. 
 
 " What, dear ? " 
 
 " How can I sometimes help speaking of 
 what I love best ? " 
 
 " But you must help it, Amy." 
 
 "But, dear father " 
 
 " Don t argue with me, Amy. I am con 
 tent, as I have said before, that you should 
 enjoy your religion yourself; but, if you 
 attempt to hold it up here, I can not answer 
 for consequences. Surely you will not rigidly 
 persist in making us unhappy. Amy, I have 
 often defended you from the charge of bigot 
 ry : will you make me retract my defense ? 
 Why need you make any use of your pecu 
 liar belief and phraseology ? Child, believe 
 me, you are not required to do this. It is 
 only a youthful enthusiasm that prompts you 
 to such utterances, not the cool wisdom 
 which ought to characterize you."
 
 OB, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 241 
 
 " Father," said Amy, " if I love the Lord 
 truly, it can be neither the one nor the other, 
 but only because I do love him. And how- 
 can I love him, and never speak of him ? 
 You would not have me so with you, 
 father ? " 
 
 " But it is quite a different thing, Amy." 
 
 " Not so different, dear father, that a com 
 parison may not be drawn between them." 
 
 " O Amy ! will you be so rigid ? I have 
 told you that I am willing you should enjoy 
 your religion to the utmost by yourself; but 
 I can not answer for consequences." 
 
 " Father," said Amy after a while, most 
 affectionately and respectfully, " the Lord 
 will take care of consequences." 
 
 " Amy, Amy, you defy me : you will hug 
 these notions of yours till they make you 
 morbid," exclaimed Mr. Rushton. But he 
 recalled the word " morbid " the next instant 
 
 16
 
 242 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 in his thought. He knew Amy c mid never 
 be that. 
 
 " What you call my notions are God s 
 truths, I believe, dear father." 
 
 " We will not continue the discussion 
 further now, daughter. Only, Amy, let me 
 repeat, if you would not sow thorns in your 
 path here, you must give up some of this 
 rigid adherence to your peculiar faith. I 
 say it for your happiness, daughter." 
 
 For the first time for years, Amy s hands 
 went up to her face to hide the pain she 
 felt. It was the old, involuntary motion of 
 her childhood ; and Mr. Rushton as involun 
 tarily drew them away. " Amy, dear child, 
 we will talk no more. But you belong to me 
 now: there shall be no more teaching of 
 these doctrines to come between us. Here 
 you are all mine ! " He released her as he 
 spoke. There was a sort of triumph in his 
 voice.
 
 OP, AMY RUSHTON b MISSION. 
 
 243 
 
 " Father," said Amy, though her lips were 
 trembling, " I belong to Christ before you." 
 And she passed from the room, leaving him 
 perplexed and baffled. 
 
 O Mr. Rushton ! is not your Amy slipping 
 away from you ?
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 ROBERT AND ELSIE. 
 
 BERNHARD, Mrs. 
 seamstress, went home from her work 
 r (^- l > one evening rather later than usual. 
 It was snowing fast. She was weary, and the 
 bundle she carried weighed heavily on her 
 strength. Very often, in her efforts to with 
 stand the gusty and piercing wind, she was 
 obliged to stop for breath. She wondered 
 that Robert did not come out, as he often did 
 of a stormy night, to help her home. It was 
 so much later than usual too. She plunged 
 on through the blinding storm, and at last 
 reached a respectable but rather poor-look- 
 
 244
 
 AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 245 
 
 ing wooden tenement, several squares from 
 Mr. Rushton s residence. Entering, she 
 struck a light, and with some concern looked 
 about the room, as if she had expected to 
 find some one there. She went to the stair 
 way, and called, " Robert ! " There was no 
 reply. Then, with trouble gathering in her 
 face, she went up, shielding the light care 
 fully with her hand, and calling, " Robert ! " 
 all the way. But there was no Robert there ; 
 and she presently came down again. 
 
 It was a neat, cheerful little room below, 
 where she at last deposited her lamp, and set 
 herself to the business of making a fire. 
 The walls were prettily papered ; clean nan 
 keen curtains shaded the windows ; the chairs 
 and table, and hanging book-case, were all 
 of plain, but neat and substantial style, and 
 tastefully arranged. A few small engravings 
 in home-made frames were disposed against 
 the walls ; and on the shelf stood a clock, and
 
 246 POVNDBKOOK; 
 
 a delicate vase filled with dried grasses and 
 gay autumn leaves. 
 
 Elsie kindled the fire, and, having spread 
 the small round table with inviting food, took 
 her work, and endeavored to busy her fingers. 
 Doubtless her thoughts were quite as active ; 
 for ever and anon her eyes went up to the 
 clock on the mantel with a deepening shade 
 of concern ; and sometimes her fingers were 
 still altogether, and her head inclined forward 
 to catch the sound of a footstep outside. 
 Eight o clock, nine, and ten had all been told 
 off by the regular strokes of the little moni 
 tor on the mantel before a sound was heard. 
 It was nearing eleven, when at last the well- 
 known step sounded in the hall, and a little 
 deformed figure, with a strangely homely 
 but genial face, entered the room. 
 
 " Robert, my brother," exclaimed Elsie, 
 springing up to assist him to take off his wet 
 garments, " why are you so late ? "
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 247 
 
 The dwarf made no definite answer imme 
 diately, but, when he was comfortably seated 
 by the fire, told Elsie to lay by her work and 
 he would tell her. Woman though she was, 
 her curiosity was not strong enough to let 
 him enter into a story she foresaw might be 
 long, without the supper he needed first. 
 She pressed upon him the tea she had made 
 ready for him, and tempted him with nice 
 bread and pie. Evidently his appetite was 
 not keen ; but he ate to satisfy her, and then 
 commenced his story. 
 
 " Sister Elsie," he said, dropping his voice 
 to a low tone, " I have found Gilbert Mar 
 vin." 
 
 Elsie uttered an exclamation of surprise 
 and joy, and bent forward in eager attitude. 
 
 " I should not say that I have really found 
 him ; but I have been close by the very place 
 where he sits to-night ; and I have the clew 
 to the place he calls home. Elsie, where do 
 you suppose he is passing the hours now ? "
 
 248 BOUNDBROOK ; 
 
 She dreaded to hear, but asked, " Where ? " 
 
 The dwarfs voice fell to a whisper, " In 
 a company of gamblers." 
 
 " O Robert ! " 
 
 " I have always feared just that for him," 
 said Robert. " So restless, so easily lifted up 
 and cast down, no regulating stability of 
 character about him : it was just the net to 
 insnare him, the fluctuating, vagrant life 
 of a gambler." 
 
 Elsie weighed the matter in silence a few 
 minutes, and then, with her usual prompt 
 decision, inquired, " How are you to reach 
 him, Robert ? " 
 
 " That s just the question I can not answer, 
 Elsie, and I want your woman s wit to help 
 me." 
 
 " Some years ago," he resumed presently, 
 "I renewed his acquaintance oddly. It 
 was the only way I could have made him 
 listen to me. I excited his curiosity, and
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 249 
 
 stimulated him to think of some things that 
 had never before occurred to him. But it 
 did not last long. He soon wearied of his 
 life at home, and you know how it was 
 he no longer came to the wharves. Until 
 to-night I have never been able to obtain 
 the least knowledge of him directly. Occa 
 sionally, of late years, some indefinite rumor 
 has reached me ; but I have always failed to 
 trace him out." 
 
 " You saw the old people last week, did 
 you not ? " asked Elsie. 
 
 " Yes : they go on just the same, he 
 trembling and imbecile, she moody and ill- 
 tempered to everybody but him. I am not 
 sure but it was a good thing for them that 
 Gilbert went away. Otherwise Mrs. Marvin 
 would never have roused herself to do the 
 first thing for their support." 
 
 " Does she manage to pay their rent ? " 
 
 " Yes, with help, and buy what little food
 
 250 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 they eat, except what is sometimes given 
 them." Elsie knew well where the help 
 came from. 
 
 " They know that you know Gilbert ? " 
 
 " Yes ; but I had reasons for his not know 
 ing, at first, that I knew them." 
 
 " That is well : now, if you can reach him, 
 and persuade him to see them, and relieve 
 their minds about him." 
 
 " O Elsie ! " said her brother, " you have 
 so much faith ! Reach him we may possibly ; 
 but to persuade him ever to see them again 
 is hardly to be expected. Only that I think 
 his absence troubles them, I should scarcely 
 desire it." 
 
 " Do you suppose that he has ascertained 
 their real relationship to him ? " 
 
 " It is more than likely. How easily I 
 might have enlightened him on that point 
 once ! But I did not feel that the time had 
 quite come for such a revelation."
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 251 
 
 " It might have been better so," said Elsie, 
 musing. 
 
 " Perhaps. Human wisdom is not infal 
 lible. He probably came to the knowledge 
 in such a way, or at such a time, that it did 
 him harm, or, at least, not the good that it 
 might have done had it come to him from 
 friendly, judicious lips. I was waiting till 
 his mind should have become somewhat more 
 mature and stable, and then should have 
 given him a part of the truth." 
 
 "It seems almost strange," said Elsie, 
 " that you should have fallen in with the 
 family here, and that they should have made 
 you acquainted with so much of their wrong 
 doing. And I almost wonder except for 
 Gilbert s sake that you take such an inter 
 est in them as you do. They are not inter 
 esting at all." 
 
 " No," replied*Robert, " I can not say they 
 are. Aside from my long knowledge of their
 
 252 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 life, so miserably misspent, there is not 
 much about them to engage my sympathy. 
 They are two poor, shattered wrecks, shift 
 less and untidy, and not over good ; though 
 he, I think, is hardly accountable for any 
 thing now, his mind is in such a wandering, 
 vacant state. I sometimes think the memory 
 of his injustice to Gilbert comes over him. 
 He talks incoherently of his brother, and of 
 a little boy sent to him to bring up ; some 
 times of a little girl. Oh, how shamefully 
 have the body and the intellect which God 
 gave that man been abused ! " 
 
 Elsie had let her work fall listlessly in her 
 lap, and was listening to her brother with 
 the utmost attention. " I am so glad, Rob 
 ert," she said as he paused, " that you are 
 able to go round among those poorer than 
 we ! If you but had money, what would you 
 not do ? " * 
 
 Robeit shook his head. " It is better as it
 
 Off, AMY RUSIITON S MISSION. 253 
 
 is, Elsie. If it had been well for me to have 
 money, I should have it. If I had it, I 
 should perhaps be content with relieving 
 mere bodily wants, and letting the wants of 
 the spirit go. To each his appointed work is 
 given, to one the gift of wealth, to another 
 of learning, but to me only the opportunity 
 of sympathizing with my degraded brother 
 hood. Men call me a poor, unfortunate little 
 fellow : they do not know that I feel very 
 fortunate and rich. I often think this mis 
 fortune was sent upon me, Elsie, that I might 
 have something in common with those I 
 would help. They do not repel me, because 
 they see that I, too, have suffered, and am 
 poor. In personal attractions they can not 
 rank me above themselves ; and so " 
 
 " O Robert ! " exclaimed Elsie, " do not 
 talk so ! " 
 
 " But dear sister," said Robert, a smile 
 lighting up his homely features, " you can
 
 254 BOUNDBROOK. 
 
 feel, as well as I, that this is all right. Why 
 should I never speak of it ? But for this 
 misfortune of mine, if we can call it such, 
 you would not be obliged to toil as you do, 
 I know. But have we not faith enough in 
 our Father s love to believe that he is pre 
 paring, yes, and does give us every step of 
 the way, a blessing through it all ? And 
 when I think but for this into what my 
 ambition might have led me, I thank God from 
 my heart that he gave me just such a poor, 
 weak, distorted body. And then you know, 
 too, Elsie," he added presently, " that, but 
 for this, I should not have felt so deep an 
 interest in Gilbert Marvin as I do." 
 
 " Nor I," said Elsie gratefully. " And we 
 have forgotten that we are to try to reach 
 him." 
 
 " We will think of it to-night," said Rob 
 ert, " and then try to act wisely. It is a case 
 that requires judgment and caution."
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 GILBERT AT STOCKWELL. 
 
 |E now go back over a few years, to the 
 time when Gilbert left Amy Rushton 
 2 at the turn of the road leading beyond 
 
 j 
 
 the gray stone cottage, taking up again his 
 journey towards the town he remembered as 
 the home of his early childhood. 
 
 It was in a spirit of boyish curiosity 
 chiefly, that he set himself, when at last he 
 had reached the town of Stockwell, to hunt 
 out the persons who might perhaps be able 
 to give him some definite information upon 
 the subject of his parentage. For a long 
 time he failed ; yet, with each failure, the 
 
 255
 
 256 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 conviction grew upon him that he was no son 
 of the so-called parents he had left in the 
 city. Why was it? He could not recall 
 any distinct memory of a time when he had 
 not called them father and mother, nothing 
 distinct at all. But as he walked by the old 
 house where he had once lived, and stretched 
 himself to rest under the shade of the alders 
 that grew by the brook, and recalled the 
 ragged little playmates who had with him 
 cast their rude fish-lines into the water, 
 there flashed over him a dim, intangible 
 memory of something he could not fairly 
 grasp. And when he remembered how, in 
 these stolen moments of sport, the shrill 
 voice of Mrs. Marvin would ring out after 
 him, and he sprang away in mortal fear of a 
 whipping, did there not come with this 
 memory the faintest recollection of some sort 
 of a life before that, of a long, dreary ride 
 across the country, when these persons were
 
 OR, AMT RUSHTON S MISSION. 257 
 
 not with him ? But he could not recall any 
 time when they commenced to be with him. 
 Between the ride and the daily living with 
 them, the hard work imposed upon him, the 
 severe whippings he received if he failed in 
 his work, Mr. Marvin s days of intoxication, 
 Mrs. Marvin s continual indolence, all of 
 which at last came to be matters of course 
 with the boy, between the ride and that 
 all was blank. And the memory of that 
 ride had never come to him until now. 
 
 When he arrived at the Flats, as that part 
 of Stockwell where he had lived had always 
 been called, he found scarcely any advance 
 in population since he had played there years 
 ago. There had been but two houses there 
 then besides the one his parents occupied ; 
 and these were the only ones that stood there 
 now. Their inmates were not the same, for 
 the poor are migratory usually ; and no one 
 
 knew any thing of the Marvins. Gilbert 
 IT
 
 258 BOUNDBROOK , 
 
 lingered about the old house a while ; and 
 then it was that more vague memories of 
 something away back of his life then came 
 to him. 
 
 He could not satisfy himself, and, leaving 
 the Flats, went up into the village street, 
 and strolled about the place a day or so ; not 
 caring to stay, neither willing to go without 
 the information he craved. And it came to 
 him on this wise. 
 
 It was nearly dark ; and he was consider 
 ing within himself what he was to do for a 
 night s lodging, when an empty team came 
 along the road, and drew up to a wa 
 tering-trough near him. Gilbert, with his 
 usual reckless inquisitiveness, inquired where 
 it was bound. 
 
 " Going to Denver," said the driver. 
 " Want a ride ? " 
 
 " How far is it ? " said Gilbert. 
 
 " Oh ! three or four miles. Jump in if 
 you re going there ! "
 
 07?, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 259 
 
 " I don t care where I go," said Gilbert, 
 climbing up to the offered seat. 
 
 The horses drank ; the driver snapped his 
 whip ; and they were off. 
 
 " Why don t you care where you go ? " 
 said the driver, interrogating Gilbert. 
 
 " Cause I don t," was the rather dogged 
 reply. " Nobody else cares, and I don t know 
 as I need to." 
 
 " Fiddlesticks ! " said his companion. 
 " You ll be all over that in the morning." 
 
 " No, I sha n t," said Gilbert. 
 
 " Oh ! then you re bound you won t ; and, 
 if you won t, you won t, that s all." 
 
 " Do you know people round here ? " said 
 Gilbert presently. 
 
 " Reckon I do. I haven t driven this team 
 all these years for nothing." 
 
 " Then, maybe you know something about 
 the Marvins that used to live on the Flats ? " 
 
 The driver faced round upon him. " Are 
 vou one of em ? "
 
 260 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 " Why, were there many ? " said Gilbert, 
 evading an answer. 
 
 " No : only Jacob Marvin and his wife lived 
 in Stockwell and a boy." 
 
 " Tlieir boy ? " said Gilbert, with heart 
 beating very fast. 
 
 " Are you the boy ? " said the driver, with 
 another inquisitive look at him. " I declare 
 you look as if you might be ! " 
 
 "Am I their boy?" said Gilbert vehe 
 mently. 
 
 " No ! " 
 
 " You know sure ? " 
 
 " Know ? don t I know ? Do you think 
 I ve driven years through these towns for 
 nothing ? Jacob Marvin was your uncle, boy, 
 your father s brother ; and ought to have 
 been a good deal better man than he was." 
 
 " Is my father alive, or my mother ? " 
 
 " No : they died some years ago." 
 
 " How came I to be with my uncle ? " said 
 Gilbert.
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 261 
 
 " Your father was dreadfully hurt once ; 
 and it was thought he could not live long. 
 He was poor enough at the first ; but the hurt 
 laid him up so long that he had to be helped 
 by the town. You were a little bit of a chap, 
 round in everybody s way ; and, very natu 
 rally, they wanted to get rid of you if they 
 could. Your mother (they said she was a 
 pretty, sweet-spoken little woman) fought 
 against it as long as she could : but all the 
 other heads together were too much for her ; 
 and at last she gave up that you might go to 
 your uncle s. Your uncle was thought to be 
 a pretty smart, well-to-do man then. I rather 
 guess he was," concluded Gilbert s informant 
 meditatively. 
 
 " Well, what else ? " said Gilbert, getting 
 impatient for the rest of the story. 
 
 " Why, you were sent off; and your father 
 lingered a long while between life and death, 
 and then, to the wonder of everybody, .began 
 to get up again : but he was lamed for life."
 
 262 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 " But why was I left at my uncle s ? " de 
 manded Gilbert. 
 
 " Why, boy ? When people ain t worth a 
 stiver, what can they do ? Here your own 
 father was living miles off o here in a poor 
 parish, and } -ou away in Stockwell ; no stages 
 nor no thin goin between the towns. Once 
 in a while your uncle or his wife I dunno 
 which did the most of the lyin would 
 send word that they were doin well by you : 
 and your father got quite resigned like to 
 it ; but your mother didn t. Poor woman ! 
 What could she do, living from hand to 
 mouth ? " 
 
 " But didn t anybody know how things 
 were going ? " 
 
 The driver laughed a dry, short laugh. 
 " What if anybody did, boy ! What do you 
 s pose anybody cared ? I tell ye, some o 
 these folks as is allers looking right over 
 the heads and the wants o the poor ll have
 
 07?, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 263 
 
 a pretty stiff reckoning to meet one o these 
 days. I don t know how much anybod} - did 
 kna \v about it, though, cause I didn t live 
 there ; but I ve heard, that, when your father 
 died (that was some years after), your mother 
 took her little girl (two years old or so), 
 and started off on foot to find you. It was a 
 hard pull ; for she wasn t over strong, and 
 there was no one to give her a lift, and well, 
 she was a most broken-hearted, and so deli 
 cate too, and all together it took her right 
 down; and, before she got there (so I ve 
 heard), she just lay down and died at a 
 farmhouse. The folks found out where she 
 was a-going, and sent the child on to your 
 Uncle Jacob." 
 
 " Is that all you know ? " said Gilbert. 
 
 " All ! Well, I should think it was a good 
 deal, my lad, for me too; for I m not 
 reckoned over ready to catch at a tale, nor 
 tell it eitfier."
 
 264 BOUNDBROOK ; 
 
 " And you don t know any more about the 
 little girl, my sister ? " 
 
 " No, nothing. Your uncle was just going 
 off to the city then." 
 
 Gilbert mused on this strange history in 
 silence. It seemed to give him some sort of 
 a place in the world ; and, unsatisfying as that 
 place was, he felt more a man while he 
 thought upon it. He was not surprised by 
 these revelations : on the contrary, he accepted 
 them with perfect coolness, and weighed this 
 and that fact with as little agitation as if it 
 had always been an every-day subject of con 
 versation. 
 
 " Well," said the driver, turning round to 
 him after a while, "you have not told me 
 how you came to be at Stockwell again ? " 
 
 Thereupon Gilbert in a rather business 
 like way, caught from the traders and mer 
 chants at the wharves, and interlarding 
 his account with a variety of slang phrases
 
 OR, AM7 RUSHTON S MISSION. 265 
 
 current among the ragged boys of his ac 
 quaintance told his story, winding up with 
 the assertion, uttered somewhat grandilo 
 quently, that he had never supposed Jacob 
 Marvin was his father. 
 
 The man looked at him rather whimsically. 
 " He was a smart, shrewd man once, boy." 
 
 Then he lighted his pipe ; and, while he in 
 dulged in a long smoke, Gilbert considered 
 what step he should take next. At first he 
 thought strongly of going back to his uncle, 
 and demanding to know where his sister was. 
 But then he reflected, and not without 
 reason, that, since they had concealed the fact 
 of her existence from him, they would be 
 unwilling to give any information in regard 
 to her, if indeed they could ; which was quite 
 unlikely. Besides, he never wanted to see 
 them again. 
 
 That night he remained with his new 
 friend, and was offered his board and clothes
 
 266 BOUNDBROOK. 
 
 to remain and work for him through the 
 summer. But this Gilbert refused. He 
 knew he should not like farm-work, and 
 added, rather loftily, that he would try for 
 something better. 
 
 " He is Jacob Marvin s own nephew sure," 
 said the kind-hearted man to his wife, to 
 whom he had repeated Gilbert s words. 
 "I m mistaken if he does not get into a worse 
 place before he does a better. That was 
 Jacob s ruin ; always thought he wasn t in a 
 place half good enough for him ; spending 
 enough for two men, and then going down 
 discouraged. Quick and shrewd as he was 
 once, just as soon as he got hold of liquor, 
 he couldn t hold out at all. Well, that s 
 the way o the world. Strange some folks 
 never know when they re well off ! "
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 GLIMPSES. 
 
 f" 
 
 GILBERT looked upon himself now as 
 having commenced his career. He 
 was a boy of considerable mental ac 
 tivity ; and, notwithstanding his utter igno 
 rance in many respects, he easily grasped 
 new ideas, and was not slow to make practi 
 cal application of them. His life at the 
 wharves had given him a certain business 
 like air, which, combined with a native dignity 
 inherited from his gentle mother, was not 
 unpleasing, and was well calculated to help 
 him win his way in the world. Robert Bern- 
 hard had so far helped him, that he could 
 
 267
 
 268 BOUNDBROOK ; 
 
 master ordinary reading, and far more in the 
 broad and wise ideas he had given him. of 
 men and things. 
 
 After Gilbert left his last companion, he 
 went to the place where his father and 
 mother had lived, and found what had 
 already been told him fully corroborated. 
 
 And now we should be glad to give his 
 course more in detail, but must be contented 
 with a few passing glimpses. 
 
 Scene First. A year has passed. During 
 this time Gilbert has been errand-boy in a 
 store, and by observation is learning the 
 ways of the world very fast. He stands now 
 at the open door of one of the best-looking 
 houses in the place, a full half-head taller 
 than when we saw him, clad in a neat work 
 ing-suit, with his cap in hand, and a little 
 money in his pocket. 
 
 " Good-by," he is saying hesitatingly ; for 
 he feels his position is rather awkward.
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 269 
 
 Going from this good home for no good rea 
 son, no wonder ! 
 
 " Gilbert," says a chubby-faced little girl, 
 inserting herself between her mother and the 
 boy, " maybe you won t have anybody to 
 show you about the reading and the sums." 
 
 " Oh ! " says Gilbert, a little offended, " do 
 you think, Fan, I can t go on with that by 
 myself ? " The child drew back, her little 
 arguments quite annihilated. 
 
 " Good-by," says Gilbert again. 
 
 " Good-by, Gilbert," returns the lady in 
 the doorway. " I hope you will find a good 
 place, and come back to see us again. Or 
 perhaps you have learned so fast that you 
 can write easily." 
 
 " Oh, yes, ma am ! I can write ; " and he 
 moves down the street. 
 
 " Mother," says the little girl, re-entering 
 the house with her mother, " he can t write, 
 not so well as I can ; and I couldn t write a
 
 270 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 letter. Frank Martin told me he used to go 
 off with the naughty boys, instead of going 
 to the writing-school, half the time." 
 
 " Hush, my child," says the mother. 
 " Frank Martin may not know this cer 
 tainly." But she heaves a sigh over her 
 work. She had learned to love and pity 
 Gilbert. 
 
 Scene Second. Three years later. 
 
 A store likewise. Gilbert is partial to 
 stores. It is nine o clock in the evening. 
 The proprietor has gone home, and the two 
 clerks are busy putting up the shutters. 
 
 " I say, Marvin," says his companion, 
 " let s have a game before we go, and stake 
 something." 
 
 " No," says Gilbert ; but it was not a 
 firm, clear, hearty " no." 
 
 " No ! " says the other in surprise, as if he 
 was not accustomed to a refusal. " I ll lay 
 a wager Ben Harvey has been preaching to 
 you."
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 271 
 
 Gilbert winces. 
 
 " I know what lie said just as well as if 
 I d been there," says the other. " Alway* 
 telling me I shall get so I can t stop any 
 time, just as if I was a baby, and didn t know 
 my own mind ! Now, Gilbert Marvin, if you 
 want to make a fool of yourself, do you go 
 over to his doctrine. Can t stop I I can stop 
 any time I want to." 
 
 " So can I," says Gilbert, straightening up. 
 " He s a fool that can t ! I can go just so 
 far, and no farther. I ain t tied to it, and 
 never shall be." 
 
 " That s a man ! " says the other. " Good 
 for you, Gilbert. Come, show the tin. We 
 don t keep our gains, you know ; just try it 
 for the fun o the thing. Ben Harvey is a 
 regular goose. Can t stop, indeed! If I 
 couldn t trust myself any better than that, 
 I d give up, and go to the asylum for 
 imbeciles ! "
 
 272 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 Gilbert laughs. " I can stop right off now 
 if I want to," says he, and laughs again, 
 more loudly. 
 
 * Why don t you ? " says something with 
 in. Ah, why don t he ? That was just the 
 way he began simple card-playing. No harm 
 in the cards, not in the least ; no harm in 
 the playing, either, only that it created an 
 unwholesome excitement, and a feverish 
 appetite for more. That was all ; but that 
 was, alas, too much ! It was more than 
 Gilbert could contend against ; and stronger 
 minds than his have yielded to just the same 
 passion. They said they could stop when 
 they chose ; but they never chose, because 
 the habit was stronger than they were. They 
 might as well have thought they could con 
 tend single-handed with an armed man. 
 
 Besides, it brought Gilbert into company 
 that was not good for him. In his inmost 
 heart he respected Benjamin Harvey above
 
 OB, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 273 
 
 anybody he knew, and had often spent an 
 evening with him in rational, healthy amuse 
 ment. Then another sort of pleasure was 
 presented to him ; and for a long time he 
 vacillated between his friend Harvey and his 
 brother-clerk, and at last went over to the 
 latter ; though he still inwardly gave Harvey 
 the first place in his esteem, and looked back 
 upon the hours spent in his genial, interesting 
 society as the pleasantest ones he had ever 
 known. And still he thinks he will stop 
 this foolish card-playing, and spend his even 
 ings as he used to with Ben. He never came 
 from there without something new to think 
 of. Benjamin had taught him to write well 
 also. He used to be up bright and early in 
 the morning, and cheerful. Now his head 
 and his eyes are heavy : he does not like to 
 rise ; and he feels cross and confused. He 
 knows it ; and he knows the reason of it. 
 Why don t he stop ? Ah, why don t he ? 
 
 18
 
 274 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 Now he and his brother-clerk are beginning 
 to stake something for fun. Why don t Gil 
 bert stop now? He says he can; but his 
 very next act is to give the lie to his words. 
 
 Scene Third. Two years later. 
 
 A town in the outskirts of the city, almost 
 a city itself for thrift and population. Here 
 we find Gilbert. It would be difficult to tell 
 what that is which he calls his business : it 
 is one thing one week, and something else 
 the next. 
 
 At this present time he sits in his own 
 room, a small chamber in a second-rate 
 boarding-house, furnished ordinarily, but 
 with here and there some little article for 
 ornament or convenience, which shows that 
 its occupant is somewhat choice in his 
 tastes, and will gratify them so far as he is 
 able. 
 
 He is alone, and meditating. A few hours 
 ago, walking along the street, he caught, as
 
 OR, AMY XUSHTON S MISSION. 275 
 
 a gay sleigh passed, a glimpse of a familiar 
 face, the face of a man rather past the mid 
 dle age ; a thoughtful, business-like face, fur 
 rowed somewhat, but pleasant, and just now 
 smiling. Gilbert recognized Mr. Rushton. 
 
 But the gentleman did not see him ; and 
 the young man goes up to his room, thinking. 
 His boyhood opens itself before him as he 
 sits and thinks, his years at the old crazy 
 tenement-house, with Jacob Marvin and his 
 wife ; his life at the wharves ; his first talk 
 with Amy Rushton, with her father, with 
 the little dwarf; then his wandering, unset 
 tled life since ; the little education he had 
 picked up ; the many whom he had called 
 his companions and his friends ; until, from 
 all of these his mind comes back, as out of a 
 dream, and fixes itself on Amy Rushton. 
 
 Her face had imaged itself in his mind as 
 she appeared to him that last morning, a 
 most childlike, innocent face, with sweet
 
 276 30UNDBROOK; 
 
 wonder and pity shining from the eyes. It 
 was all he saw. He doubts if he should 
 recognize her now, unless she could look 
 up to him with that same wondering pity. 
 
 Ah ! he was to be pitied then and now. 
 
 How many a time had he said to himself, 
 that if he could have known his sister, could 
 have had her influence to help him, he might 
 have come to be a better man ! How often 
 he had tried to fancy what she would be 
 like ! But always the innocent, pitying face 
 of Amy Rushton came before him. He felt 
 this ought not to be. There was some innate 
 nobleness of soul about him, which made 
 him feel that he had no right to compare 
 Amy Rushton with any one, much less a 
 sister of his. Yet he thought his sister even 
 might be good, and perhaps lovely. 
 
 All this while he moves restlessly about 
 his room, thinking still ; and, for the first 
 time in the last two years, good resolutions
 
 OR, AMY RUSIITON S MISSION. 277 
 
 form themselves in his mind, and ask him 
 to take them into his life henceforth and for 
 ever. And he, with the image of that little 
 child-face still fresh in his soul, listens to 
 them ; and, as he listens, he glows with a new, 
 strange fervor, a longing to be good and 
 upright and true ; till, in the excess of his 
 emotions, he rises to his full height, his chest 
 expands and heaves, his eyes are bright, and 
 a fresh glow overspreads his cheek. 
 
 " Yes, I will be a man," he says. "I will 
 find some steady business, and devote myself 
 to it. I will never enter a billiard-room 
 again, nor be lured to stake another cent at 
 a game. I will never put liquor to my lips 
 again. I will be a man ; and stay, I will sit 
 down and answer that letter of Ben s, and 
 answer it, too, in good, honest faith." So he 
 gradually calms himself a little, and gets paper 
 and pen. Ah, if those pitying eyes could 
 but look into his now !
 
 278 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 He writes till dark, and sits looking over 
 his work. A knock is heard at the door. 
 His first impulse is not to open it. 
 
 " Marvin," says a voice at the door, " are 
 you there ? " 
 
 He can not resist. He rises, and admits his 
 visitor. 
 
 " Writing a letter, as I live ! " exclaimed 
 his friend coarsely. " I got past that long 
 ago. Even my own mother don t know 
 where I am. Rather hard for the old lady ; 
 ain t it?" 
 
 Gilbert sits regarding him rather absently. 
 
 "What are you thinking about, Marvin? 
 Don t you know it s time to go ? " 
 
 " I had forgotten," stammered Gilbert. 
 " It s to-night ; isn t it ? " 
 
 " To-night ? of course, man ! Are you 
 losing your senses ? " 
 
 " I ve got a headache," said Gilbert. " Go 
 along without me."
 
 OB, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 279 
 
 The young man looked blank at first, and 
 then burst into a loud laugh. 
 
 " Now, Marvin, needn t try to fool me that 
 way. I m a leetle too sharp to be hood 
 winked, old fellow. Out of the tin, are 
 you?" 
 
 " No ! " said Gilbert, incensed at his insin 
 uation. 
 
 " Then come along : if you don t, I ll tell 
 em that s the reason, and I d like to see you 
 stand that." 
 
 Gilbert went. The next day he came 
 back to his lodgings, tore up his letter, and 
 as he did so, looking for an instant at the 
 innocent face daguerrotyped on his memory, 
 cursed himself. 
 
 Scene Fourth. Three years later. The 
 city has lured the feet of our Gilbert into its 
 haunts ; and on this night, while Amy Rush- 
 ton is quietly sleeping at the mansion in Cum- 
 mington Square, and Robert Bernhard and
 
 280 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 his sister Elsie are conversing together con 
 cerning Gilbert and the years that are past, 
 he sits at the gaming-table, flushed with 
 wine and the share he has taken in the 
 games. 
 
 It is a study, that gaming-room ; but we 
 have no space nor inclination to enter into 
 details. Nor are the faces there less a study, 
 intellect abused, innate refinement blotted 
 out by the debasing marks of crime, splendid 
 social gifts turned to the worst account : let 
 us not contemplate the scene too closely. 
 
 Opposite Gilbert sits a young man a little 
 steadier-handed than the rest. He is wary 
 and careful ; too careful to forget that his 
 chances for the game depend upon a clear 
 head. He sees with inward delight that his 
 companions are less clear than he. 
 
 The game is up ; he wins ; in the exultation 
 of victory he gossips to a companion of his late 
 gains, and of the wealthy society into which
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 281 
 
 his money lias recently given him entrance. 
 By some means Gilbert catches the name of 
 Amy Rushton. 
 
 He is on fire instantly. A gambler taking 
 upon his lips her name, the pure, innocent 
 child s ; for to him she is the little child still. 
 
 " Villain, how dare you ! " he hisses be 
 tween his set teeth. It was something grand, 
 in such a circle as that, to see the lofty scorn 
 blazing in his eyes. 
 
 " Ha, ha ! " laughed the other derisively. 
 " It looks well in you to " 
 
 His words were suddenly stopped. Gil 
 bert, with scorn rising to fierce wrath, seizes 
 a glass brimming with wine, and dashes its 
 contents full in the boaster s face.
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 i 
 
 A DISCLOSURE. 
 
 HE next evening, while Elsie and her 
 brother sat together after tea, a knock 
 ,5 was heard at the door ; an<J Robert, 
 opening it, admitted Mr. Rushton. 
 
 " Do not rise, Miss Bernhard," he said, as 
 Elsie hastened to draw up the best chair 
 their stock of furniture afforded. " Thank 
 you. You have a cosy little room here. 
 Robert, I have often found you ready to do 
 service for me : will you undertake another 
 commission ? " 
 
 " With pleasure, Mr. Rushton." 
 
 " Thank you. You will be interested 
 
 283
 
 AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 283 
 
 yourself in this, perhaps even more than I. 
 I presume you remember a lad whose 
 acquaintance you made at the wharves some 
 years since, Gilbert Marvin ? " 
 
 " Perfectly, sir." 
 
 " This lad interested me somewhat at the 
 time ; but, on account of some circumstances 
 which I will not relate now, I grew more 
 deeply interested in his history after I lost 
 sight of him. He was much like, and yet 
 very unlike, the boys we meet ordinarily. 
 This is not to our purpose to-night, however. 
 As I glanced at the paper this morning, I 
 saw that an arrest was made last night of 
 several gamblers. Speaking of it casually 
 to-day, I heard the name of Marvin as one 
 connected with it. It is a little singular that 
 I have always remembered that name : but it 
 recalled the boy instantly; and I at once 
 determined that something must be done to 
 save him, if he proved to be the same. That
 
 284 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 I have ascertained to a certainty ; and now I 
 come to you as the only person who will go 
 to him judiciously and with real friendliness. 
 He is at present in confinement for disturb 
 ing the peace." 
 
 Mr. Rushton had gone through with this 
 relation without stopping, and almost hur 
 riedly. Unconsciously, he sighed as he 
 ceased ; and Robert and Elsie both noticed 
 that he looked very grave and troubled. 
 
 " I shall be only too glad, Mr. Rushton, to 
 do what I can for Gilbert, both for the sake 
 of your interest in him and my own," an 
 swered Robert respectfully. " To-day I 
 ascertained where he was, but have not had 
 time to see him yet. I have often feared 
 this temptation for him." 
 
 " Then you know him well ? " asked Mr. 
 Rushtou. 
 
 " I knew him well for a time, sir," Robert 
 replied evasively, "enough to see, that,
 
 OB, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 285 
 
 though there was much nobleness and refine 
 ment in his nature, he was likely to be easily 
 led astray." 
 
 " Excuse me, Robert," said Mr. Rushton, 
 who was quick to notice the slight change of 
 tone ; " but I have been informed that you 
 know and have attended to the parents of 
 the young man since he left them years ago. 
 Have you any objections to telling me what 
 you know of their life and his? " 
 
 " I knew the Marvins, sir, years ago, 
 when I was a small boy, in the town of 
 Stockwell. Mr. Marvin was then a smart 
 man, respectable, and not without property 
 and some influence. The wife was possessed 
 of far less mental activity than her husband, 
 and very indolent. Mr. Marvin s great faults 
 were self-conceit and extravagance. He 
 went too far, wasted property which neither 
 he nor his wife could hope to regain, and, in 
 his discouragement, took to the use of intoxi-
 
 286 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 eating liquor. He went down as rapidly as 
 he had risen, became stupid, and finally 
 almost imbecile. In this state he has re 
 mained for years; having the appearance of 
 an old man, though really not yet sixty." 
 
 " I have heard," Mr. Rushton now said, 
 " that the boy believed these were not his 
 parents. Of course, you are informed on 
 that point." 
 
 " Yes, sir. He is not their son, but the 
 son of a brother of Mr. Marvin." 
 
 " And what were his parents ? 
 
 " Good people ; industrious but poor, his 
 father a first-class mechanic ; his mother a 
 delicate, lovely little woman, a true lady in 
 the midst of her poverty." 
 
 " Were there no other children ? " Mr. 
 Rushton seemed strangely interested in this 
 recital ; and Robert would gladly have been 
 spared his direct questioning. " I think 
 there were, sir," he replied evasively as be-
 
 OR, AMY SUSHTON S MISSION. 287 
 
 fore ; but they lived some distance from 
 Stockwell, and communication between re- 
 mole places was not as easy as now." 
 
 Mr. Rushton had listened with almost 
 suspended breath, and now he gazed into 
 Robert s face with intense eagerness. " Go 
 on, if you please, Robert. I have a glimmer 
 ing idea of the truth, and I do not shrink 
 from it. Besides, I trust you." He smiled, 
 and added, " Whatever the truth is, nothing 
 could move me in regard to Amy. She is 
 her own sweet self, and my dear child now 
 and for ever." 
 
 It was not easy for Robert to speak. Mr. 
 Rushton s nobleness and gentle speech 
 touched him deeply. 
 
 " You must tell me, Robert," quietly 
 insisted Mr. Rushton ; " and believe me when 
 I say that I trust you fully. There was 
 another child ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir."
 
 288 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 " A daughter, some years younger than 
 the boy ? " 
 
 " It is true, sir." 
 
 " And the little girl was deserted, turned 
 adrift in the streets of this city some fifteen 
 years ago, and taken home by an acquaintance 
 of mine ; and he named her Amy, because it 
 was his mother s name, and because he loved 
 her so. Tell me, is this true also? " 
 
 " I have every reason to believe it is, Mr. 
 Rushton," said Robert, regarding with moved 
 pleasure the tender emotion visible in Mr. 
 Rushton s countenance as he uttered the 
 last words. 
 
 " Who deserted the little one ? " the gen 
 tleman asked after a few minutes silence, 
 " the uncle ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " And does he know who found her ? " 
 
 " He has always known, sir." 
 
 " What led him to such an act ? "
 
 01?, AMY RUSHTON 8 MISSION. 289 
 
 " Selfishness and poverty, induced by the 
 intoxicating-cup. The boy was kept to get 
 their living for them." 
 
 " Such selfishness has had its retribution ; 
 but it brought me a joy and a blessing for 
 all my life." 
 
 " These are God s ways, Mr. Rushton," at 
 length said Robert. " They are past finding 
 out." 
 
 " Ah ! then you are one who places every 
 thing on the list of providential occurrences? " 
 
 " I certainly am, sir." 
 
 " But things strange as this happen every 
 day, only the world at large does not know 
 them." 
 
 "Very true, sir; but does not God live 
 and act every day ? " said Robert respect 
 fully. 
 
 " Ah ! " said Mr. Rushton, shaking his 
 head, " I confess myself wanting in an argu 
 ment of this kind. I thank you most sin-
 
 290 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 cerely," he continued, rising, "for your words 
 to-night. They shall never be misconstrued ; 
 for I understand perfectly your reluctance 
 in telling me what you have. I only want to 
 say, that I do not wish my daughter to know 
 this ; and, if I can read faces, the truth is as 
 safe with your sister as with you. Let me 
 hear from you in regard to the young man as 
 soon as possible. Good-evening ! " 
 
 When Robert came back from accompa 
 nying Mr. Rushton to the door, he went to 
 Elsie with a bright, relieved face. 
 
 " I am glad," said Elsie, " I am truly glad, 
 Robert. How strange that he should have 
 come to you ! And how tenderly and lov 
 ingly he speaks of Amy as his daughter ! and 
 well he may." 
 
 " How does Mrs. Rushton regard her 
 now ? " inquired Robert. 
 
 " Just the same. One would think her 
 heart must soften toward her ; for she is all
 
 OS, AMY RUSHTON *S MISSION. 291 
 
 attention, and full of unobtrusive, little loving 
 ways : but I think Mrs. Rushton is deter 
 mined to be cold and distant. She is more 
 than ever attentive to enhancing her own 
 beauty." 
 
 " Then she is still beautiful ? " 
 
 " Beautiful ? yes, in face and form. But 
 there is one beauty of face, and another of 
 soul." 
 
 "Yet both are the gift of God," said 
 Robert. " Put away your work, sister, and 
 let us have prayers now ; for I must be up 
 betimes. Where is Oliver ? " 
 
 " He went up stairs when Mr. Rushton 
 came in. I will call him." Elsie opened the 
 stairway door, and spoke. A lad of some 
 dozen years came quickly down, and took 
 his seat by the table. He was an orphan, 
 the child of their sister, who within a few 
 days had gone to join her husband in the 
 other world, and left this new care for Elsie
 
 292 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 and Robert. But to them every thing came 
 as from the Lord, and was counted a blessing. 
 Oliver had been welcomed heartily to their 
 humble home that day ; and, as Robert prayed 
 to-night, he thanked God that he had given 
 them this new trust and pleasure. Even 
 Elsie almost wondered that he could have 
 faith to pray thus, remembering that their 
 combined earnings barely sufficed to support 
 them now. But nothing ever dampened 
 Robert Bernhard s cheerful trust. " Sister 
 Elsie," he would say, " God never gives us 
 any thing that is not necessary for our disci 
 pline. Why should we not take as a bles 
 sing every thing that seems adverse, as well 
 as that which seems propitious ? Be sure 
 there s a blessing hidden somewhere. Don t 
 the most refreshing showers fall from the 
 blackest clouds ? I tell you, dear, God deals 
 often the kindliest when he seems to deal 
 the most severely. We thank God for pros-
 
 OR, AMY liUSHTON S MISSION. 293 
 
 perity, but never think to thank him for 
 trials. And what if I had always had good 
 health, and an upright frame, and " 
 
 But at this Elsie would stop the dear 
 homely little fellow with caresses and kisses ; 
 for they were very fond and foolish, this 
 brother and sister, living, next to their Lord, 
 for each other and in each other. So Robert 
 seldom got farther than this in his theorizing. 
 
 If this were a highly-wrought romance, in 
 which the chief aim was to produce startling 
 effects, this disclosure of Amy and Gilbert s 
 relationship would be better brought out at 
 the close of the volume. But we are not 
 writing of unnatural scenes or characters. 
 As Robert Bernhard said, this was one of 
 God s providences ; and such things are tak 
 ing place every day. Tracing the circum 
 stance to its source, we find it the result of 
 wrong living, extravagance, selfishness, and
 
 294 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 these, in their turn, the result of the use of the 
 inebriating glass. How many a more start 
 ling train of events has the use of that glass 
 led to ! How many a more fearful crime has 
 been committed under its influence than the 
 voluntary desertion of a frail child at night 
 in the streets of a city ! On the other hand, 
 how tender the overruling hand which di 
 rected Mr. Rushton to the little one ! How 
 watchful since of her interests ! Yet stranger 
 things are written in the book of God s prov 
 idences. He leads us by ways we know not, 
 nor ever shall know, until, in the course of 
 an endless eternity, we have had time to 
 learn something of his stupendous plans in 
 the guidance of our world. There is noth 
 ing strange to God. 
 
 Robert Bernhard had for some years been 
 a city missionary ; at first voluntarily, as he 
 could get tune, and refusing any remunera-
 
 OR, AM7 SUSHTON S MISSION. 295 
 
 tion. But as he was never strong, and grew 
 still less so, friends insisted that he should 
 give up his customary occupation, and devote 
 himself entirely to this interest. So now he 
 daily went forth on his rounds with happy 
 heart, and not unfrequently singing as he 
 went. How many he helped toward a better 
 life both for this world and the next ! 
 
 " Poor hunchback ! " the world said, look 
 ing, on him with pity. " Happy fellow ! " he 
 said, looking within. 
 
 One of earth s noblemen," said those who 
 knew and loved him. 
 
 " Dear child of God, and winner of souls," 
 said the angels who saw the work he did.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 HELP FOR THE EBBING. 
 
 [OBERT went early the next morning 
 to Gilbert s place of confinement. 
 Would he see him ? he queried with 
 himself. Gilbert s moody nature as a boy 
 was so marked a feature of his character, 
 that it was hardly to be supposed he had 
 outgrown it. The attendant who accom 
 panied Robert to his room looked in, and 
 asked if he would see a friend. 
 
 " What name ? " he inquired coldly. 
 " Robert Bernhard." 
 
 " Don t know him," was the first reply ; 
 then a sudden, " Yes, I do.
 
 297 
 
 " He says you will remember him. He 
 wishes to see you very much. 
 
 " I will see him, then." Robert stepped 
 inside, and was alone with the young man. 
 Gilbert gave him a hasty glance, and turned 
 away. " Go away ! " he said : " you come to 
 condemn me." 
 
 " No, no ! " cried Robert. " I come to talk 
 hopefully with you. For what should I, a 
 fellow-mortal in danger of falling, condemn 
 you?" 
 
 " I have fallen so low ! " the young man 
 replied despondently. " But you know noth 
 ing about it, such temptation and provoca 
 tion ! " 
 
 " Perhaps not exactly such ; but I have 
 seen much of temptation and sin. And I 
 have seen worse temptations resisted, and 
 worse sins repented of." 
 
 " But not by such as I. I tell you I can 
 not help it. I have no will of my own. I
 
 298 BOVNDBROOK; 
 
 have been ashamed of gambling a thousand 
 tunes. I have cursed myself. It has cursed 
 me. But I was dragged on in spite of my 
 self ; and then, when they had me in their 
 power, how they gloated over me ! " 
 
 " Do not think of that now," said Robert 
 cheerily. " I came to tell you there is a 
 better way of life, if you will but choose it. 
 I would not force myself upon you ; but I 
 want to be your friend. You have other 
 friends. I will free you from this place, and 
 you shall come to my home." 
 
 " How came you to think of me ? " inquired 
 Gilbert. " I have thought of you often, but 
 never dreamed of seeing you again." 
 
 " I have watched for you every day," the 
 other replied. " When I have seen before 
 me a youth whose figure reminded me of you, 
 I said to myself, Perhaps it is Gilbert Mar 
 vin. When I have been to the old place at 
 the wharves, I have looked to see you start
 
 OB, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 299 
 
 up before me at any moment. When I read 
 of arrests, I have looked for your name in 
 the list." 
 
 " Then you judged me well, it seems," said 
 Gilbert bitterly. 
 
 " I judged you by myself, by human 
 nature in general, and somewhat by what I 
 knew of you. I know too well to what dan 
 ger youth are exposed; and God knows I 
 pity rather than condemn them. So many 
 forms of vice are made attractive ! 
 
 " But I give you my word, Mr. Bernhard," 
 said Gilbert, " that I have yielded to no sins 
 other than drinking and gambling. Yes ; I 
 do swear. But I am not a liar : I scorn the 
 meanness of it. I am no thief, though I am 
 down far enough. I am not such as some." 
 
 " Then God be thanked," replied Robert, 
 " that so much of manliness is yours. My 
 dear young friend," he added warmly, laying 
 his hand upon his shoulder, " when you look
 
 300 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 at me, remember I have my temptations. I 
 am weak, as you acknowledge yourself to be. 
 My spirit is proud, and my inclinations are 
 far more towards the bad than the good ; 
 and, but for the grace of God, I should fall 
 every day." 
 
 Gilbert looked earnestly at him. The 
 homely face was so lighted with enthusiasm, 
 and so radiant with the soul s consciousness 
 of resting in God, that it was fairly beautiful. 
 But he sighed heavily the next moment. 
 " I ve no faith in those things," he said. 
 
 " But you may have," Robert cried. " Oh I 
 there is no one so fallen, but God can lift him 
 up." 
 
 "I know nothing about those things," 
 repeated Gilbert. " I feel as if I were under 
 a curse. Go away from me ! Do not talk to 
 me any more." 
 
 " Gilbert, said Robert after a while, " was 
 there ever any thing or anybody that drew 
 you toward good ? "
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 301 
 
 Gilbert started to his feet. " You are 
 mocking me ! " he cried almost passionately. 
 " She was so lovely, and so full of pity for 
 me ! and only a child. I only thought of 
 her as that, as if she had been my little 
 sister. And I could have killed him for 
 speaking her name in such a place ! " He 
 strode up and down the little apartment in 
 deep agitation. Robert did not know what 
 this meant, and sat silent. Gilbert came to 
 him after a while, " What made you ask that 
 question ? " 
 
 " I asked it without any such motive as 
 you impute to me. I do not even understand 
 to what you alluded just now." 
 
 " You do not ? I fancied every one must 
 know it. The villain ! How dared he speak 
 of her ? " And again Gilbert s wrath rose, 
 and the same noble scorn that had blazed in 
 his eyes the night before blazed out again. 
 After a while he grew calm, and came and 
 sat down by Robert.
 
 302 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 " When I was a boy, I saw her at the 
 wharves with her father, and afterwards in 
 the country. I was as innocent then of great 
 sin as she. And I once even called her by 
 name in my boyish freedom : I am not fit to 
 do it now. I have learned since then that I 
 had a little sister once ; and thinking what 
 she might have been to me, and that she 
 might perhaps have been as innocent and 
 lovely as this little child, how could I but 
 resent that dastard s breathing her name, 
 even though it were with respect? The 
 sweet little child ! Such tender, pitying eyes 
 she had ! Perhaps, if I could have known 
 my sister, I might have been a better man." 
 He relapsed into despondency again. 
 
 " Gilbert," asked Robert, " do I understand 
 you to speak of Mr. Rushton s little girl ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " As you saw her years ago ? " 
 
 " Yes."
 
 OS, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 303 
 
 " And when this person in the gaming- 
 room mentioned her name, you resented it, 
 and that led to the quarrel. Will he pursue 
 it?" 
 
 " No : he dares not. But the noise 
 brought in the police ; and we were arrested 
 at once." 
 
 " Will you tell me what he was saying ? " 
 
 " Boasting of the high society into which 
 his money had given him admission." 
 
 " And that was all ? " 
 
 " Was not that enough ? What right had 
 he to be in good society ? How could he 
 look such purity in the face ? " 
 
 " Will you tell me his name ? " 
 
 " I do not wish to give it." 
 
 Robert rose to go, and gave Gilbert his 
 hand. " May I see you to-morrow ? " he 
 asked. 
 
 " Yes, indeed," said Gilbert eagerly. " But 
 stay, do you know Mr. Rushton ? "
 
 304 SOUNDBROOK; 
 
 " I have had occasion to do some service 
 for him, and have known him in that way," 
 Robert replied indifferently. 
 
 " Do you suppose he remembers me ? " 
 
 " I think it more than likely." 
 
 " You asked me," said Gilbert, " if any 
 one ever led me toward good. I was so full 
 of the memory of the little child, that I did 
 not think of any others ; but there were two 
 whom you know, Mr. Rushton and yourself, 
 who led me to look higher than I had ever 
 before. But you see it was of no use, no 
 use," his old despondent mood returning. 
 
 " But I am here to tell you that it may be 
 of use, and all other providences that God 
 has thrown in your way. Be a man, Gilbert 
 Marvin. You do not know what you are 
 born to. You have sinned deeply, it is true ; 
 but Christ comes to them who have sinned 
 just like you. Sometimes I think his infinite 
 love yearns most tenderly over such. To
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 305 
 
 them who have sinned much shall much be 
 forgiven. Go to him for forgiveness and 
 light. Repent, and let these be your last 
 wilful sins against him." 
 
 " Repent," said Gilbert bitterly : " I tell 
 you I do not understand such talk. I tell 
 you I have no will to resist temptation. 
 When I crave excitement, I am utterly un 
 able to keep away from it." 
 
 " Then, knowing your own weakness," 
 returned Robert, " turn and lay hold on God s 
 strength. May he show you that there is no 
 other refuge ! " With a warm clasp of the 
 hand he left him. 
 
 As soon as Robert had leisure, he went to 
 Mr. Rushton. The gentleman was in his 
 library alone when he was announced, and 
 directed the servant to conduct him thither. 
 Accordingly Robert presently entered. Mr. 
 Rushton drew up a chair for him near his 
 
 own. 
 
 ao
 
 306 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 "What news do you bring ? " he asked. 
 
 " I have seen the young man, and had con 
 siderable conversation with him." 
 
 " How is he ? Disposed to do better ? " 
 
 * I can hardly say, sir. He is easily dis 
 couraged, and seems greatly depressed under 
 the idea that he can never resist temptation." 
 
 " A natural result of his present circum 
 stances, perhaps." 
 
 " It is his disposition to be variable in his 
 moods," observed Robert. " But this con 
 sciousness of weakness is a good sign, I 
 think." 
 
 " How ? Why ? " inquired Mr. Rushton. 
 
 " Because, sir, when we come to feel our 
 own weakness, we are driven to the true 
 source of strength." 
 
 " According to your belief, Robert." 
 
 "According, Mr. Rushton," said Robert 
 respectfully, " to what is written in God s 
 word, and in the experience of humanity
 
 OR, AMY KUSIITON S MISSION". 307 
 
 everywhere. No one so sure to fall as he 
 that boasts of his own strength, and no one 
 so sure to overcome as he who leaves off 
 clinging to self." 
 
 " Well, well," said Mr. Rushton : " we are 
 not here to discuss such points. Do you 
 think it best for me to see the young man ? 
 I should like to find out his capabilities, and 
 start him anew if he is worth the trial." 
 
 " So far as I am able to judge, his capabili 
 ties are fair; and, although fluctuating and 
 moody, there is something noble in his 
 nature. Do you know what led to the dis 
 turbance in the first place ? " 
 
 " At the gambling-hall ? No, I do not." 
 
 Robert gave him the account as he had 
 gathered it from Gilbert. Mr. Rushton was 
 deeply agitated. " I remember," said he 
 presently, " there was a stranger here a short 
 time ago, not by special invitation. He 
 belongs to a good family, has fine gifts and
 
 308 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 pleasing manners. Oh, what graces hide the 
 worst faults ! Gilbert intimated that he 
 spoke only boastfully of the society here ? " 
 
 " Yes. He could not bear that, knowing 
 what he was, and remembering the little child 
 who had talked so sweetly to him, and think 
 ing, too, that he had a little sister once." 
 
 " It was noble in him truly. It can not be 
 that he has any suspicions of the truth ? " 
 
 " I do not think he has the slightest." 
 
 Mr. Rushton rose, went to his safe, and 
 took out a roll of bank-notes. 
 
 "Take this, Robert," he said: "pay the 
 young man s fine, and keep the rest for what 
 ever emergency may arise. Could you ac 
 commodate him at your house for a day or 
 so, till he is settled in some employment ? I 
 have a place in view that I think would be 
 just the thing for him." 
 
 " Gladly, sir," Robert replied heartily. " I 
 thank you for him and myself with all my 
 heart."
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 309 
 
 " I think it will not be best for me to see 
 him," Mr. Rushton added as Robert moved 
 toward the door ; " but I should like to 
 have reports of his progress from time to 
 time." 
 
 " I will keep you informed, sir." 
 What Mr. Rushton was thinking of is not 
 clear, as he went up to his own room, and, 
 sitting down in the solitude and stillness, 
 sighed heavily. Why was he so interested 
 in this young man ? Was it for Amy s sake ? 
 What difference could it ever make to her ? 
 He felt oppressed and burdened. After a 
 while he went to his desk, and took out 
 the childish journal, written almost nine 
 years ago. Those artless recitals of Amy s 
 thoughts, the simple, tender story of 
 Maggie Burns ! As often as Mr. Rushton 
 had read this, it came to him with a new 
 freshness every time. " There is no sham 
 there," he said to himself, " no exaggeration,
 
 310 BOUNDBKOOK; 
 
 as in tales that older minds repeat. It is all 
 true." 
 
 He closed the book, put it away, went 
 down to the library, and rang for the servant 
 to call Amy to him. She came directly. 
 
 Her sweet face was as like what it was 
 when a child as the maturer face could be, 
 the same soft, bright eyes, the same pure 
 brow, and wistful, grave lips. Her dress, 
 though in elegance every way suited to Cum- 
 mington Square, as Mrs. Rushton had de 
 termined it should be, was characteristic of 
 her modest self, and worn always with a 
 gentle dignity with which even Mrs. Rushton 
 could not find fault. 
 
 Mr. Rushton advanced to meet her, and led 
 her to her favorite chair, in the deep recess 
 of the window ; but, instead of taking it, 
 she quickly wheeled one to the side of it for 
 him. Having playfully forced him into it, 
 she took her own, and, leaning on the broad,
 
 OS, AMY BUSHTON S MISSION. 311 
 
 arms of his, said brightly, " Now, what is it, 
 father ? What shall I do for you ? " 
 
 " Nothing, dear child. I was lonely, or 
 fancied I was, and wanted to see you." 
 
 " You are not well, father." 
 
 " Perfectly. But I am growing old, 
 Amy." 
 
 " I do not perceive it," she said, with one 
 of her grave, wistful looks at him. 
 
 " But, when I compare myself with young 
 men, they seem very young indeed to me, 
 as you still seem a child." 
 
 " I am glad I do, father." 
 
 " And this makes me feel old. What I 
 was thinking of just then was this. You re 
 member a boy whom we saw a few times at 
 the wharves, and who afterward wandered 
 out to Boundbrook. You wanted me to find 
 him if I could." 
 
 " I remember, father." 
 
 " But think, if we should find Jiira now, -
 
 312 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 he would be grown up, a young man. It is 
 nine years ago." 
 
 " Yes ; and I was a little girl, running 
 races with the lambs. The boy s conduct 
 impressed me so strangely, I am afraid he 
 did not do as well as he might. Do you 
 know any thing about him ? " Her seri 
 ously-intent eyes were fixed on his. 
 " I have heard of him, Amy." 
 " What have you heard, father ? " 
 " He is under arrest in this city for being 
 found in a .gambling-saloon, and making a 
 disturbance there." 
 
 " O father ! " Amy sat still and white. 
 " I had never thought of any thing so bad as 
 that." 
 
 " Yet consider, dear child, that the imme 
 diate cause of the disturbance was his noble 
 indignation at hearing a name that he re 
 spected spoken in a room like that," said Mr. 
 Rushton, with a coolness which he did not at
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 313 
 
 all feel. " And granting that this in itself 
 was commendable, and that there are some 
 good traits of character about him; that, 
 though easily led astray, he is not basely 
 mean and low, would you think it best to 
 try to reclaim him ? " 
 
 " I think it would be very wrong not to, 
 dear father." 
 
 " Do you want your father to have any 
 thing to do with it, Amy ? " 
 
 " Why not, if you could reach him. Oh, 
 it would toe a good work to help him to live 
 rightly ! " she cried with enthusiasm. 
 "What will you do, father?" 
 
 " Get him out of confinement, and per 
 suade my friend Irvin to take him into his 
 employ as porter, perhaps, till we see what 
 he is. If he does well, advance him." 
 
 " And then what ? " 
 
 " Can we do more ? " 
 
 She looked at him with such wistful
 
 314 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 tenderness. " Who will help him toward a 
 better inward life, as well as outward, dear 
 father ? " 
 
 He smiled at her. " My dear child, will 
 not this be doing it ? " 
 
 " It will only be a step toward it, only a 
 foundation for higher principles to be built 
 on. Who will help him toward God ? " 
 
 " As to that, daughter, since you think it 
 so important, probably Robert Bernhard will 
 do it. Robert is a brother of your mother s 
 seamstress, good and true as the sun. He is 
 one of the city missionaries ; and I rather 
 think," he added, smiling again, " that he is 
 just one of your class of Christians. You 
 are all alike, I find." 
 
 His tone was just a little bantering ; but 
 Amy scarcely gave it a thought. She was so 
 thankful that Robert Bernhard would help 
 this young man ; for she knew him somewhat, 
 having seen him once among some poor peo 
 ple she had found out.
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 315 
 
 " I am so glad, father, that there is some 
 one to help him ! " was her joyful response. 
 
 " I wonder why you have always felt such 
 an interest in that strange boy," Mr. Rushton 
 said musingly. 
 
 " I have wondered myself, father. But I 
 think God sometimes gives us this special 
 interest in people that we may do something 
 for them." 
 
 " But there is no way that you can do any 
 thing for him, even now." 
 
 " Yes, there is, dear father, and always has 
 been, one way." 
 
 He read what she meant in her expressive 
 eyes. 
 
 " If I have prayed, believing, father, this 
 is one answer ; and God knows how to give 
 more." 
 
 " O Amy, Amy ! " exclaimed Mr. Rushton, 
 " you go so far beyond me ! I do not com 
 prehend you at all when you talk in this 
 way."
 
 316 
 
 BOUNDBROOK. 
 
 The tears sprang to her eyes. " Dear 
 father, when God has taught you what he 
 has me, you will." 
 
 Mr. Rushton started up, and, taking Amy 
 with him, went to one of the library-shelves, 
 and began showing her some new books he 
 had sent home that day.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 THE HAPPY HOME. 
 
 ^ILBERT was released, and for a few- 
 days Robert welcomed him to his 
 humble home. It was an increase of 
 Elsie s cares that she hardly knew how to 
 meet : but little Oliver was as handy as a girl, 
 from being so long accustomed to help his 
 feeble mother; and nothing pleased him 
 better than to help about the domestic affairs 
 of the house, when out of school, which 
 he had commenced to attend regularly. 
 Gilbert seemed truly thankful for his release, 
 and went to work at the place of which Mr. 
 Rushton had spoken to Amy, full of good 
 
 817
 
 318 BOUNDBROOR; 
 
 resolutions. Still he did not know what 
 friend had helped him thus far, both Mr. 
 Rushton and Robert believing it best, for the 
 present, to keep him ignorant of it. 
 
 It was not practicable that he should 
 remain with these friends long ; and Robert 
 kindly told him so one evening after he had 
 come home from his work. It depressed him 
 greatly. " I shall go down again," said he. 
 
 " I would be glad to have you remain with 
 us, Gilbert, very glad," Robert replied 
 warmly. " But it seems quite impossible 
 with our scanty room." 
 
 " I shall not be able to get on at all," was 
 the young man s gloomy reply. 
 
 " Nonsense," said Robert cheerily. " We 
 don t allow the blues in this house, Gilbert. 
 When I found you at the wharves years ago, 
 you had just been having a somewhat des 
 perate fit of them. Don t you remember 
 I tried to laugh them out of you ?
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 319 
 
 " God has given us too many good things 
 to be heavy-hearted. We insult his wonder 
 ful kindness every time we are gloomy and 
 discouraged. Listen now : hear Elsie and 
 Oliver singing in the next room ! " 
 
 The singers were so near, that they could 
 easily catch the words : 
 
 " Awake, my soul, in joyful lays, 
 And sing thy great Redeemer s praise ! 
 He justly claims a song from me : 
 His loving-kindness, oh, how free ! 
 Loving-kindness, loving-kindness, 
 His loving-kindness, oh, how free ! " 
 
 " My dear fellow," said Robert, " if I 
 could hear you sing those words with as 
 much feeling as Elsie does ! Why is she so 
 bright and cheerful? No one but myself 
 knows how unsatisfied her tastes are with 
 her present life : we are poor, and I am 
 greatly dependent on her. Every day she
 
 320 BOUNDBROOK ; 
 
 toils wearily with her needle ; and yet she is 
 always just as you have seen her, brave 
 and happy, and always so kind and loving 
 to me." 
 
 "You make me ashamed of myself, Mr. 
 Bernhard," said Gilbert in the pause that 
 followed. " I will not be so despondent. 
 But I wish I had a sister to make just such 
 a happy little home for me." 
 
 " There is always happiness where God is 
 in the heart, Gilbert. You know your own 
 weakness ; you acknowledge that you can not 
 keep from falling. Put yourself in his hands 
 now and for ever, body and soul, your 
 time, strength, and talents." 
 
 Gilbert shook his head. " I was never 
 taught those things." 
 
 " No teaching is necessary," was Robert s 
 reply, " except that you should be taught by 
 the Spirit of God. When you learn that you 
 are poor and miserable and blind and naked 
 in God s sight, and that he only can make
 
 OR, AMY EUSHTON S MISSION. 321 
 
 you rich and happy, and open your eyes, and 
 clothe you, you will go to him. That is the 
 work begun. When he has done all this 
 for you, and kept you by his strength from 
 falling, purified you and sanctified you, and 
 taken you to his home, where sin can get no 
 power over you, then the work is done. 
 And just this is the history of many a wan 
 derer in a very few words : They were 
 weak ; they sinned ; they fell ; they saw 
 their hearts as they were ; they repented, 
 and went to God: he received them, kept 
 them, glorified them." 
 
 " But all this is nothing to me," said Gil 
 bert. 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " It s only for those who have a mind for 
 such things." 
 
 " No one has a mind for them until they 
 have seen their need of them. And who 
 can dare say he has no need ? " 
 21
 
 322 BOUNDBROOK ; 
 
 Again the voices floated in from the room 
 where the singers were at work : . 
 
 " He saw me ruined by the fall, 
 Yet loved me, notwithstanding all ; 
 He saved me from my lost estate : 
 His loving-kindness, oh, how great 1 
 Loving-kindness, loving-kindness, 
 His loving-kindness, oh, how great 1 " 
 
 Gilbert was silent ; and Robert turned his 
 attention to the book he had all the while 
 held in his hand. Presently Elsie and Oliver 
 came in, alert and happy, but shaking with 
 cold. 
 
 " Poor children ! " cried Robert, " how I 
 wish we could afford two fires this cold 
 weather!" 
 
 " Save your pity, brother," cried Elsie 
 merrily : " we shall soon be warm. A new 
 book, Robert ? " 
 
 " Yes: one that was lent me to-day. Shall 
 I read aloud ? "
 
 07?, AMY RUSIITON S MISSION 323 
 
 " Do, please, if the others would like it," 
 seating herself to sew ; while Oliver chose a 
 cricket, and began to pare some apples he 
 had brought in. 
 
 " We are all ready, aren t we ? Oliver, 
 my child, it is customary, I believe, to let 
 apple-parings fall into the pan, not on the 
 floor." 
 
 Oliver took his aunt s merry suggestion 
 with a smile, and arranged his work accord 
 ingly- 
 
 " Now we are ready, again, Robert." 
 Robert returned to the book he had been 
 examining, and read for some time with a 
 fluency and taste which reminded Gilbert 
 strongly of his friend Ben Harvey, who had 
 read to him many an evening. 
 
 The book proved to be not only entertain 
 ing, but instructive, being a history of some 
 scientific operations which had created no 
 small stir in the educated world ; and Rob-
 
 324 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 ert s audience listened with eyes and ears 
 intent. 
 
 " Now, Uncle Robert," questioned Oliver, 
 as he closed the book when the hands of the 
 clock approached nine, " do you understand 
 all that ; I mean every bit of it ? " 
 
 " Not every bit, Oliver, I must confess. I 
 always give such things a second reading. For 
 me, the better way to master such books is to 
 get the general outline first, and then re-read 
 and digest the matter slowly. At all events, 
 we ought not to take in too much at once. 
 If you swallow every thing at the first start, 
 you will be likely to retain very little. Your 
 ideas will be so diffuse and scattered, that 
 really they will amount to almost none at all. 
 So, Oliver, aim always at conciseness in 
 whatever you do, reading or work. Get 
 every thing into as small a compass as 
 possible." 
 
 " As with your apple-work to-night," ob-
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 325 
 
 served Elsie. " Keep within the limits of the 
 pan I gave you, and you are all right; but 
 scatter your materials around you, and you 
 are afloat in a sea of apple-parings," &c. 
 
 " I haven t dropped any more, have I ? " 
 cried the boy in mock dismay, following the 
 direction of his aunt s eyes. " There, that is 
 just like me ! I was so interested in that 
 book, aunt. But I won t do it any more." 
 
 " Let the apples go now, Oliver, and we 
 will thank God for his loving-kindness to 
 day." Robert laid by his book as he spoke, 
 and drew the large Bible towards him. " Let 
 us sing the song you sang to-night, 
 
 * Awake my soul, " &c. 
 
 How pleasantly all these circumstances 
 were blended with Gilbert s dreams that 
 night ! the cosy room with its happy com 
 pany, the singing, the reading, and the 
 prayer that was like a song of praise. In
 
 326 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 the midst of it all, he wandered over the 
 wharves again ; went to his old home where 
 his self-styled parents were, and, alas ! when 
 at the height of his delight in getting away 
 from them, sinned and fell. Then there was 
 for a moment the image of a little child pre 
 sented to him ; and her pure, pitying eyes 
 made him cower in shame and despair. He 
 woke to be thankful that he had not this to 
 live through in reality. 
 
 Robert found a room the next day for Gil 
 bert not far from their own home, and gave 
 him a hearty invitation to spend his evenings 
 with them. " You shall be perfectly free to 
 come in and go out without restraint," said 
 lie, " as if you were one of us ; as indeed you 
 are. Make our little home yours, Gilbert." 
 
 " I thank you, Mr. Bernhard ; indeed I 
 do," returned Gilbert with real gratitude. 
 " I will try to be a man." 
 
 " God will help you," was the warm re-
 
 OT?, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 327 
 
 sponse. " There is one subject, Gilbert, 
 which we have left undiscussed as yet. I 
 refer to your parents." 
 
 " But they were not my parents," inter 
 posed Gilbert. 
 
 " You ascertained that without danger of 
 mistake ? " 
 
 " Yes, fully." 
 
 " Were they relatives ? or how came it to 
 pass that you were with them ? " 
 
 " They were relatives. Mr. Marvin I 
 found to be my uncle, and that I had had a 
 sister; that my father was a good, indus 
 trious man, and my mother pretty and lady 
 like. Once in a while, it seems to me I can 
 almost remember her ; but I was too young 
 to be able to recall any thing distinctly." 
 
 " And what do you suppose has become of 
 Mr. and Mrs. Marvin?" 
 
 Gilbert looked away from Robert. "I 
 can not guess. Probably they are not 
 living."
 
 328 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 " They are." 
 
 " Do you know them ? " with a start of 
 surprise. 
 
 "My daily labor among the poor often 
 leads me to them. They are in the same old 
 place." 
 
 " Is it possible, Mr. Bernhard ? " 
 
 " It is just so. Will you see them ? " 
 
 " If I do, they will expect me to do for 
 them ; and I can not." His tone said, I will 
 not. " Are they sick ? " 
 
 " Mr. Marvin is very feeble. He will prob 
 ably not live long. Mrs. Marvin is much the 
 same." 
 
 "Have you known them long? Ever 
 since you became city missionary ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " How did you know they were my rela 
 tives ? Did they ever speak of me ?" 
 
 "Yes, often. And I think they really 
 missed you ; not your help only, but your 
 company."
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 329 
 
 Gilbert s lip curled. 
 
 " Do not think of them so, Gilbert," said 
 his companion. " With all their injustice to 
 you, they were sometimes kind, as kind, 
 perhaps, as was in their nature to be. And 
 you. forgot they were feeble in mind and 
 body both." 
 
 " Feeble, yes. What mind had they ? They 
 nearly drove me crazy with their simple 
 talk." 
 
 "They have been attended to carefully 
 since I knew them," Robert resumed pres 
 ently ; " and, if you would see them, there 
 would be no necessity for your helping them, 
 unless you chose. I think it would relieve 
 their minds of a burden in regard to you, if 
 they could see you alive and well." 
 
 " Thank you," returned the young man 
 somewhat coldly. " I think I will not see 
 them at present. You may tell them but 
 no, you need not mention me to them at all."
 
 330 BOUNDBROOK. 
 
 " Very well," said Robert. " I will remem 
 ber your wishes ; though I very much wish I 
 might be allowed to say you are well. Good- 
 morning. Remember and meet with us this 
 evening." 
 
 They went in opposite directions. " He 
 will never see them till he has a Christian 
 feeling toward them," said the little hunch 
 back to himself as he passed slowly down the 
 street. " Robert Bernhard, God has put into 
 your hands a work to do for that young man. 
 Bring him in, with your Lord s help."
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 IN THE HIGHWAYS. 
 
 RS. RUSHTON was in her own elegant 
 room one morning, at work, as she 
 expressed it. Sometimes this meant 
 trifling with a dainty bit of embroidery, 
 sometimes tracing a pattern from " Godey," 
 sometimes weaving with her white jeweled 
 fingers soft threads of zephyr into intri 
 cate designs. This morning it was the lat 
 ter. 
 
 There was a knock at the door. " Shall I 
 come in, mother ? " said Amy s voice. 
 
 "Yes, if you like." As the young girl 
 appeared, she exclaimed, " Amy Rushton, is 
 
 331
 
 332 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 it possible you are dressed to go out in that 
 style?" 
 
 " Yes, mother ! " said Amy, amused at the 
 lady s look of dismay. She was looking par 
 ticularly bright this morning. " Why not ? " 
 
 " You will disgrace us, child. One would 
 think your father wasn t worth more than 
 Mr. Burton, over the way, to see you out 
 walking with a dress on you ve worn twice 
 in the street already." 
 
 Amy smiled, remembering that Mr. Burton 
 was accounted very wealthy even by the 
 wealthiest. And then returned to the sub 
 ject in hand. 
 
 " I think it looks very nicely, mother. It 
 is just suitable for my walk this morning." 
 
 "Indeed! are you going down to the 
 wharves, as you used to ? " 
 
 " Oh, no ! But I mean to persuade father 
 to take me there with him some day. But 
 now, mother," she was standing by Mrs.
 
 OR, AMY KUSHTON S MISSION, 333 
 
 Rushton s chair, and, as she spoke, leaned 
 down and lightly kissed her, " I want to beg 
 something of you." 
 
 " Beg ? I should think you needed to by 
 your dress. Do go and put on your silk 
 suit." 
 
 " No, excuse me, mamma," said Amy laugh 
 ingly, " I am dressed well enough. My dress 
 is as nice as if I had not worn it twice ; and 
 are not my hat and boots and gloves and col 
 lar all perfectly neat, and in good taste ? " 
 
 She was looking so bright and rosy in her 
 pretty attire, elegant enough for any lady, 
 that even Mrs. Rushton could only say that 
 she was all right, except that the silk suit 
 would look so much more like Cummington 
 Square. 
 
 " Well, mamma, Cummington Square may 
 close its shutters, and not look at me, while I 
 pass out of it," was her gay response. 
 " Now, will you grant the request I have to 
 make."
 
 334 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 " Well, what is it, child ? Theis, I was so 
 disturbed about your dress, I ve made a mis 
 take in my work ! I m so easily overcome 
 by the slightest failure in such matters. 
 Father used to say my taste was exquisite. 
 Poor, dear father, he was always right in his 
 judgment of me." 
 
 " Let me put your work right, mother," 
 said Amy, as soon as she could get in a word. 
 
 " No, child, no ! What was it you 
 wanted?" 
 
 " Some of that delicate jelly Maria has : 
 you know no one else can make it so nicely. 
 And some white lilies from the conservatory, 
 and Hamburgs that father brought home last." 
 
 " Bless me, girl ! What do you come to me 
 for such things for ? Do get whatever yr u 
 want. Who s sick ? " 
 
 " Mary Clay s sister Esther." 
 
 " So you are going to see her ? " 
 
 " Yes, mother. I thank you very much.
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 335 
 
 Shall I always take what I want without 
 troubling you?" 
 
 " Certainly. Father always said he was 
 so glad I wasn t stingy about such things. 
 Seems to me you must have naturally rather 
 a parsimonious spirit, Amy Rushton, or else 
 those country friends of yours taught it to 
 
 you." 
 
 A deep flush mounted to Amy s brow, 
 otherwise she was outwardly unmoved. 
 
 " What a color you have, Amy ! " said Mrs. 
 Rushton, glancing up at her. " Don t you 
 use any of that alabaster that I gave you for 
 your complexion ? It really needs toning 
 down." 
 
 " No, mamma," said Amy, trying not to 
 look all she felt. "I like my rosy cheeks 
 best." 
 
 " They are not at all the thing. But there, 
 go away, or I shall be making more mistakes. 
 Oh ! I wish I were not so sensitive in matters 
 of taste."
 
 336 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 Amy bade her good-morning, and, relieved 
 to find herself out of such an atmosphere, 
 actually ran all the way down to the kitchen, 
 surprising the worthy who presided there 
 with her request for jelly. " Only one glass 
 of it, Mrs. Gay, please. I will take it up 
 stairs." 
 
 " You ll not carry it yourself, miss," said 
 the woman. " Where is Ellen ? " 
 
 " She is busy, Mrs. Gay. It will not hurt 
 me to take it, indeed ! Put it into a nice 
 little basket, if you please. There, that will 
 do exactly. Thank you ! " And away she 
 ran. 
 
 " Dear little heart ! " said the housekeeper 
 to one of the servants who happened to 
 be her own daughter as Amy s light figure 
 disappeared. " There s a sweet lady without 
 any aristocratic notions. How Mr. Rushton 
 has kept it from her so long that she isn t his 
 daughter, I can t imagine. T would near
 
 07?, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 337 
 
 kill her to know it, she s so fond of him. I 
 wouldn t be the means of her finding it 
 out for any thing. And mind you, Sarah, 
 keep your own counsel : none of the servants 
 know it but us." 
 
 " Indeed I will, mother." 
 
 Amy called Ellen Spencer, who had lived 
 in the family ever since she came from 
 Boundbrook, and bade her make ready for a 
 walk. Then she went to the conservatory, 
 gathered her lilies, and cut a few other 
 newly-opened flowers and buds. The grapes 
 and jelly she gave into Ellen s care. Ellen 
 was a girl of some fifteen years, belonging 
 to the family which Mr. Ellery had once 
 consigned to Amy s watch and care at 
 Boundbrook. She was a slender child, pale 
 and spiritless at home ; though here she had 
 brightened into something like activity. 
 Shy to the last extreme, she had apparently 
 been the last of the family to attach herself 
 
 23
 
 338 BOUNDBROOE; 
 
 to Amy ; but, the barrier of reserve once 
 broken through, she gave her whole heart, 
 and clung to her with the utmost devotion. 
 
 " Miss Amy," said Ellen as they left the 
 house (the children had always called her 
 Miss Amy at Boundbrook), " this makes me 
 think of the times when you used to come 
 to our house. You know, when I was sick, 
 how you brought me jelly. Are we going to 
 see some one that is sick ? " 
 
 " Yes, dear, a girl about your age ; and I 
 think she is somewhat as you were, and yet 
 not as you were, either." 
 
 " How, Miss Amy ? " 
 
 " You shall see her with me, and perhaps 
 you can tell." 
 
 It was a large, handsome residence at 
 which they stopped ; and a neat servant-girl 
 answered the bell. Conducting them up 
 stairs, she halted at a half-closed door, and 
 announced, " Miss Rushton."
 
 OK, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 339 
 
 A young lady, with refined face and 
 manners, but, to Ellen s partial eye, not 
 nearly so lovely as Miss Amy, welcomed 
 them warmly, and led the way through the 
 room to another and darker apartment. A 
 young girl so wasted and white that Ellen 
 started as her eyes fell on her sat, propped 
 up by pillows, in the bed ; her dark eyes 
 lighting up with joy as Amy took her thin 
 hand, and kissed her. 
 
 " Don t try to speak now, dear," said Amy, 
 caressing the little outstretched hand. " I 
 can guess what you want to say. You shall 
 talk to me soon." She addressed herself to 
 her friend Mary for a moment, and then 
 turned to the sick girl. 
 
 " "Well, dear Esther, now tell me," said 
 she, smiling. 
 
 " I am very much better," said the girl 
 slowly. " The doctor says I ve only to get 
 strong now."
 
 340 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 " That is good news, my child. And I 
 suppose you ve been thanking the dear Lord 
 ever since." 
 
 " Yes," whispered Esther, "and thanking 
 him more because he sent you here to teach 
 me the way to him." 
 
 " The Lord knows how to do his work, 
 dear child ; if not by one, then by another. 
 Do not think of me." 
 
 The sick girl was silent, looking happily 
 at Amy with her grateful, dark eyes. Amy 
 requested Ellen to bring the basket ; and, 
 taking from it a bunch of delicate white 
 grapes, she laid them, with a beautiful 
 creamy lily, in Esther s hand. " The lily is 
 a rare one, from our conservatory," she 
 said. " Is it not superb ? " 
 
 ** It is perfect ! " Esther s eyes were 
 glowing. " Dear Miss Rushton, you know 
 just what to bring me always." 
 
 " When I gathered it," said Amy, " I
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 341 
 
 thought of the rose of Sharon and the 
 lily of the vale. But you must not talk 
 more." She smoothed the pillows Esther 
 had disarranged in her excitement, and then 
 she bent down to her. 
 
 " You haven t given me my verse to-day," 
 whispered Esther. 
 
 " Unto you which believe He is pre 
 cious, " was Amy s soft answer. " Good- 
 by for to-day." And she turned and went 
 away, followed by Mary. 
 
 With what a wistful look she met her friend 
 Mary s eyes as they were parting at the 
 door ! Ellen did not understand it ; but Mary 
 both saw and comprehended. 
 
 " I could bear it better to have her talk to 
 me," she said to herself as she went back to 
 her sick sister ; " but, when she looks at me 
 so, I can not stand it." She went to the 
 bedside after a few minutes conflict with 
 herself. Esther looked up with a radiant
 
 342 BOUNDBROOK. 
 
 smile. " I was never so happy in all my life, 
 Mary." 
 
 Mary knew it. " I will see if this contin 
 ues when she is well," said she to herself 
 again. But when Esther grew better, and 
 every one marked the change, from a fretful 
 child to the patient one, from the listless girl 
 to the happy Christian, even then doubting 
 Mary said, " Let us wait a little longer still, 
 till she is well enough to go about, and see 
 if this holds out." And all this while, Amy 
 said little on the one point uppermost in both 
 minds ; but her tender, wistful eyes spoke 
 most effectively all that was in her yearning 
 heart.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 IN THE BY-WAYS. 
 
 RE we going home now?" Ellen 
 asked as they moved down the 
 street. 
 
 Not yet, Ellen : I have two more calls to 
 make. This time we will go to the poor 
 people." 
 
 " Why, Miss Amy, do you go about here 
 just as you used to at Boundbrook ? " 
 
 " Sometimes, Ellen," said Amy, smiling at 
 the surprise in Ellen s face. " Why do you 
 wonder, little girl ? " 
 
 " Because because you are so rich 
 here. But then I don t wonder, when I 
 
 843
 
 344 BOUNDBROOK ; 
 
 think how you liked to do it there. I wish 
 you d let me go with you before, Miss Amy." 
 
 " Do you ? then you shall go often. But 
 the long walks I take sometimes would be 
 too much for you." 
 
 " No, they wouldn t ; not with you, Miss 
 Amy. And I m getting real strong," cried 
 Ellen with more enthusiasm than Amy had 
 ever seen in her manner. 
 
 " This is the way," said Amy, as a few 
 turns brought them to a narrow, dingy street, 
 down which they went a few steps, and 
 turned into a doorway. 
 
 There was a stairway to climb, and another 
 and another, till Ellen wondered if the peo 
 ple lived on the roof, they seemed to be 
 going so far up. But just here Amy stopped, 
 and, opening a door a little way, said, "Shall 
 I come in, Mrs. Fanning ? " 
 
 " Come in ! " said a voice from the farther 
 corner of the room.
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 345 
 
 They went in, and found a man occupying 
 an arm-chair, with one bandaged limb sup 
 ported on a stool. " My wife is out, miss," 
 he said in a respectful, pleased tone. 
 " Would you find a chair for the lady, little 
 girl? I can not rise to do it." 
 
 Ellen found a chair ; and, having satisfied 
 herself that it was perfectly clean, placed it 
 for Amy, and withdrew to the window at 
 the other end of the apartment. 
 
 Every thing was neat there, though very 
 poor ; and on the mantle was a bunch of 
 hot-house violets, such as boys sell in the 
 streets in the late winter season. Amy s 
 eyes caught sight of them also, and delighted 
 the man with her pleased exclamation, " Oh, 
 how beautiful ! " 
 
 "They re very pretty, miss," said he. 
 " My little Will, who sells papers in the 
 street, brought them home to me last night. 
 But they re not sweet, like the violets in
 
 346 BOUNDBROOE; 
 
 England, that I used to pluck when I was a 
 boy. Ah, those were rare days ! " 
 
 " How is the broken limb to-day, Mr. 
 Fanning?" inquired Amy, taking, as she 
 spoke, a glass from the table, and placing 
 her remaining flowers in it. 
 
 " Better, thank you, miss ; because the 
 day is bright. When the sun shines, I am 
 quite free from pain." 
 
 " Yes. God s sunshine seems made on 
 purpose for our health as well as pleasure ; 
 doesn t it? " observed Amy. " And here s a 
 blossom that looks as if all the glory of the 
 sunshine were gathered into it. Did you ever 
 see this in England, Mr. Fanning ? " 
 
 " I have seen it there only in greenhouses, 
 miss, and rare at that. Being a gardener, I 
 know nearly all plants common in the country. 
 Oh ! if my poor leg will but knit soon, and 
 be strong, so that I can be at work at my 
 trade. I can never be happy but among my
 
 OJ?, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 347 
 
 flowers. And to think this should be my 
 lot as soon as I landed here; and the poor 
 mother and son have to work so hard for me ! 
 It is very trying." 
 
 " He leads us by ways we know not, and 
 by paths that we have not known, " said 
 Amy trustfully. 
 
 " You re too good, dear miss, to come and 
 do for us who are so much beneath you," 
 was the man s remark in reply. " I count it 
 a great honor to welcome you here." 
 
 " Don t, Mr. Fanning," said Amy humbly, 
 and rising to go. " I count it a blessing to 
 be able to do a little in this way. You might 
 have a wonderful Guest here with you all 
 the time, Mr. Fanning, if you would only 
 open your hearts to let him in." 
 
 "Ah! " said the man evasively. 
 
 " Just as you open your blinds to let in 
 the sunshine," Amy added ; " and then 
 every thing would seem to work together
 
 348 BOUNDBROOK ; 
 
 for good to you. I must go now ; " and she 
 took Ms poor hard hand. " Won t you let 
 in this wonderful Guest who is waiting, Mr. 
 Fanning ? " She did not expect an answer ; 
 and he gave none, but only repeated, " You 
 are too good." 
 
 Amy and Ellen went out. 
 
 " Miss Amy," said Ellen, " I wish you 
 wouldn t go to these places alone." 
 
 " I never have, dear, not here. I have a 
 friend a young lady, who is away now 
 who comes with me." 
 
 " Because," continued Ellen, " I remember 
 Mr. Ellery was never willing you should go 
 to our part of Boundbrook alone ; and I m 
 sure it is just as bad here. Where shall we 
 go next, Miss Amy?" she inquired, after 
 they had walked quite a distance in silence. 
 
 " This way, Ellen." Amy turned up a 
 small court, a nice, respectable-looking 
 place, and paused at a door on which was 
 painted " Orphans Home."
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 349 
 
 "Well, what now?" thought Ellen, as 
 they passed in without ringing. " Is Miss 
 Amy going to adopt these orphans? " 
 
 For, as they stood inside the door, a troop 
 of small children boys and girls, very 
 neatly but poorly clothed rushed upon 
 her, crying joyously, " O Miss Rushton, 
 Miss Rushton ! " She let them kiss her, 
 every one, and returned their kisses gayly. 
 
 " How can she ? " thought Ellen, con 
 trasting Amy s attire which looked very 
 elegant here with the scanty calico and 
 woolen dresses. " They have nice-looking 
 faces, though. All orphans, I suppose. Poor 
 little things ! That is worse than to be as I 
 have been." 
 
 While these reflections were occupying 
 Ellen s mind, Amy had gently disengaged 
 herself from the children ; and now, beckon 
 ing Ellen to follow, went up stairs, and 
 through a long entry, to the "hospital." 
 Ellen knew this by the name on the door.
 
 350 BOUNDBROOE; 
 
 " There are so many children here," said 
 Amy, before gcing in, "that there are often 
 several sick; but there is but one ill now, 
 a dear little boy six or seven years old. I 
 have come to see him to-day." 
 
 The room was a long one, extending the 
 width of the house, from one court to 
 another, with wide windows at each end. 
 At the sides, with their heads to the wall, 
 were several white-dressed beds, large enough 
 for one person, with sufficient space between 
 their feet for one to pass comfortably. Most 
 of these beds were unoccupied ; but down at 
 the farther end, where the sunshine lay the 
 brightest, was one over which the nurse was 
 bending. 
 
 " Here is Miss Rushton, Johnny," she 
 said, looking up as Amy and Ellen advanced. 
 " Do you want to see her ? " 
 
 The child made no reply, except that a 
 sudden glow came into his little face, and he
 
 OR, AMY RUSUTON S MISSION. 351 
 
 lifted up his hands to her. The nurse gave 
 Amy a low chair, wrapped a warm blanket 
 about Johnny, and, taking him up, put him 
 in her arms. For a few minutes he nestled 
 down close to her as if that were happiness 
 enough, looking up into her dear, loving 
 face with unnaturally bright eyes. 
 
 " Dear little Johnny," said Amy, kissing 
 him softly. " Is he worse to-day, nurse ? " 
 
 " No, I think not. He has been asking 
 for you this morning." 
 
 " Bring me the grapes and jelly, Ellen. 
 There, Johnny ! " She held up a small clus 
 ter between him and the sunlight. The 
 little boy looked at it with a childish smile 
 of pleasure, and up at her, but nestled against 
 her again with a sigh of satisfaction. 
 
 " You will find some jelly for him in the 
 basket, nurse," said Amy. " What do you 
 want me to do for you, Johnny ? " 
 
 " Sing, please," he whispered.
 
 352 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 " Yes, darling." She went through a 
 simple little hymn ; and his eyes watched 
 every movement of her lips till it was 
 finished. " What now, Johnny? " 
 
 " Story, please." She thought a min 
 ute (for Johnny had drawn on her stock 
 of stories for some weeks), and began, 
 " There was a man once, Johnny, who 
 thought he would like to make children 
 happy, little children, like you, whose 
 dear fathers and mothers had died. He 
 often saw them running about in the streets, 
 with nobody at home to see that they were 
 kept nice and clean ; no one to dress them 
 for school, and comb their hair ; no one to 
 care if they hurt themselves, and came in 
 crying ; no one to take them up in their 
 arms, and kiss them, and talk to them, and 
 sing little songs that they liked to hear ; and 
 no one to tell them about the dear Christ 
 who used to bless the little ones.
 
 OK, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 353 
 
 " This good man said, I will make a 
 home for these children. So he had a 
 nice place made ready for them ; and one 
 after another canie to live in it. Many 
 of them went out, after a while, to nice 
 homes that he found for them. One little 
 child was lonesome and shy, and seemed to 
 want to sit by himself, and watch the other 
 children, instead of playing with them. I 
 think it was because he was not well ; for 
 after a while he grew weak and sick : now 
 he likes best to lie in the bed, and some 
 times have a friend take him in her arms, 
 as I do Johnny." 
 
 " Why," whispered Johnny, " it is me ! " 
 
 " So it is, Johnny," pressing her lips 
 softly to his brow. " Are you too tired to 
 hear more ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Johnny says, sometimes his dear mamma 
 used to lie on her bed so, before she went
 
 354 BCFNDBROOK; 
 
 away. Does that make him patient to lie 
 here, thinking of mother ? " 
 
 He smiled up at her feebly. " Shall I go 
 away too ? " 
 
 " I do not know. If God wants Johnny, 
 he will take him." 
 
 "Shall I be afraid?" 
 
 " No, I think not. Who will take care 
 of Johnny, if he goes ? " 
 
 " Jesus," he whispered. 
 
 " Then you need not be afraid, darling. I 
 think, perhaps, if you should go soon, it will 
 be some time when you go to sleep. You 
 will only shut your eyes, and wake up with 
 the dear Saviour and mamma." 
 
 " I wish I could find you there too." 
 
 " I shall come," she replied, her tears 
 falling. " Now I will sing once more, and 
 then put Johnny in bed till I see him again." 
 
 She sang to him till ke was asleep, and, 
 after seeing his pleasant little face quietly 
 resting on the pillow, went away with Ellen.
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 355 
 
 Ellen scarcely spoke till they reached 
 home. As she took Amy s hat to lay away, 
 Amy asked, kindly drawing the girl to her 
 side, " Do you want to go again, Ellen ? " 
 
 " I thought I did at first, Miss Amy ; but 
 it was so sad to see Johnny." Her lips quiv 
 ered. " How can you go where everybody 
 is sick ? " she asked. 
 
 Amy did not answer immediately. 
 
 " Isn t it ever hard for you, Miss Amy ? " 
 
 " It has been often, Ellen, very hard. But 
 I want to be about my Master s work while 
 I can. He went among the poor and the 
 friendless : why should not the least of his 
 children follow where he led the way ? You 
 are beginning to know enough of the Chris 
 tian life to know that we all have a mission, 
 dear child." 
 
 " Yes, Miss Amy. But it does not seem 
 as if this was yours," she added respect- 
 fully.
 
 356 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 " Why not, Ellen ? Can you find any 
 good reason ? " 
 
 Ellen shook her head slowly. " No, Miss 
 Amy, I can t. But you will always take me 
 to Mr. Fanning s when you haven t any one 
 else to go with you ; won t you ? " 
 
 Amy said " yes," to her great relief, for 
 the girl seemed to feel that she must watch 
 over her safety, and left her. 
 
 " If I could only be such a Christian as 
 Miss Amy ! " said Ellen with a sigh as she 
 went about her duties. " I suppose I ve a 
 mission to do something. I can help her 
 about hers till I find out what it is. Now I 
 understand what she does with the dresses 
 she s done wearing except what she gives 
 me. They go to that Orphans Home. I 
 wonder if she wouldn t let me make some of 
 them over for them. I m glad I am begin 
 ning to sew nicely." 
 
 She stood with her work suspended in her
 
 OK, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 357 
 
 hands, so absoi bed was she in thought, when 
 Amy entered for something. With more 
 enthusiasm than Amy had ever seen in her, 
 she unfolded her plans, and asked, " Did I 
 _guess right about the dresses ? " 
 
 " Yes, child," said Amy, amused at her 
 rapid speech. " And we will go to work 
 directly to make one ; for they are always in 
 need there. But, Ellen, have you thought in 
 what respect Esther is not as you were when 
 you were sick ? " 
 
 " Yes m," said Ellen, " I know. I was so 
 peevish and cross ! " 
 
 " Could you bear a sickness like that better 
 now, Ellen?" 
 
 "I think I could, Miss Amy," EUen 
 answered humbly and gratefully, " since 
 you taught me how to put all my crossness 
 and fretfulness into Christ s hands." 
 
 " Not since /taught you, dear. Only the 
 Spirit of God can teach us that fully."
 
 358 
 
 BOUNDBROOK. 
 
 "I know, Miss Amy," was Ellen s earnest 
 reply ; " but it came through you." 
 
 " He works by whom he will, dear child ; 
 and he will work by you if you lovingly 
 accept your mission, which is just like mine, 
 * Do what you can. "
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 TEMPTATION AND PALL. 
 
 [NE evening Gilbert did not come as 
 usual to spend the hours with the 
 Bernhards. It was but a step across 
 the street to the house where he lodged ; and, 
 after waiting till half-past eight, Robert went 
 over and sought him at his room. It was 
 locked, and he was not there. 
 
 With some apprehension they awaited his 
 coming the evening following ; but no Gil 
 bert came. In the morning Robert went to 
 the store where he worked. He was out, but 
 expected in directly. 
 
 It was not long before he came in ; and not 
 
 350
 
 360 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 noticing Robert, and finding nothing to do 
 just at that moment, sat down upon a bale 
 of goods. Robert went to him, and laid his 
 hand upon his shoulder. The young man 
 started, his eyes went down, and a painful 
 flush overspread his countenance. 
 
 " We have missed you, Gilbert," said his 
 friend. 
 
 Gilbert had no answer. 
 
 But Robert had not come to have a con 
 versation with him ; and after adding a few 
 kind words, and expressing the hope that he 
 would not remain away again, would have 
 gone away ; but Gilbert detained him. 
 
 " I may as well out with it," said he des 
 perately. " Some fellows got hold of me. 
 They found my room, and made me go out to 
 drink." 
 
 " O Gilbert! " said Robert ; and his face as 
 well as his words showed how deeply he was 
 pained.
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 361 
 
 "Don t speak that way," said Gilbert. 
 " Hate me as I hate myself ; despise me ; 
 curse rne ! " 
 
 " Stop ! " said Robert authoritatively: " do 
 not dare to talk so ! You are made in God s 
 image, and have no more right to curse your 
 self than I have to do it." 
 
 "I am not fit to breathe," returned 
 Gilbert. 
 
 " Granting that to be true," answered his 
 friend, " yet God gives you breath. Why is 
 it?" 
 
 The young man divined his meaning, but 
 gave no answer. 
 
 " He will regard the prayer of the desti 
 tute, and not despise their prayers, " quoted 
 Robert presently. " There is encouragement 
 for you from his own word of truth. What 
 did he say to those who came to him for 
 healing? Go, and sin no more. Oh, my 
 dear Gilbert ! " continued he, " you have not
 
 362 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 gone to him. You are trying to take steps 
 toward good all in your own strength. You 
 are weak and discouraged ; and so you will be 
 till you lay hold on One that is mighty." 
 
 Gilbert sat with his face in his hands, j 
 
 "How did these fellows find you out?" 
 asked Robert after a while. 
 
 " They followed me to my room. I could 
 not help myself." 
 
 " Did you face round upon them manfully, 
 and tell them you would not yield ? " 
 
 " No : I meant to ; but they were too much 
 for me." 
 
 " You did not mean it," said Robert em 
 phatically. " And this has gone on these last 
 two evenings, has it ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Gilbert," said Robert suddenly, " why 
 can t you be spared from the store a short 
 time? You are not busy here to-day, I 
 see."
 
 - 
 
 AMY" KUSHTOX S MISSION*. See page 33.
 
 OR, AMY RUSIITOX S MISSION. 363 
 
 " I could leave for an hour, I think." 
 " Go and ask leave, and come with me." 
 He did so, and the two left the store. By 
 quick walking, and riding in a street-car, they 
 soon arrived in the vicinity of a building 
 which Gilbert well knew was the state- 
 prison. Here Robert and his young com 
 panion easily obtained entrance, and were 
 accompanied to a cell in the rear of the build 
 ing by the turnkey, who admitted them, 
 and left them for a quarter of an hour to 
 visit the inmate. He was a man of some 
 thirty years of age, wasted and hollow-eyed. 
 His figure, as he stood by the little barred 
 window from which he had been looking, 
 seemed to Gilbert to have once been noble 
 and muscular. He looked up indifferently 
 as his visitors entered ; but his countenance 
 changed on seeing who Robert was, and he 
 came forward quickly. 
 
 " How do you do to-day, my friend ? "
 
 364 BOUNDBPOOK; 
 
 Robert gave him his hand as he spoke. The 
 man grasped it eagerly. 
 
 " Well," he replied in a low, weak voice ; 
 " as well as I can be. You did not forget I 
 wanted you to come again ? " 
 
 " I did not forget," Robert replied. " I 
 have thought too much about you for that." 
 
 The man gave a deep sigh, which was 
 almost like a groan, and sat down as if 
 weary, on his iron bedstead, motioning 
 Robert and Gilbert to do the same. In a 
 moment he looked up, and asked, referring to 
 Gilbert, " Who is this ? " 
 
 " A young friend of mine," replied Robert, 
 "whom I take the liberty to bring. He has 
 known something of temptation, and finds it 
 hard to resist." 
 
 " Young man," said the prisoner, and the 
 expression of his hollow eyes was fearfully 
 sad, " stop yielding to temptation just where 
 you are to-day. No matter how far you
 
 OR, AMY BUSHTON S MISSION. 365 
 
 have gone, you are still free. Stop ! Oh, if 
 I had done so when I might ! I allowed my 
 self to fall into the pit. My own fault ; all 
 my own ! " 
 
 He shook his head, muttering, " My own 
 fault ; my own fault ! " 
 
 " My friend," said Robert cheerfully, 
 " what can I do for you to-day ?. Do you 
 see any more clearly the way to God through 
 Christ ? Do you find any light ? " 
 
 " Sometimes," was the reply, " a little, as I 
 get now and then a bit of sunlight through 
 that window. But my heart seems all barred 
 up like that. And the light goes so 
 quickly ! " 
 
 " But His love can melt away all the bars 
 round your heart, my friend. Only keep 
 praying for it, and expecting it. He will 
 send light as fast as you are prepared for it. 
 Now shall I give you some of his words to 
 think of, just a verse here and there ? "
 
 366 BOUNDBROOE; 
 
 Robert took a little worn Bible from his 
 pocket, and read, 
 
 " Hear my prayer, O Lord ! and let my 
 cry come before thee. 
 
 " Hide not thy face from me in the day 
 when I am in trouble ; incline thine ear unto 
 me ; in the day when I call, answer me 
 speedily. 
 
 " That was David s prayer of complaint ; 
 now hear his song of thankfulness after 
 wards. 
 
 " Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget 
 not all his benefits ; who forgiveth all thine 
 iniquities ; who healeth all thy diseases. 
 
 * 
 
 " The Lord is merciful and gracious, slow 
 to anger, and plenteous in mercy. 
 
 
 
 " He hath not dealt with us after our sins, 
 nor rewarded us according to our iniqui 
 ties.
 
 OB, AMY PUSHTON S MISSION. 367 
 
 " There is enough for you to remember, 
 my friend," said Robert, closing the book : 
 " David s complaint in trouble, and his recog 
 nition of God s loving-kindness. Press for 
 ward to the light ; for, as surely as you find a 
 little, you shall find more. Christ came to 
 proclaim liberty to the captives, and the 
 opening of the prison to them that are 
 bound. " 
 
 The turnkey opened the door ; and with a 
 kind good-by they were gone, and the pris 
 oner was left to his solitary meditations. 
 
 " What is that man confined for ? " asked 
 Gilbert after they had gone beyond the 
 limits of the prison. 
 
 " For complicity in a murder. He has been 
 there two years; and though I have occa 
 sionally visited him, and at his own request, 
 he is just beginning to be willing to listen to 
 me. A few weeks since, he confessed to his 
 share in the crime."
 
 368 EOUNDBROOE; 
 
 " What led to the murder ? ". 
 
 "I do not know all the circumstances ; 
 but, primarily, what led to it was the use of 
 strong drink." 
 
 Gilbert asked no more ; and in not many 
 minutes after they halted at the store. 
 
 " May I come to see you this evening ? " 
 said Robert. " I have a story to tell you." 
 
 " Yes, do come, Mr. Bernhard." 
 
 Evening came, and found the two sitting 
 together in Gilbert s little plainly-furnished 
 room. " Let us proceed to my story at 
 once," Robert said after they had talked a 
 minute upon other matters. 
 
 " When I was quite a lad in years, though 
 not in size, I lived in the town of Stock- 
 well." 
 
 " You did ? " said Gilbert, starting. " Why, 
 are you the one?" 
 
 " Yes ; and I remember a man there pos 
 sessed of some property, in a fair business,
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 369 
 
 and altogether well started in the world. I 
 will call him Clark. He was married, and 
 with his wife lived in a pretty house in the 
 village. Gradually his business began to 
 increase. As his means grew greater, he 
 began to make foolish expenditures. Now 
 it was some dainty for the table, now an 
 article of costly furniture, now some bit of 
 jewelry for himself or his wife, then a car 
 riage and horses. But his business, as yet, 
 did not warrant any such outlay. His 
 wife was indolent and childish. She wasted 
 much that was brought into the house, and 
 squandered money foolishly in other ways. 
 The upshot of it all was, that the man failed. 
 His creditors seized upon all there was to be 
 had, and despondency seized upon him. 
 
 u Now was the time when he ought to have 
 rallied, and might have. He gave himself up, 
 saying, I can t : I ve no power to rise. 
 His wife settled down into a stupid, apathetic 
 
 24
 
 370 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 state, and made the worst of the little home 
 they had taken refuge in. He fell into bad 
 company, and took to drink to drown the 
 thought of his troubles. From their small 
 home, they went to one still less inviting, and 
 then to another, till they lived in a miserable 
 old tenement out from the village. There 
 were those who would have helped them ; but 
 they were proud in all their poverty, and re 
 fused to rouse themselves to any purpose. 
 
 " Just before Mr. Clark s loss of property, 
 there had been sent to him a young son of 
 his brother, who was poor, and, having re 
 ceived some severe injury, was unable to 
 provide for his family. This boy I often saw, 
 though many years younger than myself, and 
 knew that he received much ill treatment at 
 the hands of his uncle and aunt. He proved 
 himself to be of a noble disposition in one 
 thing which won my regard for him ; and I 
 have tried to keep trace of him ever since. 
 Shall I tell you what it was ? "
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 371 
 
 Gilbert was sitting with his elbow on the 
 table, shading his face with one hand from the 
 rays of the lamp. " If you please, Mr. 
 Bernhard," he said quietly. 
 
 "I was a frail little hunchback then," 
 resumed Robert, " as now. Going one day 
 by Mr. Clark s house, a pack of rude boys 
 came upon me, and tormented me in every 
 way their evil minds could suggest. At 
 length, seeing a donkey feeding at a little 
 distance, they sent one of their number for 
 it, and were about to put me on its back. 
 In fact, they did succeed so far that the 
 donkey kicked, and I was thrown from the 
 boys arms to the ground. This young 
 nephew of Mr. Clark s, though a small boy, 
 and years younger than I, had stood by, but 
 had not joined with the boys in their rude 
 ness. Seeing me fall, he ran, and, pushing 
 away the boys with all his strength, he 
 picked me up, and carried me away from
 
 372 4 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 them. I was just bewildered enough not to 
 be able to resist, but soon came to myself. 
 I shall never forget the brave indignation 
 with which that young lad defended me, and 
 kept his position against the rude fellows 
 who gathered about. My feeling of grati 
 tude to him for the stand he took in my 
 behalf has always been mingled with an 
 appreciation of the noble-heartedness of the 
 act. 
 
 " The injury I had received in my weak 
 state was sufficient to bring on a severe ill 
 ness, during which time I lost sight of the 
 boj r , and his uncle and aunt, or, as they 
 styled themselves, his parents. When I re 
 covered, they were gone. 
 
 " Afterward, in my walks about this city, 
 I came upon them in a miserable tenement- 
 house in one of the worst streets of the 
 city. They were worse off than ever. The 
 man was partially helpless from a stroke of
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 373 
 
 paralysis, and growing imbecile. The wife 
 was much as ever. But it was the use of 
 intoxicating liquor that had led to this abject 
 state." 
 
 " But what about the boy ? " asked Gil 
 bert, still with face averted. 
 
 " The boy I found they were abusing 
 somewhat ; and gradually I persuaded them 
 to leave off drinking, in a measure, and to 
 treat him better. At my request they kept 
 the fact of my having found them unknown 
 to him, as I wished to make his acquaintance 
 myself in another way. 
 
 " One day I found him at the wharves. 
 I intended, after seeing him a few times," 
 Robert continued, " to acquaint him some 
 what with his true history ; but he suddenly 
 slipped away from me, and I saw no more of 
 him till a few weeks since." 
 
 " I have returned your kind care very 
 basely," said Gilbert now, in a rather broken
 
 374 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 voico, which he strove to steady. " It is 
 strange you have taken any interest in me at 
 all. But you know nothing of the little girl, 
 my sister ? " 
 
 " I told you I lost sight of you all during 
 the time I was sick, which was several 
 months ; and even you do not remember 
 any thing connected with her, you say." 
 
 " No, nothing. I remember they did not 
 bring me with them to the city at first ; but I 
 was sent along afterwards. But, Mr. Bern- 
 hard, surely you know. Have they never 
 spoken of her ? " 
 
 " Be that as .it may," returned Robert 
 evasively, "it is possible you have a sister 
 somewhere. Make yourself worthy of her, 
 whether the time shall ever come for you to 
 know her or not. If she should prove to be 
 pure-hearted and lovely, be such a man as 
 she will be proud to own as her brother." 
 
 " Mr. Bernhard," said Gilbert, " I thank
 
 OB, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 375 
 
 you for this story. It s my nature, like my 
 uncle s, I know, to be extravagant, and easily 
 set up, and discouraged as well. I have 
 despised him ; and yet I am as bad myself." 
 He paused a minute. "-You know some 
 thing of my sister, Mr. Bernhard, I see you 
 do ; but I will ask no questions. I do not 
 want to know her as I am. Perhaps I may 
 come to be more worthy of her."
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 TEMPTATION AND VICTORY. 
 
 GAIN Gilbert yielded to the tempta 
 tion of the cup, and was even enticed, 
 under its influence, to the very en 
 trance of a gambling-hall ; but here his soul 
 revolted as the memory of that last night he 
 had spent in such a place came over him. 
 Breaking away from his evil companions, he 
 turned with disgust from the door, and this 
 time, in spite of their jeers and scornful 
 laughter, left them, and went as rapidly as 
 his unsteady feet would carry him toward 
 home. 
 
 In his bewilderment, he found himself at 
 
 376
 
 AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 377 
 
 Robert Bernlmrd s door, instead of his own ; 
 and, before he could get away, Robert came 
 out. He saw at once the true state of the 
 case, took Gilbert s arm, and led him to his 
 own room. There he saw him established 
 quietly, turned the key upon him, and left. 
 But little sleep visited his eyes that night. 
 
 Early in the morning, before the city was 
 astir, he went again to Gilbert s room, found 
 him awake, and sitting dejectedly by the table. 
 The young man s face was averted, so that 
 Robert could not see its expression ; nor did 
 he care to. He felt that now was no time 
 for talk. Gilbert must be thrown upon him 
 self and the mercy of God. 
 
 Laying the key upon the table, he made a 
 casual remark, kindly but indifferently, and 
 turned towards the door. What an agony 
 of despair surged in Gilbert s breast at the 
 moment ! His only friend, the only one who 
 had tried tc keep him from these dreadful
 
 378 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 ways, was going, going to leave him to him 
 self ! He staggered to his feet, for he was 
 weak and worn with excitement and liquor, 
 and stopped Robert at the doorway. The 
 misery in his look was enough to make one 
 weep. 
 
 " Don t go," he said pleadingly. " Have a 
 little pity for me ! " 
 
 " You have no pity on yourself," said 
 Robert almost sternly. 
 
 " No, I shall go crazy. I am not fit to live. 
 It is dreadful. What shall I do ? " 
 
 Robert led him, unresisting, back to his 
 chair. " I can do nothing for you," he said 
 sadly, " except to continue to pray to my God 
 for you." 
 
 " Then pray," said Gilbert, " pray now, 
 here ! " 
 
 Robert stood looking at him a moment. 
 Even to his patient, forgiving spirit it 
 seemed almost hopeless.
 
 OR, AMY RUSUTON S MISSION. 379 
 
 " Gilbert," said he, " do you honestly wish 
 it?" 
 
 " I do," said the young man humbly. 
 
 Robert knelt. In a few words he placed his 
 erring brother in the hands of his gracious 
 Father. And, as he prayed, faith grew 
 strong in his own soul. He rose with an in 
 ward confidence that his prayer had reached 
 the Father s ear. 
 
 Gilbert sat with his head bowed on the 
 table ; and, as he did not speak, Robert went 
 out and left him thus. 
 
 He came that evening to the Bernhards , 
 but was grave, and his words were few ; the 
 next evening and the next also, silent and 
 grave as before, and evidently inwardly lean 
 ing toward Robert and Elsie as if he had 
 been a child. His eyes followed them about 
 the room ; and it seemed to give him enough 
 of satisfaction if he could hear them speak. 
 But no one uttered a word on the one sub 
 ject which occupied them all.
 
 380 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 So he came the fourth evening, but, in 
 stead of remaining, begged Robert to go over 
 to his room with him. Robert went ; and in 
 the stillness of Gilbert s little room they sat 
 down together, while Robert waited for Gil 
 bert to speak. It was evidently not easy ; 
 but the words came at last. 
 
 " Mr. Bernhard," said he, "I have not 
 asked you to come here to talk to me, or to 
 talk to you, either. You ve been so patient 
 with me, and tried so hard to keep me 
 straight, that I feel ashamed to look you in 
 the face ; and yet I can not bear to have you 
 away from me." His voice faltered along 
 the words. 
 
 If the tears stood in his eyes and Robert s, 
 it was no discredit to their manliness. But 
 Robert felt it was no time for this kind of 
 talk. 
 
 "Gilbert," said he," you have come -to 
 the point where you see your need. You
 
 OR, AMY RUSIITON S MISSION. -381 
 
 know you can not help yourself ; and yet you 
 weakly turn to me, a fellow-sinner like 
 yourself. Is it for this I have tried to help 
 you, that you might make me your refuge ? 
 God pity your weakness ! Will you insult 
 him still further ? " 
 
 The words in themselves sounded harsh ; 
 but Robert Bernhard s heart held the sweet 
 pity and forbearance of a woman, as well as 
 the firmness of a man. 
 
 " I did not come here to talk, either," he 
 resumed after a long silence. " It would be 
 of no use. Many words now would b 
 wasted between us. You stand at a fearfully 
 momentous point. Unless you cast from you 
 this weak leaning on others to keep you, 
 unless you seek God s help for yourself " 
 
 "O Mr. Bernhard!" said Gilbert, "I 
 have come to feel all that. I know where I 
 stand. But I cling to you because you are 
 near to God. I know what I ought to do.
 
 382 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 If I could give myself to him, I would. If 
 I only could I " 
 
 " Gilbert Marvin," said Robert with an 
 impressiveness which even Gilbert had not 
 seen in him before, "you must, or you are 
 ruined!" 
 
 " Oh, I know it ! " cried Gilbert. " Tell 
 me, what shall I do ? " 
 
 " What shall you do ? Cast yourself on 
 God s tender mercy," said Robert, his voice 
 tremulous with feeling. 
 
 " But I do not understand it all. I only 
 know Jesus Christ died for sinners; and 1 
 know I am weak and wicked. God knows I 
 do," replied Gilbert with deep emotion. 
 
 " Do you repent ? " asked Robert, tak 
 ing his hand. " Do you turn, now and 
 henceforth, from these ways in which you 
 are walking, believing that God has promised 
 he will help all who turn to him, for his dear 
 Son s sake ? "
 
 OB, AM7 RUSHTON S MISSION. 383 
 
 Steadily and solemnly Gilbert answered, 
 after a minute s thought, " Mr. Bernhard, I 
 believe I do." 
 
 " Then you need understand no more. 
 You acknowledge your sin, your need of 
 God. Still he waits, as he has waited for 
 years. Let go of yourself; let go of me. 
 Look at your Saviour." 
 
 "Is that all?" said Gilbert slowly. "I 
 can understand that. I acknowledge my 
 need ; I do. I will look to him. He will 
 help me ; I know he will." 
 
 It was a rare smile that kindled the 
 homely face of Robert Bernhard as he heard 
 these words, and saw Gilbert s head bowed 
 in his hands, a smile of sweet satisfaction 
 that was only kindled there when he knew 
 some wanderer was turning to seek his Fa 
 ther s face. Then he went softly out, and left 
 Gilbert alone. 
 
 Gilbert came to Robert the next morning
 
 84 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 before he left the house. His face was 
 serenely happy. 
 
 " Well, Gilbert," said his friend, " how is 
 it this morning ? " 
 
 " When I found you were gone last even 
 ing," said the young man, " I had a mind to 
 come over and tell you how new every thing 
 seemed to me ; but I thought perhaps it 
 would be better not to. You did not tell me 
 I would be so wonderfully happy as soon as 
 I could feel that God would help me." 
 
 " Ah ! " said Robert with a smile, " there 
 was no need of that." 
 
 " But tell me, Mr. Bernhard, what is this 
 I feel ? It seems to me that I am all new : 
 every thing is different. I never sung in my 
 life ; but now I want to. I want to tell peo 
 ple about God s love. And I never prayed in 
 my life before ; but last night I could not 
 sleep for praying. What does it mean ? " 
 
 " My dear Gilbert," said Robert, " I hope 
 it means just this, you are a Christian."
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 385 
 
 "A Christian! Am I a, Christian ? Why, 
 I never knew one verse of the Bible, never 
 went to Sunday school nor to church, as 
 other people do ; and I ve been so wicked 
 lately. Do you mean I m a Christian, Mr. 
 Bernhard ? " 
 
 "I trust you are, Gilbert. I would not 
 trifle with you on a point like this. A sor 
 rowful repentance and turning to God is sure 
 to be met by his gracious forgiveness, and 
 that is what makes a man a Christian. But 
 the work is only begun, not finished. It s 
 first the blade, then the ear, and after that 
 the full corn in the ear ; repentance, sanctifi- 
 cation, glorification." 
 
 " Oh, do stop, and tell me more about it ! " 
 said Gilbert. " It s so new to me ! We have 
 a little time yet. What is it to be a Chris 
 tian always ? " 
 
 "I think," said Robert, "the Christian 
 life at first is not very unlike our previous 
 
 26
 
 386 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 life, at least I found it so, except in one 
 respect. Before we know the help and the 
 love of God, it s much sinning, but no repent 
 ing : after that, it s much sinning still ; but 
 it s repenting on our part, and forgiving 
 on God s part. And then we haven t on our 
 hearts the weight of the sin and restlessness 
 of not going to God. With all the trials and 
 distractions of the Christian life, there s the 
 deep peace always underneath it all, that 
 comes from the fact that we have been 
 accepted by God, for the sake of his dear 
 Son Jesus." 
 
 "I remember going by a church once, 
 where there was a prayer-meeting going on," 
 said Gilbert ; " and they were singing, 
 
 " Jesus, I love thy charming name : 
 Tis music to my ear 
 
 " I remember that I stopped and listened, 
 and then went on, saying they must be a set
 
 07?, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 387 
 
 of simple people. I could not think so 
 now." 
 
 " No, not if you know what it is to have 
 begun to love Him. There is very much I 
 should like to say to you this morning, my 
 dear boy," said Robert ; " but we must not 
 make business wait even for such pleasure as 
 this. Keep close to God. In your exalted 
 state of feeling you will be apt to think every 
 thing will go smoothly. It may not be so. 
 Keep above circumstances, and cling to your 
 only Helper. Pray continually in your heart 
 to be kept from temptation. Now I must bid 
 you good-by for to-day." 
 
 " Dear little fellow ! " thought Gilbert as he 
 watched the small deformed figure pass out 
 of sight, " I never would have believed he 
 would be such a friend to me, or that I could 
 have learned to love him. And now I know 
 I have felt his influence ever since the first 
 day I saw him at the wharves. How much
 
 388 BOUNDBROOK. 
 
 I owe him ! I m so glad I did him that little 
 kindness once ! though I should never have 
 thought of it again. And how he has kept 
 watch of me, and led me to God ! Oh, I 
 wish I could tell everybody how I feel ! And 
 then, if it is true that I have a sister living 
 still, and she is good and lovely, I must make 
 myself worthy of her : God helping me, per 
 haps I can. Oh, how beautiful it is to be so 
 sure that God will help me ! "
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 THE PARTY. 
 
 RS. RUSHTON determined to give a 
 party. It was to be small and very 
 
 select. In the first place, she would 
 <? 
 iavite no one who was less wealthy than Mr. 
 
 Rushton, whose worth, pecuniarily, she set 
 sometimes at several millions. Whether 
 right or not, Mr. Rushton never troubled 
 himself to find fault with her various esti 
 mates. His property had much of it fallen 
 to him, and much of it he had gained by 
 singular success in business ; but it had never 
 made him foolishly purse-proud. He loved 
 money for the sake of gratifying his aesthetic 
 
 389
 
 390 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 tastes, nothing more. To surround himself 
 with beauty, to carpet his house with the 
 costliest fabrics from foreign looms, to gather 
 the daintiest articles of furniture about him 
 for convenience and luxury, to hang on his 
 walls the rarest paintings, to disperse around 
 the finest works of foreign and American 
 sculptors, to gather on his library-shelves the 
 most valuable books, this was what he 
 craved. It was not done for show. He 
 understood these things, and reveled in 
 them. 
 
 Mr. Rushton was not an old man yet, 
 scarcely more than middle aged ; but a little 
 later in the morning he occupied his easy- 
 chair, and a little earlier he came home to 
 the comfort of his glowing fire : that was 
 all. His step on the street was as brisk and 
 alert as ever. By what slow processes does 
 age sometimes assert itself ! 
 
 To return to Mrs. Rushton s party. As
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON 8 MISSION. 391 
 
 soon as the lady decided that it should take 
 place, the entire resources of the household 
 were levied to contribute to it, to say nothing 
 of lavish expenditure outside. Every thing 
 that taste could suggest was procured, Mr. 
 Rushton demurring at no demand upon his 
 purse. And amid it all came up the all-im 
 portant topic of dress. 
 
 It would be inflicting too much upon the 
 reader to give at length the daily conversa 
 tions held with poor wearied Elsie in Mrs. 
 Rushton s sewing-room, and the numberless 
 trials the lady experienced in trying to per 
 suade Amy to dress according to her own 
 suggestions. Amy was gentle and respectful, 
 but firm. She would not dress in any absurd 
 style of magnificence. Richly dressed she 
 was willing to be ; but she would have 
 nothing superfluous about her. 
 
 " She will disgrace Cummington Square," 
 said Mrs. Rushton in despair, and went to her
 
 392 BOUNDBKOOK; 
 
 husband about it, taking Amy along with 
 her. 
 
 She found Mr. Rushtoii in his library, 
 his usual resort when in the house at all. 
 He looked up from his book, greeted cour 
 teously the approaching pair, and offered 
 them seats. 
 
 " Well, ladies, what now ? " 
 
 Mrs. Rushton related her grievances. " I 
 tell the girl she will be an everlasting dis 
 grace to us," she observed in conclusion, 
 "and I can not move her. She s perfectly 
 obstinate." 
 
 " She does not look very much so," said 
 the gentleman, smiling at Amy, who was 
 looking as fresh and sweet as a May morn 
 ing. 
 
 " Oh ! it s all very well to say that. But my 
 taste is exquisite, as you know, and as poor 
 dear papa always said. It is a positive shock 
 to my nerves to have any thing less elegant
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 393 
 
 than it should be." The lady sunk into the 
 chair beside her. 
 
 " Do not stand, Amy," said Mr. Rushton. 
 But she had taken her position by his side, 
 and did not change. " I do not see, Lucy," 
 he continued, " why you should be so dis 
 tressed. Amy s dress is always sufficiently 
 elegant and in good taste. Let her wear 
 what she will, she always looks the same to 
 me. But, my child, let us have your reasons 
 why you insist upon being so much more 
 simply dressed than your mother wishes. 
 Then we will have the question settled once 
 for all." 
 
 " I wish it chiefly, father, because this 
 attention to dress takes my thoughts from 
 better things," said Amy, not without an 
 effort ; for it was no pleasure to her to seem 
 singular in her ideas. 
 
 " And for what other reason, Amy ? " 
 
 " I am a Christian, father," she said in a
 
 394 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 low, steady tone ; " and as such I have no 
 right, if I had the inclination, to dress in any 
 but a simple manner. I do like to be dressed 
 richly and elegantly ; but I do not want a 
 profusion of ornaments and flounces and 
 jewelry." 
 
 " Have you any argument for this," 
 asked Mr. Rush ton, " beyond your own im 
 pression that it is wrong ? " 
 
 "I could give some Bible authority, 
 father." How much her manner was like 
 the sweet, childish dignity with which she 
 used to respond to his questioning years ago ! 
 
 " Let us have it, dear. I want your 
 mother to be fully satisfied that you are 
 acting from no foolish caprice." 
 
 Amy repeated, " Whose adorning, let it 
 not be that outward adorning of plaiting the 
 hair, and of wearing of gold, or of putting on 
 apparel ; but let it be the hidden man of the 
 heart, in that which is not corruptible, even
 
 OR, AMY RUSIITON S MISSION. 395 
 
 the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, 
 which is, in the sight of God, of great price. " 
 
 " But you do not understand that literally, 
 Amy?" 
 
 <c I do not think it means that Christian 
 people should not dress well, father ; but I 
 do think it means that they should spend 
 neither time nor money on foolish and un 
 necessary adornments." 
 
 " Not even on unusual occasions ? " put in 
 Mrs. Rushton. 
 
 " The occasion has very little to do with 
 the question of superfluous adornment, I 
 think," replied Amy with modest respect. 
 " Mother, a Christian should be a Christian 
 everywhere." 
 
 " Well," sighed Mrs. Rushton, as Amy, in 
 the pause that followed, left the room 
 quietly. " If you can bear it, I suppose I 
 must. I might have known it would come 
 to this. A Christian indeed ! It looks like 
 it, setting her will against mine ! "
 
 396 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 " She has not done that, Lucy. She has 
 only expressed her convictions and wishes ; 
 and, leaving out the religious side of the 
 question, they are very sensible. Besides, 
 Amy is a true lady, and you have no cause to 
 be ashamed of her in any company." 
 
 " A lady ! " exclaimed Mrs. Rushton. 
 " What does she do two or three times every 
 week, but dress herself regularly in that 
 poplin suit she had new as long ago as last 
 fall, and go off on some long errand with 
 Ellen, carrying baskets and bundles. I think 
 you ought to put a stop to such goings-on, 
 Mr. Rushton." 
 
 " And is there any thing unladylike in 
 that?" returned her husband. "But since 
 you desire it, my dear, I will attend to it 
 when this grand excitement over the party 
 has worn itself out. How soon does it come 
 off, Lucy?" 
 
 " Do hear the man ! " cried Mrs. Rushton.
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 397 
 
 " Not to know when it s coming off ! Why, 
 not for a fortnight, Mr. Rushton ! How 
 soon did you think, pray ? " 
 
 " A fortnight ! " echoed the gentleman in 
 dismay. " I thought perhaps this week. Are 
 we to have party served up to us every day 
 for a fortnight yet ? " 
 
 " And pray how much time did you think 
 I should have to prepare my dress ? " said 
 the lady, much irritated. " Men are so 
 stupid ! Poor papa wasn t, though. He 
 always appreciated a woman s care for dress. 
 If only so much as a fold of my shawl didn t 
 hang properly, he would trot out after me 
 into the hall to arrange it. My poor dear 
 papa!" 
 
 Mr. Rushton here changed his position for 
 one nearer the window ; and Mrs. Rushton 
 with a distressful sigh arose, and returned to 
 the sewing-room. 
 
 The evening of the party came, and the
 
 398 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 mansion of John Rushton, Esq., ot Cum- 
 mington Square, was ablaze with radiance. 
 As Mr. Rushton and lady stood awaiting the 
 arrival of their friends, he found a moment 
 to whisper to her that he had met two 
 friends from out of town, the day before, 
 and had invited them to be present. 
 
 " Ah," said the lady, smiling blandly, for 
 she was in her best humor now ; " some of 
 your wealthy friends, ! suppose." 
 
 "Wealthy?" said Mr. Rushton absently. 
 " Yes, they are, if I know what wealth is." 
 
 The guests had apparently all assembled 
 and Amy was at the farther end of one of the 
 long parlors, in the midst of an animated little 
 circle, who were discussing the merits and 
 demerits of a book which had just appeared. 
 It was a series of sketches, partly serious, 
 partly fanciful, but all strongly tinged with 
 the religious sentiments of the writer. 
 
 " Miss Rushton," said a middle-aged gen-
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON 8 MISSION. 399 
 
 tleman, "you have read the book, I pre 
 sume ? " 
 
 " I have, Mr. Beverly." 
 
 " And what is your opinion of it, please ? 
 If I have been rightly informed, your senti 
 ments in regard to religion differ somewhat 
 from those of most or all of our company." 
 
 His tone was very polite : no one could 
 have found fault with that or his gracious 
 manner. 
 
 " It seems to me, Mr. Beverly," said Amy s 
 clear, modest voice, that the book is calcu 
 lated to lead one from correct ideas of relig 
 ious truth." 
 
 "Ah! that is a broad statement, Miss 
 Rushton. Is not truth so apparent that one 
 can not turn anywhere without finding it ? " 
 
 " So one can not, Mr. Beverly, if one s 
 heart has been so moved upon as to recognize 
 it." 
 
 "Is it not natural to recognize it, Miss 
 Rushton ? "
 
 400 BOUNDBltOOK; 
 
 Amy s color was brilliant ; for she knew 
 that all eyes were upon her. But her answer 
 was given with her characteristic modesty. 
 
 " I do think it natural to search for and 
 to recognize general truths, Mr. Beverly ; but 
 I do not think it natural to admit the truth 
 of Christianity which the Bible teaches." 
 
 " But how do you define the truth of 
 Christianity, Miss Rushton ? " intent upon 
 leading her on. 
 
 " In its general meaning, Mr. Beverly, the 
 universally-acknowledged fact that Christ 
 came to establish the principles of a pure 
 religion ; in its personal meaning, the fact 
 that we are sinful and lost, without an inter 
 est in the atonement which he made for us 
 on the cross." 
 
 Some of the little circle fell away at this. 
 
 " Sinful and lost," said Mr. Beverly : 
 " surely those terms have no personal inter 
 est to you? "
 
 OR, AMY RVSHTON S MISSION. 401 
 
 " I have felt myself such, Mr. Beverly." 
 
 He raised his eyebrows incredulously. 
 " Would you include us all under those 
 terms ? " 
 
 " Must not all be who do not stand on the 
 Lord s side, Mr. Beverly ? " 
 
 " I am not equal to the argument, Miss 
 Rushton, at such a place and time," returned 
 the gentleman blandly. " If you will do me 
 the favor some other time, I should be glad 
 to resume it." 
 
 " Mr. Beverly," said Amy, with gentle 
 frankness, " God s truth needs no argument, 
 least of all from me. His word speaks for 
 itself." 
 
 The gentleman bowed, and excused him 
 self. As Amy turned, she noticed, with some 
 curiosity, a figure of a gentleman at a little 
 distance, standing so that she could not see 
 his face. How strongly he reminded her 
 of Mr. Ellery ! 
 
 26 >
 
 402 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 She stood looking intently, when he 
 moved, and turned towards her. It was Mr. 
 Ellery. Another minute, and they had 
 clasped hands. 
 
 " Your father has been waiting to take me 
 to you," he said, but was called away. " And 
 I do not know how to tell you here what a 
 pleasure it is to see you." 
 
 She laughed, her frank, childish laugh. 
 " Then you shall come away and tell me, 
 Mr. Ellery. Let us go out of the parlors to 
 the music-room." 
 
 There were but few there, for music had 
 not been called for as yet ; and they sat down, 
 Amy, with all her girlish freedom still, asking 
 questions as fast as Mr. Ellery could answer 
 them. He explained his unexpected pres 
 ence there by saying that he had met Mr. 
 Rushton, and yielded to his urgent invitation 
 to come. " And Bertram was with me," he 
 added, " but had an engagement for this
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 403 
 
 evening. He will call on you soon, with your 
 permission, Miss Amy." 
 
 " I shall be so glad to see him ! " said Amy 
 joyously. " And did you come by way of 
 Boundbrook, Mr. Ellery ? " 
 
 " Yes, and saw most of the good friends 
 there. Mr. and Mrs. Percival are anticipat 
 ing a long visit from you the coming sum 
 mer." 
 
 " You are still preaching in Dayton ? " 
 
 " Yes ; and the Lord is with us. Every 
 year the work becomes more delightful and 
 satisfying. And how is it with you, my 
 child ? " 
 
 He smiled at himself the next moment. 
 " Pardon me : it seems as if you were my 
 little scholar still." 
 
 " So I am," said Amy happily. " Let it 
 be so. Mr. Ellery, it is not here as it was in 
 Boundbrook." 
 
 "But you are strong in his might ? " he
 
 404 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 replied, with a quiet emphasis which made 
 Amy look at him inquiringly. " I did not 
 intend to tell you of it," he said, answering 
 her look ; " but I could not help hearing your 
 conversation with Mr. Beverly." 
 
 She shook her head with the wistful 
 gravity of her childhood. "Such discussion 
 is not much to the purpose, Mr. Ellery." 
 
 " A word in season and out of season 
 is good," he observed. " A fearless defense 
 of the truth is never lost. Among all the 
 grains that fall, who knows how many may 
 take root ? But, Miss Amy, if I may ask the 
 question, what is your life here ? " 
 
 " My own life, Mr. Ellery ? I can hardly 
 say. But I am trying to remember my mis 
 sion." 
 
 He did not doubt it, looking at her face, 
 lighted up, as she spoke, with the memory of 
 some happy experiences in that " mission." 
 
 " You have Ellen Spencer with you ? "
 
 OR, AMY RUSIITON S MISSION. 405 
 
 " Yes ; and she is really growing to be 
 bright and happy after her years of misera 
 ble childhood. She often speaks of you, Mr. 
 Ellery." 
 
 " Poor child ! she was wretched enough at 
 home, when I first found them out. I sup 
 pose you find highway and hedge work, 
 plenty of it, still, Miss Amy ? " 
 
 " More than I can do alone, Mr. Ellery," 
 she replied. " But I take Ellen with me." 
 
 " I wish I could help you, my child. But 
 work is necessary in all parts of the vine 
 yard, and God knows best where to put his 
 servants. But I must not keep you longer 
 from the company in the parlors." 
 
 " Amy, child, why have you been away ? " 
 said Mrs. Rushton, after they had separated 
 and she had joined her mother. 
 
 " Talking with an old friend, Mr. Ellery, 
 mother." 
 
 " An old friend ? He don t look very
 
 406 BOUNDBROOK, 
 
 old," was Mrs. Rushton s remark. " Your 
 father introduced him, and told me he invited 
 him and somebody else, I forgot the name. 
 And he says they are wealthy." 
 
 " Did he say that, mother ? " said Amy. 
 " Father must mistake." 
 
 " If they are not, why did he invite them ? 
 But it will not do for us to stand talking 
 here." Mrs. Rushton moved away among 
 her guests ; and Amy was presently taken 
 possession of by her friend Mary Clay. 
 
 " May I tell you how lovely somebody 
 looks to-night ? " said Mary archly, as they 
 moved down the room. 
 
 " No, Mary," returned Amy unaffectedly, 
 " unless it s yourself." 
 
 " You re the oddest girl I Don t you spend 
 any time on dress ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes ! some." 
 
 " And don t you really care to look as 
 beautiful as you can ? "
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 407 
 
 " I m afraid I do, Mary," returned Amy, 
 laughing at her earnestness. 
 
 " But, if I should dress as simply as you, 
 I should not look fit to be seen," pursued 
 Mary. " You have only that blue silk with 
 those elegant laces, and you are more ex 
 quisitely dressed than anybody else here." 
 
 " Mary dear, don t tell me . so," said Amy 
 with grave earnestness. " Come into the 
 drawing-room, and let me show you some 
 new views father brought home this week." 
 
 The part Amy had borne in the short dis 
 cussion with Mr. Beverly had afforded him a 
 sort of vexed amusement ; and at supper, 
 after relating it rather volubly to a lady- 
 friend, he carelessly, and forgetting the high 
 breeding on which he prided himself, added, 
 " But she is really lovely, and talks well, in 
 spite of her probably plebeian birth. Mr. 
 Rushton has taken a great deal of pains with 
 her. I am surprised, on inquiry, to find that 
 she knows nothing about it."
 
 408 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 It was said in a low tone, to be sure ; but 
 it was not low enough to escape Amy s ear, 
 who stood not far off, but out of Mr. Beverly s 
 range. She put down the ice-cream she 
 held, and stared blankly at Mr. Ellery, who 
 attended her. He had heard every word, as 
 well. 
 
 " Do not mind me," she said, recovering 
 herself instantly; for she looked so white, 
 that he would have led her away from the 
 table. " Thank you, Mr. Ellery : it is better 
 for me to remain here. I can control my 
 self." 
 
 She smiled in her effort to be brave : but 
 the color that had been so brilliant all the 
 evening was gone ; and her eyes had a 
 strained look, as if all the sweet life that had 
 shone out through them had been stricken 
 out for ever. 
 
 Mr. Ellery ventured no words ; but he 
 carefully shielded Amy from the gaze of
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 409 
 
 curious eyes and the attacks of idle talk. 
 How grateful she felt for his delicate care, 
 even in her sense of keen heart-pain ! 
 
 But she made no sign of distress. All the 
 forces of her nature were summoned to keep 
 her calm and steady ; and before long she 
 began to bear herself with her usual quiet 
 spirit. 
 
 It was an unnatural quiet, after all. She 
 ate and drank of what little Mr. Ellery 
 offered her, but knew not what it was ; and, 
 through it all, the scene before her was im 
 pressed upon her consciousness with a vivid 
 ness that never wholly faded out. The 
 lights, the joyous faces, the ceaseless murmur 
 of voices, the glitter of silver, the tinkle of 
 glass, all burned itself, as it were, into her 
 memory for ever. 
 
 But the long strain was over at last. The 
 
 company began to move ; and, among the 
 
 others, they filed back to the parlors. There
 
 410 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 Mr. Ellery before long bade Amy good 
 night. 
 
 "Dear child," said he with the old kindly 
 sympathy in his eyes, " you know your 
 refuge. * Are we not all children of adop 
 tion, whereby we cry, Abba, Father ? The 
 way to that Father is very clear, you know." 
 
 " I know," she replied with sweet steadi 
 ness. 
 
 " Then promise me you will not grieve 
 over this knowledge." 
 
 " I will not, Mr. Ellery." 
 
 He went away to bid his host and hostess 
 good-evening ; and Amy, for another hour, 
 bore the strain of carrying herself quietly 
 through the ceremonies of the evening. 
 When the last train had swept out of the 
 parlors, she kissed her father and mother, and 
 said good-night as usual. But she tottered, 
 rather than walked, to her own room, and 
 sank on her knees by the bedside. What
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 
 
 411 
 
 Amy Rushton said to her God that night 
 can never be known. But, through the re 
 maining hours of the night, Ellen ever and 
 anon looked in at the door, and came away 
 with a face of exceeding sorrow.
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 PLANS AND PUKPOSES. 
 
 2) 
 
 (VHE hours dragged away toward morn 
 ing, and the conflict was over. The 
 
 P 
 
 pride, humbled by the knowledge that 
 she was not the daughter of Mr. Rushton 
 (and how strong that pride had been, Amy 
 had not before known) ; the involuntary 
 feeling of aversion to a birth among the 
 plebeians, as Mr. Beverly had said ; the uncer 
 tainty that hung over her in regard to it ; the 
 deep sorrow that the tender and long-loved 
 father was not her father was laid, where 
 Amy had long ago learned to lay every trial 
 and perplexity, in her Father s hands. 
 
 412
 
 AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 413 
 
 ^ "Are we not all children of adoption, 
 whereby we cry, Abba, Father?" How 
 often this recurred to her ! And now it be 
 came a sweet pleasure to feel that she had 
 been twice adopted, by a heavenly Father 
 so wonderful, by an earthly father so kind, so 
 wise. Her wonder and gratitude grew as 
 she thought upon it. How patient he had 
 been with her waywardness and fits of 
 childish anger ! how tolerant, in later years, 
 of her religious opinions ! She could not 
 love him less, but more, feeling all this. Her 
 dear, loving father still. And he should 
 never know that this knowledge had come 
 to her. She would never let him be pained 
 by the least suspicion of it. It was safe with 
 Mr. Ellery. She was sure of that. 
 
 She went down to breakfast as usual ; and, 
 only that her face was white, there was no 
 trace of the evening s trial. 
 
 " You are very pale, daughter," said Mr.
 
 414 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 Rushton anxiously. " These parties do not 
 agree with you." 
 
 " I am only a little tired, father," she said, 
 going over to him, and putting her arms 
 round his neck. She leaned her face down to 
 his. " Dear father, you are too tender of 
 me." 
 
 " No, my darling child." And all at once 
 something reminded him of that waking 
 dream he had so long ago, when he fancied 
 Amy was slipping away from him. " I could 
 not be too tender." 
 
 Mrs. Rushton entered from the opposite 
 door. 
 
 " Good-morning, mother," said Amy with 
 happy voice. 
 
 " Good-morning," she returned wearily. 
 " How can you be so gay, child ! I declare, 
 these things that are such a burden to my 
 sensitive spirit are like a feather to you ! 
 Well, you are constituted more lightly than 
 I am. Poor papa would have said "
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 415 
 
 "Excuse me, my dear," interrupted Mr. 
 Rushton. " Let us have our coffee, and 
 these vapors will vanish. The party was a 
 success, wasn t it ? " 
 
 " Oh ! perhaps so. But what made you 
 tell me that Mr. what is it ? Mr. Ellery, 
 Amy s old friend, as she says, was wealthy ? 
 Amy says you mistake. You know I could 
 not bear to have you invite poor people." 
 
 " There is such a thing as soul-wealth," 
 returned the gentleman thoughtfully. 
 
 Well, what of it ? " 
 
 " It is better than money, my dear. Mr. 
 Ellery is highly gifted, educated, and noble. 
 I am a practical man, you know ; and I know 
 his worth. His successful work among the 
 people of the Mill Village at Boundbrook 
 has made his name a power there. Amy, did 
 he tell you that he is to preach at Elm-street 
 Church next Sunday ? By the way, that is 
 where you go, is it not ? "
 
 416 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 " Yes, father. But he did not tell me. 
 Oh ! if" She was checked by the amused 
 expression of Mr. Rushton s face. 
 
 " Well, Amy, I am waiting for the invita 
 tion to go. Let us have it." 
 
 " Would you go, father, would you really ? " 
 she cried almost with tears in her eyes for 
 delight. " Will you go, and you, too, 
 mother ? " 
 
 " I ? No, child ! You know I never go to 
 church ; and of course I should not begin 
 with such a common place as Elm Street." 
 
 " My dear wife," said Mr. Rushton, " it is 
 one of the first churches in the city. I have 
 not been in a church for years ; but I mean 
 to hear Mr. Ellery." 
 
 " I m so glad ! " said Amy, not controlling 
 herself at all in her joy. She astonished 
 Ellen by her happy spirit all day ; so much 
 so, that the girl looked at her in bewilder 
 ment.
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION: 417 
 
 "Father is going to church next Sun 
 day, Ellen," she said, noticing that the 
 girl s eyes followed her about. " Isn t that 
 something to be glad for ? Oh ! God never 
 sends a trial, but there comes some blessing 
 to balance it," she added in thought, as the 
 memory of the previous evening surged over 
 her. Let it not be supposed there was no 
 sore spot at Amy s heart yet. But the joy 
 of having her father at church with her, 
 sitting lay her side, hearing the same words 
 in which she so much delighted, was 
 enough to make the day all sunshine to her 
 trustful spirit. And so she gave praise in 
 stead of complaint, and sung songs of thank 
 fulness instead of murmuring. 
 
 A day or two later, Bertram Morley set 
 out for a call at Mr. Rushton s. As he drew 
 near the house, Amy and Ellen came up 
 from the opposite direction ; Ellen with her 
 hands, as usual, occupied with basket and 
 
 27
 
 418 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 bundle. It may as well be said here, that, in 
 compliance with his wife s wishes, Mr. Rush- 
 ton had duly catechised Amy on the subject 
 of these morning rambles, and, getting very 
 modest and satisfactory answers, had forth 
 with put into her hands an uncounted roll of 
 bills to be laid out for the benefit of her sick 
 people. Which, when Mrs. Rushton knew, 
 she was again in despair. 
 
 Amy s greeting of Bertram was just like 
 her honest self. " I m so glad to see you, 
 Mr. Morley ! and I do so want to hear all about 
 dear old Boundbrook ! " she said, shaking 
 hands with him warmly, in defiance of Cum- 
 mington Square, which was looking out of 
 its front-windows. She ushered him into the 
 house and into the drawing-room, and ran 
 away gayly to make herself presentable, as 
 she said. 
 
 She was back directly; and Boundbrook 
 must have suffered from tingling ears dur-
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 419 
 
 ing the next hour, if the old saying be 
 true. There was so much to say ! so many 
 good old people to be inquired after ! so many 
 younger ones who came in for their share of 
 interest ! and the little children, even. And 
 then they discussed the poor and the sick, 
 and some of the wandering ones, whom Amy 
 knew as well as the better class ; all her 
 sympathies stirring to their very depths as 
 she talked of them, till Bertram all at once 
 remembered that he ought only to have made 
 a fashionable call, and rose to go, with some 
 playful remark to that effect. 
 
 " But I am not fashionable, Mr. Bertram, * 
 laughed Amy. " And I have kept you talk 
 ing all this time about Boundbrook. Now 
 take your seat again, please, and tell me of 
 yourself. You preach sometimes at the new 
 church ? " 
 
 " I try, Miss Amy," he returned simply. 
 " How greatly God has blessed that place
 
 420 BOUNDBROOE; 
 
 since you and I were children there ! Then 
 a little sabbath school of fifty gathered at 
 the schoolhouse, now there is a church and 
 congregation amounting to five times that 
 number. What hath God wrought ! " 
 
 " How soon do you complete your studies, 
 Mr. Bertram ? " Amy asked after a short 
 silence. 
 
 " Next spring, Miss Amy, in God s provi 
 dence." 
 
 " And then you are prepared for the work 
 wherever he may lead. I do trust it may 
 not be far from us." 
 
 His face grew thoughtful, and his fine eyes 
 met hers earnestly. 
 
 " Miss Amy, I have made my choice," he 
 said presently. " My work does not lie near 
 by." 
 
 " You will go away ? " 
 
 " Yes : to carry the glad tidings to the 
 heathen."
 
 OB, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 421 
 
 " O Mr. Bertram ! " 
 
 " You will bid me God speed, Miss 
 Amy?" 
 
 " I could not do otherwise, Mr. Bertram ; 
 but to lose you to go so far away, just now, 
 it seems hard to feel it must be." 
 
 " I have had a long struggle with myself," 
 Bertram said after another and longer silence. 
 " My inclinations turned so strongly to the 
 work here, that, for a long time, I could not 
 bring myself to see that God was really 
 pointing out the way to India. But, Miss 
 Amy," his tone grew low with feeling, " as 
 long ago as the time when you stood at Mr. 
 Percival s door, that rainy day in April, and 
 reminded me, that, if I would be a Christian 
 I must be in earnest about it, ever since 
 then, and the consecration that followed, I 
 have felt that I must be in earnest at every 
 step of the Christian life. Miss Amy, your 
 childish sincerity, under God, brought me to
 
 422 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 the better way ; and, having found that, you, 
 under God, will have made me a missionary." 
 " O Mr. Bertram, do not say that ! " 
 "It was long before I could see the 
 way so clearly that I could not mistake," 
 resumed Bertram ; " but just as soon as I did, 
 and accepted what seemed God s will, the 
 most satisfying peace filled my heart. So I 
 can say with joy, 
 
 " Through dangers and through trials too, 
 I ll go at His command. " 
 
 " But your friends your mother ? " said 
 Amy. 
 
 " She gives me up as a Christian should. 
 It will not be for long, dear Miss Amy," 
 said Bertram, rising to go ; " and I go to do 
 just the same glorious work that I should 
 here. Since I have come to think so much 
 about it, I begin to long for the time to come. 
 And by and by we shall all sit down together
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 423 
 
 in our Father s kingdom. So you must bid 
 me God speed, Miss Amy. I want your 
 prayers and blessing." 
 
 " You shall have them," she said, giving 
 him both hands, as she had been wont to do 
 when a child ; and, though there were tears 
 in her eyes, there was a smile on her lips. 
 " God bless you, and give you many, many 
 souls for his kingdom ! " 
 
 In a few hours Bertram was on his way 
 back to his studies at the seminary. 
 
 Amy went down to the library in the 
 evening to find her father. He was alone, 
 but, to Amy s surprise, not reading. His 
 evening paper lay unfolded upon the table. 
 
 " Are you not well, father ? " she asked 
 anxiously. 
 
 "Very well, dear child." But his face 
 had an absent, thoughtful look still. 
 
 " Did you come to tell me something, 
 Amy ? "
 
 424 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 "Yes, father. Shall I stay?" 
 
 He answered the question by taking her 
 on his knee. 
 
 " I am quite ready to hear it, Amy. Tell 
 me the story, just as you used." 
 
 " It s a very little story, father. Bertram 
 Morley called to-day." 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 " Yes : you know he is studying for the 
 ministry." 
 
 " Yes, I know he is." 
 
 " He has decided not to preach here, but 
 to go out as a missionary to India." 
 
 " To India ! What fanaticism ! " exclaimed 
 Mr. Rushton. " Why, child, the boy is 
 beside himself! Go there to bury his fine 
 character and talents in trying to convert 
 those miserable heathen ! What will come 
 next ? " Then another thought seemed to 
 strike Mr. Rushton. He gathered Amy to 
 his breast, and held her tightly. " Amy,
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 425 
 
 surely you would never go away from me 
 too?" 
 
 " Dear father, no," said Amy. " I have no 
 reason to think God wants me to leave you." 
 
 " And, if you had, could you go ? You 
 would break my heart, Amy. No : you will 
 not leave me. I shall hold you too tightly. 
 I shall not let you slip away from me so." 
 
 " I am not going, dear father," said Amy 
 quietly. She sat up and looked at him with 
 serene, clear eyes. " Be sure of that. But 
 some must go. And, because Bertram is one 
 of the best, shall we keep him back ? God 
 wants his best workmen there, I think." 
 
 " I do not know, Amy. It seems a strange 
 and almost dreadful thing to me, that this 
 religious enthusiasm should get hold of 
 young minds to such a degree." 
 
 Amy smiled, looking away with a certain 
 far-off look she sometimes had, as one that 
 looks through a telescope, and smiles to her-
 
 426 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 self to find distant glories brought so near ; 
 while another, standing by, sees only the dull 
 earth and pale blue sky. 
 
 " Have you come back again, Amy ? " asked 
 Mr. Rushton, as her gaze came slowly back 
 to his. He had been watching her counte 
 nance. " Where have you been ? " 
 
 " I was only thinking, father. Is it mere 
 religious enthusiasm which helps Bertram to 
 decide for India, knowing its privations and 
 dangers ? Is it that which gives him such 
 serene peace and faith and hope ? " 
 
 " If not that, what is it, Amy ? " 
 
 " It is because, I think, because he has 
 seen so deeply his own sinfulness and need, 
 and knows so well from what a depth God 
 has lifted him up ; and so he longs unspeaka 
 bly to help others to feel it. And it is God 
 with him, Christ formed in him the hope 
 of glory, which keeps him earnest, and free 
 from anxiety through it all. father, if 
 you only knew this I "
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 427 
 
 It was a cry from her heart. He did not 
 need that it should be interpreted for him. 
 It was a long time before either spoke ;. and 
 then it was Mr. Rushton. 
 
 " Amy," said he, " when you came in, I 
 was just about sending for you, to have a 
 little talk on a subject which we have always 
 been very silent upon. And I should not 
 mention it now, but your mother thinks the 
 knowledge can but come to you in some 
 way, and it is better you should know it 
 from me. I had hoped never to have you 
 know this, lest it should make you un 
 happy ; but it need not, darling. You are 
 my dear, precious child still. Remember 
 that." His voice faltered. " Will you always 
 remember that, Amy ? " 
 
 How serenely, and yet not unmoved, she 
 looked at him ! 
 
 " Yes, dear father." 
 
 " Then, for your own sake only, Amy, I
 
 428 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 must tell you, you are not our own daugh 
 ter." 
 
 He had expected it would hurt her deeply, 
 perhaps distress her beyond measure ; but she 
 only clasped him round the neck, caressing 
 him as a little child would have done. 
 
 " Do not be troubled about me, father," 
 said her clear, steady voice. " I only wish I 
 had been such a daughter as you have de 
 served all these years. If I could only give 
 back a little return for your love and tender 
 care ! " 
 
 " Dear child," said he, " you have done 
 that every day." 
 
 " But you have done so much for me ! you 
 have made me equal to yourselves." 
 
 " Hush, Amy. I see this is not news to 
 you. How long have you known it ? " 
 
 She told him. 
 
 " And would you never have allowed me 
 to suspect that you knew it ? "
 
 OR, AMY SUSHTON S MISSION. 429 
 
 " Not if I could have helped it, dear fa 
 ther." 
 
 " My dear, thoughtful daughter, now let 
 me tell you how you came to me." He gave 
 her the outlines of the story. 
 
 " But, dear father, this is not all. If you 
 know so much, you must know more." 
 
 " Are you content to wait, Amy, till it 
 seems best to tell you more ? " 
 
 
 
 She was not quite content ; but in her quiet 
 way said she would try to be, and presently 
 went away to Mrs. Rushton s room. 
 
 " I wouldn t have believed, Mr. Rushton," 
 was that lady s remark to her husband, 
 as, an hour or two later, he came up stairs, 
 " that the girl would have taken it so 
 quietly. I expected she would go nearly 
 frantic to find she was not really the rich 
 John Rushton s daughter. She has quite got 
 over those wild panics she used to have, 
 hasn t she ? Why, she even said she did not
 
 430 BOUNDBROOK. 
 
 see how I have been so patient with her as I 
 have, not being her own mother. I am glad 
 she appreciates my forbearance at last. I 
 really think we shall get on better now." 
 
 Mrs. Rushton was so evidently pleased, 
 that Mr. Rushton, though chafing inwardly at 
 her talk, joined in her pleasure ; and so the 
 night settled down upon that portion of 
 Cummington Square very happily.
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 A NEW MANHOOD. 
 
 ALBERT S Christian career was not 
 altogether a smooth one. By nature 
 he was versatile and restless, now on 
 the heights, and now down in the depths. In 
 his new experience he was not likely to be 
 different ; certainly not till the peculiarities 
 of his nature had had time to adjust them 
 selves to the wonderful change, and steady 
 down into the even, calm flow of the deep 
 Christian life. 
 
 More than one temptation he had to 
 encounter, more than once he yielded, and 
 then went to Robert in despair. His good 
 
 431
 
 432 BOUNDBROOK ; 
 
 little friend always sent him to a higher 
 Power. 
 
 " What am I to do ? " he said despondent 
 ly, after one of these falls, to Robert. " How 
 can I call myself a Christian? " 
 
 " Do you doubt that you have seen your 
 self guilty and lost, and that God has for 
 given you ? " asked Robert. 
 
 " Oh, no I I never could doubt that. But 
 I bring disgrace upon the name ; and God 
 sees that I am still overcome by these dread 
 ful habits. To-day I got irritated ; and, before 
 I knew what I was doing or saying, I said 
 what I had no right to." 
 
 " But does it give you pain when you do 
 these things ? " 
 
 " I hate myself for it indeed I do 
 worse than I used to hate and curse myself 
 before ; but it is there still." 
 
 " Yes," said Robert : " I told you the Chris 
 tian life was not altogether unlike the pre-
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 433 
 
 vious one at first. We are not all at once to 
 be lifted up to perfection. It s sinning ; but 
 it s continual repenting and forgiving. 
 When you can commit these things of which 
 you complain, boldly, and do not repent, then 
 you may begin to be alarmed and despond 
 ent. But so long as you can flee to your 
 Stronghold with cries and tears, so long you 
 may still venture to say, I am a Christian. 
 
 So Gilbert struggled on. By degrees the 
 manhood that was in him began to assert 
 itself. His falls became less frequent ; and 
 his wicked companions found less in him that 
 was like themselves. Gradually they fell 
 away, and sought more congenial society. 
 
 But Gilbert suffered from his appetite for 
 strong drink, suffered with an intensity that 
 no one guessed. His only refuge was to 
 refuse all drinks at table, and even to partake 
 sparingly of water. For days he would 
 agonize with this feverish thirst, and some- 
 
 23
 
 434 BOUNDBROOE; 
 
 times, when he feared to go out into the 
 world, would beg Robert to lock him in his 
 room, and there besiege the throne of grace 
 for help. 
 
 These conflicts grew less and less severe. 
 His normal appetite returned, and less and 
 less he craved the cup. But months passed 
 before he could say, " I am free from this 
 slavery." 
 
 Meantime there was many a helping hand 
 outstretched for his aid. Mr. Irvin, his 
 employer, advanced him to the situation of 
 clerk, and paid for his tuition at an evening 
 school. 
 
 The spring was now opening. Robert had 
 said no more to Gilbert on the subject of 
 seeing his uncle, believing it would not be 
 long before he was ready to go to them. 
 
 One nisrht, not Ions after the conversation 
 
 o * o 
 
 just given, he came to Robert. He had 
 taken pains to dress himself neatly, and, with
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 435 
 
 his really good countenance lighted up by a 
 
 firm resolution, was a very agreeable-looking 
 
 
 young man. 
 
 " I have made up my mind to go and see 
 Mr. Marvin, Robert," said he, entering. 
 " Will you go with me ? " 
 
 "If you prefer it," said Robert gladly. 
 " But would it not be better for you to see 
 them alone ? " 
 
 " Perhaps. Yes, I think it would. Yet 
 I should like to have you go with me." 
 
 " It would give them more satisfaction to 
 see that you came of your own accord, Gil 
 bert. You will find them at the old place, 
 and both very feeble." 
 
 What feelings surged in Gilbert s breast as 
 he walked up the old tottering stairway ! 
 * There was the same filth in the rooms around ; 
 and even one or two of the same dirty faces 
 that had been so disagreeable to him when a 
 lad, peered out at the doors. Up two flights, 
 he stopped at the old familiar door.
 
 436 BOUNDBEOOK; 
 
 For a moment he hesitated, and then 
 walked in without knocking. Who had 
 been at work there ? The floor was clean, 
 the walls papered ; a new stove stood in place 
 of the old one ; there were clean white cur 
 tains, a neat table, and chairs. His eyes took 
 this in at one glance. There was a bed in one 
 corner. That, too, he had never seen before. 
 But the figure of the man that lay on it, he had 
 seen that, with the same thin sprays of gray 
 hair hanging over the forehead, the same weak, 
 wavering eyes, and, yes, the same sharp 
 twang in the voice ; for he spoke while Gil 
 bert stood unconsciously staring at him. 
 
 " Who be yer ? " said he vacantly. 
 
 The woman, who sat near by with her 
 arms folded, now slowly put on a pair of 
 spectacles, and came up to Gilbert. " I don t 
 know you," she said, shaking her head. 
 
 " Don t you know me ? " said Gilbert, 
 forcing himself to take her hand. " I used 
 to call you mother, Mrs. Marvin."
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 437 
 
 " You didn t ! " she returned sharply. 
 " You re not the boy ! Jacob ! " she con 
 tinued, going to the side of the bed, " this 
 man says he used to call me mother. It s not 
 Gilbert ! Look at him, and see ! " 
 
 " No, you re not the boy," she went on, 
 nervously walking back and forth between 
 him and the bed, and dividing her words 
 between her husband and Gilbert. " You re 
 not the Gilbert that I used to get supper for 
 o nights ; and he was so proud, he wouldn t 
 eat if I begged the victuals ; and then he went 
 off and left us. No, you re not the boy. 
 He was ragged and dirty, and " 
 
 She still continued to vibrate between 
 Gilbert and the bed ; and, to make her quiet, 
 the young man drew her chair up to the 
 bedside, and seated her in it. 
 
 " You had a boy that lived with you, 
 didn t you ? " asked he. 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. Marvin stupidly ; and the 
 woman echoed " Yes."
 
 438 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 " And don t you remember he did not 
 believe you were his own father and mother ; 
 and you insisted that you were, and told him 
 to go to Stockwell and find out ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " You didn t believe he would go ; you 
 hadn t a thought of it ; but he left you one 
 morning, and threw some money into your 
 lap before he went." 
 
 " Yes, I remember." 
 
 " And if I should pull my hair down on 
 my face, so, and have on those ragged 
 clothes, and old straw hat, and a dirty face, 
 don t you think I d look like that boy? 
 Besides, who else should know all these little 
 things ? Didn t he go down to the wharves 
 every day ? And didn t you used to ask him 
 about Mr. Rushton almost every night ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Mrs. Marvin, peering into Gil 
 bert s face again, " yes, it s the same boy, 
 Jacob. I see his eyes now. Jacob, look up ! 
 It s Gilbert ; it it Gilbert ! "
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 439 
 
 "Hey?" said the sick man, rousing a little, 
 "is it Gilbert ? Will the lad forgive us, 
 wife ? " He relapsed into stupidity again. 
 
 " Do not say any thing about that," said 
 Gilbert, interrupting Mrs. Marvin as she 
 began to speak : " I know all that now. It 
 might have been worse ; and I, too, need 
 forgiveness." 
 
 " You know it all ! " cried the woman. 
 " Jacob," trying to rouse him again, " he 
 knows it all : he will forgive us ! Do you 
 hear, Jacob ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. Marvin, opening his dull 
 eyes. " "Where s the little girl ? It was a 
 cold night to leave her." 
 
 Mrs. Marvin looked at Gilbert. He shook 
 his head. "I do not understand this," he 
 said. 
 
 "It was very cold," the sick man muttered, 
 and lost himself again. 
 
 " He often talks like this when he is stu 
 pid," said Mrs. Marvin.
 
 440 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 Gilbert had sat with strained ears. Was 
 he to hear about his sister, the little sister 
 of his dreams by day and night ? And yet 
 was he ready to hear it, whatever it might 
 be ? He could not speak : his lips seemed 
 sealed. Would it be doing justice to Robert 
 to ask ? If she was good and lovely, would 
 it not be better to wait till he was more worthy 
 of her? He debated with himself fiercely 
 for a moment, and then rose. 
 
 " Does Robert Bernhard, who comes to see 
 you, know this whole story, and where the 
 little girl, my sister, is ? " he asked. 
 
 " Yes," Mrs. Marvin returned, with some 
 thing of the old look of fear in her expres 
 sionless face. " You ll not harm us for it, 
 Gil?" 
 
 " Harm you ? No, no ! What can I do 
 for yqu to help you ? " 
 
 " I don t know ; nothing," she returned. 
 " He will not live long ; and, when he goes, I 
 shall go too."
 
 OB, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 441 
 
 " Where will you go ? " asked Gilbert 
 seriously. 
 
 " I don t know," she returned, scarcely as 
 if she had heard him, and beginning to 
 arrange the bed-clothes. " He couldn t do 
 without me, nor I without him. I ve been 
 kind to him all these years. We had better 
 times once." 
 
 " I was not always kind to you," said Gil 
 bert. " Will you forgive me ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes ! " she returned. " You were 
 pretty kind. We ought never to have kept 
 you so. The little girl will be so rich ! and 
 they say she s beautiful." 
 
 Gilbert s heart leaped, and then stood still. 
 But he would be resolute, and not hear this. 
 
 " No, do not tell me of that ; not yet," he 
 said hurriedly. " Good-by. I will come 
 again." 
 
 " The little girl rich and beautiful ! " said 
 the young man to himself as he went out in-
 
 442 BOUNDBROOE; 
 
 to the cool air. "I can never, never claim her 
 as my sister, then. I must never know her. 
 O God ! have I sinned so, that I must bear 
 this disappointment ? If she were only poor 
 like me ! Rich ! O God, pity me ! " 
 
 He wandered on, hardly knowing where 
 he was going. God watched over the young 
 man that night, or he would have sought the 
 wine-cup. 
 
 Till twelve o clock he paced the streets, 
 and came to himself fully only when the 
 heavy strokes of midnight shook the air. 
 He drew his coat more tightly about him, 
 and stood a moment in soliloquy. 
 
 " Gilbert Marvin," said he to himself, 
 " will you be a fool ? " Hasn t God made 
 you a man ? Hasn t he taken you out of the 
 pit and miry clay, and put your feet upon a 
 rock ? Hasn t he given you a strong body 
 to work with, and brains to help you make 
 your way in the world ? Get down on your
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 443 
 
 knees, right here, and beg him to forgive 
 your weakness." 
 
 He knelt there, just where he was, by a 
 flight of stone steps ; and the poor heart 
 that was trying to learn strength begged 
 pardon for its weak discouragement, begged 
 for power to make himself a man, good and 
 true and noble. 
 
 The serene moon and stars, with the heav 
 enly hosts above, were all that looked down 
 upon him ; but he felt the silent witness of 
 the Spirit, and went on bis way tenfold 
 stronger for the conflict.
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 WORDS FOR THE MASTER. 
 
 BOUT this time, Robert Bernhard 
 called at Mr. Rushton s, and returned 
 him the money he had not used after 
 paying Gilbert s fine and some expenses 
 since. But Mr. Rushton laid it back in his 
 hand. 
 
 " You can find a use for it in your labors," 
 said he. 
 
 " I thank you, Mr. Rushton, most grate 
 fully," returned Robert. " It will make 
 many hearts glad." 
 
 " Perhaps so, in your hands, my friend. 
 But how is the young man doing ? I hear a 
 
 444
 
 AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 445 
 
 pretty good account of him from my friend 
 Irvin." 
 
 " He does well, I think, Mr. Rushton," 
 Robert answered; "as well as, with his habits, 
 we might expect. I think he is gradually 
 overcoming them in the strength of God." 
 
 " In what ? " asked the gentleman, facing 
 him rather curiously. " Do you convert 
 everybody that comes in contact with you, 
 Mr. Bernhard." 
 
 " I ? No, Mr. Rushton ! God only can do 
 that." 
 
 " Because," resumed Mr. Rushton lightly, 
 " if you have such power, it will be well for 
 me to keep away from you." 
 
 Robert looked sober. It was a contrast 
 with his usually happy face. 
 
 " Excuse me, Robert," said Mr. Rushton, 
 grave in his turn. " I meant to say nothing 
 rude or unkind." 
 
 " Oh, no, sir ! I did not feel it so. It dis-
 
 446 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 turbed me only that you should think of me 
 instead of the Lord, whose work it is to con 
 vert souls. You will pardon me, Mr. Rush- 
 ton, for expressing the hope that you will, 
 before long, be led to think differently of 
 these things." 
 
 " I have certainly no objection," returned 
 the gentleman, who seemed to be in a mood 
 to argue to-night, " to your expressing the 
 hope. But may I ask you why you use that 
 word ? What right have you to any hope in 
 the case ? " 
 
 Robert could hardly divine whether he 
 meant to quiz him, or was covering up some 
 hidden feeling with these sallies. 
 
 " I have, sir," he said respectfully and 
 humbly, " the right to believe, that whatever 
 I ask of the Father, in faith, he will give it 
 to me." 
 
 Mr. Rushton looked at him searchingly. 
 " And what am I to infer from that ? "
 
 OR, AMY RUSETON S MISSION. 447 
 
 "That I pray for your conversion, Mr. 
 Rushton," said Robert gravely. 
 
 "Pshaw!" said Mr. Rushton, walking 
 away; and a red spot glowed in either cheek. 
 But he came back presently to business. 
 " You say young Marvin is doing fairly ? " 
 9 " I think he is, sir." 
 
 " And as yet has no clew to the truth ? " 
 
 " No, sir : I believe not." 
 
 " It is best so, for the present," Mr. Rush- 
 ton observed. " The time may come for him 
 to know all ; but you can understand why I 
 would rather he would not. By the way," 
 he asked suddenly, " did I see you at Elm- 
 street Church one Sunday not long since ? " 
 
 " I was there, sir." 
 
 " And the young man was with you ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 "My daughter attends there," said the 
 gentleman, musing. " May I ask if you and 
 the young man attend regularly ? "
 
 448 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 " We do not, sir, but worship at a mission 
 chapel connected with that church." 
 
 " Yes." Mr. Rushton seemed relieved. 
 
 " You went to hear young Ellery ? " 
 
 i. 
 
 " It was my chief object in going, sir." 
 
 " His sermon was unique and deep," Mr. 
 Rushton remarked presently. " But the 
 most remarkable thing about it was, that, 
 the farther 1 am in time from its delivery, 
 the more vividly it recurs to me. I am not 
 in the habit of listening to sermons ; but it 
 seems to me to have been a powerful one." 
 
 "It seemed to me full of unction, Mr. 
 Rushton," observed Robert, as the gentle 
 man paused, " the unction of the Holy 
 Spirit. He evidently lives very near God." 
 
 " I understand the church has called him 
 to the pastorate, but he declines to accept 
 it." 
 
 " Do you know on what ground, Mr. 
 Rushton ? "
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 449 
 
 " On the ground, I believe, that his pres 
 ent place has too large a claim upon him. 
 He has no desire to exchange it for a fashion 
 able city church. Well, if he does as much 
 to raise the general character of any place as 
 he did at Boundbrook and the mills, it will 
 be a benefit to the world, for which his name 
 ought to be immortal." 
 
 Robert rose to go ; and Mr. Rushton him 
 self accompanied him to the door with a 
 courteous " Good-evening ! " 
 
 When he reached home, he found only 
 Elsie and Oliver. 
 
 "Where is Gilbert?" he asked. 
 
 "He has just gone, uncle," Oliver an 
 swered. 
 
 "Yes. You are late to-night, brother," 
 remarked Elsie, " and no supper yet, poor fel 
 low ! Oliver, let us see you do the honors 
 of the table for Uncle Robert, while I finish 
 this work." 
 
 29
 
 450 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 Oliver proceeded to pour out his uncle s 
 tea, and cut bread and pie, with the serene 
 composure of a Chinaman. 
 
 " There, my son, that will do," interposed 
 Robert, smiling, as Oliver sliced the fourth 
 piece from the white loaf. " I am not so 
 intemperate as you seem to suppose." 
 
 Robert finished his meal, having eaten 
 sparingly ; and after Oliver had gone up to 
 his room, and they were quite alone, Elsie 
 asked how the day had gone with him. 
 
 " Well with me, sister ; and my poor 
 friend at the prison is gone home, I trust." 
 
 " The one you took Gilbert to see ? " 
 
 " The same. He has been failing long." 
 
 " And how was he at last ? " 
 
 " I did not reach him till it was too late, 
 Elsie ; but the turnkey told me he went 
 quietly and consciously. The light had been 
 gradually dawning on his mind for some 
 time. His face was calm, as if the weariness 
 was all over ; and I thank God it is."
 
 OR, AMY KUSHTON S MISSION. 451 
 
 " O Robert, what a privilege you have to 
 wait on these sick and discouraged and sin 
 ning ones ! and I am so fettered that I can 
 not help in any such work." 
 
 " Dear sister, you take care of me. How 
 could I live but for you ? " 
 
 " But I could go out and relieve you ; and 
 it would be such a pleasure ! " 
 
 " But if it were not your right place, 
 dear, you would take no pleasure in it. 
 You may do much for your Lord when you 
 are at Mr. Rushton s." 
 
 Her eyes filled. " I know I am selfish 
 and proud, Robert ; but when I think of 
 your work, and watch Miss Amy almost every 
 day go out with her little girl to visit the 
 suffering, I do so want to fling down my 
 sewing, and go too ! And to be obliged to 
 sit there and listen to so much of Mrs. 
 Rushton s vapid talk ! " 
 
 Robert looked pained. "My dear sister, 
 what are you saying ? "
 
 452 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 She burst into tears at this, which was 
 something very unlike Elsie. Robert drew 
 her work away from her. 
 
 " There, Elsie, you are too tired to work 
 longer : put this away. It is hard for you, I 
 know, dear. What shall we do to have you 
 freed from this trial? " 
 
 " It is very foolish and wrong in me," said 
 Elsie, at last, trying to smile through her 
 tears ; " and I do not often feel so. I want 
 more of your patience and faith." 
 
 Robert shook his head. " I have often 
 wished I had more of yours, Elsie. But, to 
 come back to the point, I know Oliver is a 
 care to you, with all your sewing and other 
 work. Shall we send him away ? " 
 
 " Send him away ! " Elsie looked at her 
 brother in astonishment. " Send Oliver 
 away ! Indeed we will not ! I never 
 thought of such a thing." 
 
 " Then shall I go ? "
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 453 
 
 " O Robert, you dear old fellow ! Don t 
 talk so any more. I am ashamed of myself : 
 indeed I am ! " 
 
 u You need not be ashamed, Elsie. You 
 are tired out to-night ; and that is the cause 
 of these tears. But, Elsie, you think you 
 can not do such work as I do, and as Miss 
 Amy. I think you can do that which is 
 equal to it." 
 . " Why, how, Robert ? " 
 
 " In your sewing-room at Mrs. Rushton s. 
 You see many there sometimes. Do you 
 always remember that you are to keep your 
 light burning, no matter where you are ? " 
 
 "Robert, I do sometimes try to speak a 
 word for our Master with the girls there ; 
 but it would be very much out of place with 
 Mrs. Rushton." 
 
 " I am not sure of that," Robert replied. 
 " A word now and then, spoken respectfully, 
 and with no unbecoming familiarity what
 
 454 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 might it not do ? You want to work for the 
 Lord ; then you must not be afraid to show 
 your colors, Elsie. In the day of account, 
 will Mrs. Rushton have occasion to say, I 
 never knew Elsie Bernhard was on the 
 Lord s side ? " 
 
 " But I am only her poor sewing-girl," 
 said Elsie ; and the tears came again. 
 
 " Was Nathan, the poor prophet, afraid to 
 rebuke King David, and to say, Thou art 
 the man ? Dear Elsie, God knows neither 
 rank nor condition. With love in the heart, 
 there can be no real danger of seeming ob 
 trusive. The reason professing Christians 
 sometimes offend, or fail of doing good, when 
 they speak of personal religion, is because 
 it is not done with real love and feeling. 
 The world is not easily deceived. It is 
 keen-eyed, and sees straight through faint 
 heartedness and hollowness of motive." 
 
 " Then, if my heart is not just so full of 
 love, I must not speak."
 
 OB, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 455 
 
 " Rather say, Elsie, I must go away and 
 wrestle with God till my heart gets just so 
 full." 
 
 " But how shall I know ? " 
 
 "When the love of Christ constraineth 
 you, you will not stop to ask that question, 
 dear sister." There was a silence until 
 Robert asked, " You are not willing to have 
 Oliver go away : what are you doing for 
 him, Elsie ? Are you forgetting that it is of 
 more consequence that you should act the 
 part of mother and teacher to him than to 
 be worried and fretted over your work ? " 
 
 " I am forgetting every thing, Robert," 
 said Elsie sadly. 
 
 " No, you are not, dear," returned Robert 
 cheerfully. "But you are worn out with 
 this constant care. You are young, and need 
 change more than I do. Could not Mrs. 
 Rushton allow you a vacation, Elsie? At 
 any rate, I will see what can be done about 
 it,"
 
 456 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 " No, you shall not, dear Robert," said 
 Elsie. " You forget that we need every cent 
 I can earn. And there are new school-books 
 to buy for Oliver now. Poor boy, he is try 
 ing to help earn them chopping wood for the 
 neighbor next door; but it will be slow 
 work." 
 
 " All these difficulties shall not stand in 
 the way, Elsie. Some sort of change you 
 shall have. I am not afraid that God will 
 not take care of us. Have we trusted him 
 so far, to begin to doubt now ? Cheer up, 
 Elsie: the way will surely brighten. But 
 don t forget your mission, dear. Be instant 
 in season and out of season. Neither fall 
 into the error of laying all remissness and 
 lack of fervor in God s service to mere physi 
 cal condition. We can not always control 
 circumstances ; but we need not let them 
 control us. Now, Elsie, for your encourage 
 ment, let me show you what Mr. Rushton 
 has done to-night."
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 457 
 
 He spread upon the table a roll of bank 
 notes, and bade her count them. She did so 
 rapidly. 
 
 " How much, Elsie ? " 
 
 " Almost fifty dollars. It s for your poor 
 people, I know. How very good in him ! 
 Why, Robert, it is really wonderful that he 
 should have done this ! " 
 
 " So it is. The Lord bless him ! " said 
 Robert warmly. " O Elsie ! what may we 
 not hope for ? And shall we fail to do our 
 part ? " 
 
 " There, dear Robert, I have had enough. 
 I am humbled and ashamed truly. You 
 shall not see me give way again. But don t 
 try to get a vacation for me." 
 
 On that point Robert kept his own coun 
 sel.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 IN THE SEWING-ROOM. 
 
 MY," said Mrs. Rushton, coming to her 
 5 room one morning not long after, with 
 a face of absolute distress, " what shall 
 I do ? Bernhard s brother was here last night ; 
 and actually, before I knew what I was say 
 ing, I promised him she might have a vaca 
 tion of two weeks. He says she is quite 
 worn out. And now what shall I do? 
 There is no one to be had." 
 
 " She is worn out, mother," said Amy. 
 " I have noticed for some time that she was 
 very pale. She needs rest. And we can do 
 very well. Ellen is beginning to sew nicely. 
 
 458
 
 AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 459 
 
 And you know I know how to use a 
 needle." 
 
 " You know every thing, I believe," said 
 the lady, which was a very appreciative re 
 mark for her. " Poor papa never would let 
 me learn to sew. He considered it very 
 unbecoming in a lady to make her own 
 clothes. But Mr. Rushton has such different 
 ideas!" 
 
 " I am very thankful he has, mother," 
 returned Amy mischievously, and not with 
 out a feeling of disrespect for the " poor 
 papa." " And Mrs. Percival thought he 
 was quite right : so I learned not only to sew, 
 but to sweep and cook and " 
 
 " Amy Rushton ! " exclaimed the lady 
 languidly, "don t name any more of your 
 accomplishments. My nerves can t bear 
 such a shock this morning. What with 
 Bernhard s leaving, and all, I am really 
 quite fatigued with excitement. Sweeping
 
 460 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 and cooking, indeed ! " And she watched 
 Amy s graceful figure in idle amazement, as 
 she went round the room putting things in 
 order. 
 
 "Why don t you have Ellen do that?" 
 she asked. 
 
 " I like to do it, mother. Besides, she is 
 busy." 
 
 " What can she be doing, pray, that is 
 more important than your work ? " 
 
 " Come with me, and I will show you." 
 Amy led the way to the next room, where 
 Ellen sat, surrounded with paper patterns, 
 and clothes in various stages of progress. 
 She was at work on a fawn-colored merino, 
 which Mrs. Rushton recognized as one Amy 
 had worn on first returning from Mrs. Perci- 
 val s. It was now being made into a child s 
 dressing-gown, and was nearly finished. 
 
 "Whom is that for?" 
 
 " For the little boy at the Orphans
 
 OR, AMY PUSIITON S MISSION. 461 
 
 Home, little Johnny Caswell. He has been 
 an invalid, you know, all winter, but seems 
 a little better now. And these other things 
 are for various people," continued Amy hap 
 pily. "Now, mamma, I want to make a 
 bargain with you. As soon as Ellen has 
 finished this, go down to the Home with 
 me, and see Johnny have it on. You know 
 I ve invited you before. He s a sweet little 
 fellow. And then Ellen and I will engage to 
 do the sewing till Miss Bernhard comes back." 
 
 " What makes you say Miss Bernhard, 
 child ? It is not a sign of aristocratic breed 
 ing at all." 
 
 " But I am not aristocratic, my dear mam 
 ma," said Amy with her happy little laugh. 
 
 Mrs. Rushton demurred somewhat at 
 Amy s proposal to go to the Home, but, 
 after a little more coaxing, consented. What 
 impression she received may be best known 
 from her conversation with Mr. Rushton that 
 evening.
 
 462 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 " I don t know what to make of myself, 
 Mr. Rushton," she said, after relating the 
 story of Johnny s delight, and his clinging 
 affection for Amy. " I ve been on the point 
 of crying ever since, it worked so on my 
 nerves. Dear papa would say, Take a dose 
 of valerian, Lucy. : 
 
 " Perhaps it would be well," suggested Mr. 
 Rushton mildly. " But why should it make 
 you cry to see Johnny, my dear ? " 
 
 " Oh, I don t know !" said the lady, sighing, 
 and using her handkerchief freely. "He is 
 a pretty little fellow, that s true, and did 
 look sweetly in the wrapper. But he talks 
 so bright, and so strangely too, for a child." 
 
 " Why, what about, Lucy ? " 
 
 "About any thing that comes up, but 
 mostly about I can t tell you, Mr. Rush- 
 ton. Go and see him yourself." 
 
 Mr. Rushton smiled. " I have been to see 
 him several times, Lucy."
 
 OR, AMY RUSUTON S MISSION. 463 
 
 " You have ! Well, Ainy has been asking 
 me to go all winter. Oh ! about that Eng 
 lish gardener she has been talking of so long ! 
 Have you found him a place yet ? " 
 
 " Yes, a good one. And he does well, and 
 brings up his son to regard Amy as a sort of 
 household saint." 
 
 "Does he, indeed?" said the lady. "I 
 suppose she likes that." 
 
 " You are unjust, Lucy. She does not 
 know it, and if she did would be very sorry. 
 But I am waiting to know what Johnny 
 talked about," he continued with a mischiev 
 ous twinkle in his eye. 
 
 " Oh ! I can t tell it. What did he talk 
 about when you saw him ? " replied the lady 
 evasively. 
 
 " Sometimes about God and heaven and 
 his mother," Mr. Rushton commenced with 
 a voice of assumed bravery. But he was no 
 actor ; and his tone rather died away at the 
 last.
 
 4G4 BOUNDDROOK; 
 
 " Then, what do you ask me for ? " said his 
 wife, looking round at him, for he was not 
 sitting in front of her. " I declare, John 
 Rushton, if you aren t as babyish as I am ! I 
 thought you had nerves as strong as steel. 
 What are we coming to ? " 
 
 For the next two weeks Amy and Ellen 
 took up their station, for a while every day, 
 in Mrs. Rushton s sewing-room ; while Mrs. 
 Rushton sometimes complained, sometimes 
 tried her old haughty airs, and sometimes, to 
 Amy s great joy, joined in healthy talk, and 
 laughed a happier laugh than she had ever 
 heard from her. In truth, this had been 
 Amy s chief object in taking this step. To 
 be with Mrs. Rushton, to get interested in 
 her little interests (wearing as this sometimes 
 was), to find out the best side of her charac 
 ter, had long been her greatest desire ; and 
 so she had hailed with joy this means of 
 accomplishing it. Ellen looked on in amaze-
 
 OR, AMT XUSHTON S MISSION. 465 
 
 ment to see with how ready a sympathy she 
 threw herself into all this, but with native 
 delicacy said nothing. 
 
 Amid it all, Amy found time for her poor 
 people still ; though there was much that had 
 to be laid aside for a time of more leisure. 
 It was often a disappointment, but met cheer 
 fully. Once Ellen ventured to speak of it 
 when Mrs. Rushton was out of the room- 
 " We would be in a hurry with these gar 
 ments any other time, wouldn t we, Miss 
 Amy ? " she asked. " How can you lay them 
 by so easily? I know you are anxious to 
 begin them." 
 
 " So I am, dear, and, by quick work, per 
 haps we can soon." 
 
 " But dear Miss Amy, if it would not be 
 presuming in me to ask, how can you turn 
 from one thing to another so cheerfully, when 
 it is really a disappointment to have to do 
 so?" 
 
 30
 
 466 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 " I did not know I did, Ellen," Amy re 
 turned after a thoughtful silence. " I have 
 striven to acquire the habit. I want to be 
 where God wants me, my child. Sometimes 
 he says, Spend your time for these poor 
 children of mine ; and then I am so glad to 
 do it ! But if he says, Stop and take up this 
 cross a little while, ought I not to be just as 
 ready to do that? And now the cross is 
 beginning to be a pleasure." 
 
 " Dear Miss Amy," said Ellen gratefully, 
 " how I wish I could be just as forgetful of 
 self as you are ! " 
 
 "Hush, Ellen! Come, let us sing a 
 little ! " When Mrs. Rushton entered, they 
 WGIG singing, 
 
 " Nearer, my God, to thee, 
 
 Nearer to thee I 
 E en though it be a cross 
 
 That raiseth me, 
 Still all my song shall be,
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 467 
 
 Nearer, my God, to thee, 
 Nearer to thee 1 " 
 
 Mrs. Rushton had been out walking, and 
 came in with a remarkably bright face for 
 her. " I met Mary Clay and Esther when I 
 was out," said she. " Esther does not look 
 strong yet." 
 
 " No. I am afraid she never will be," ob 
 served Amy. 
 
 " But Mary I never saw her looking so 
 well ; and she is getting to be as plain in her 
 dress as a Quaker, or as you are, which is 
 quite as bad. She wished me to say that she 
 would call on you by and by." 
 
 " I am so glad ! " said Amy ; for it had 
 seemed to her, of late, that Mary rather 
 avoided her. 
 
 She knew the reason when Mary at last 
 came. " I thought I would try to be sensi 
 ble like you," said Mary, referring to her 
 dress ; " but when I had gone so far, and
 
 468 J30UNDBROOK ; 
 
 found I was still farther than before from 
 being like you and Esther, ray whole proud 
 nature rose up against it. I could not bear 
 Esther s kind talk, nor your pleading eyes. 
 I felt as if you all ought to commend me ; 
 but you still seemed to look for something 
 deeper. So I have been fighting with 
 myself several weeks." 
 
 " But what now, Mary ? " 
 
 " Last night, I went out alone, sick of 
 myself and every thing and everybody else, 
 and strayed into a prayer-meeting. And 
 who should be there speaking, but your 
 seamstress s little hunchbacked brother ! Oh, 
 how he did talk ! It was just what I needed. 
 He seemed to know all that I had been 
 thinking of all this time. There was a 
 young man with him too, and he told of his 
 terrible conflicts with temptation." Amy 
 started, thinking of Gilbert Marvin. " It 
 was very broken ; but you couldn t but feel
 
 OB, AMY BUSUTON S MISSION. 469 
 
 that God had been dealing with him. And I 
 felt, If he requires this service from them, 
 what does he require of me ? Only I had 
 held out so long, it seemed as if I had in 
 sulted him too much. But if he could help 
 this young man who had fallen so many 
 times, and was so easily led to sin, I felt he 
 would not refuse me too. I could not stay 
 there. I went out, and went home. I locked 
 myself into my own room, and solemnly 
 promised to be a Christian, with God s help." 
 
 "I do not need to ask if he gave you 
 help," said Amy with deep joy, watching her 
 friend s countenance. 
 
 " He did," continued Mary. " I am sure 
 of it, just there ; and I might have known 
 all this before." She hid her face on Amy s 
 shoulder. 
 
 " But we will never cease to praise him 
 that you know it at last, dear Mary."
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 ELSIE S VACATION. 
 
 lURING the two weeks of Elsie s vaca- 
 tion, she was busy with Robert s many 
 charges when she could leave her work 
 at home. And very often she contrived to 
 do this. They were marked days, wherein 
 she learned more of her brother s loved 
 work, his kindness and wisdom in dealing 
 with different natures, his sacrifices for the 
 truth, his deep religious feelings, and his suc 
 cess in gathering men to come to his Master s 
 feast, days, too, that exalted her own 
 spirit, gave her truer ideas of life, of the vast 
 work that God puts into his children s hands ; 
 
 470
 
 AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 471 
 
 so that, when she went back to Mrs. Rushton, 
 she could bear more unweariedly the con 
 stant demands upon her patience, and, re 
 membering how God loves, could even love 
 where she had before only felt a half scornful 
 pity. But the last days of her vacation were 
 momentous. 
 
 Mr. Marvin had been failing steadily, until 
 the lamp of life burned so feebly, that often 
 they thought him gone. Robert went to 
 him every day, and at last told Elsie that she 
 would better remain with them until the last, 
 as it was not well to leave Mrs. Marvin 
 alone. So she took up her station there by 
 day ; and Oliver went untiringly back and 
 forth with food and messages. At night 
 Gilbert relieved Elsie ; but the last night 
 came. It was just as he came in from his 
 day s labor, that he perceived a change, and 
 Elsie had not yet gone. Robert might be in 
 at any moment ; but he came not, and the girl 
 found it hard to control herself.
 
 472 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 " I have never seen death," she whispered 
 to Gilbert ; " and I am sure he will not 
 breathe long. Oh, if Robert would only 
 come ! " 
 
 " Do not be afraid, Miss Elsie," said Gil 
 bert cheerfully. " Surely it can not be a hard 
 struggle. But I will remain alone if you 
 wish to go." 
 
 " I will not leave you," she returned more 
 quietly, and together they watched the feeble 
 breaths. Mrs. Marvin hung over her hus 
 band on the other side of the bed, as she had 
 done for the last two or three days almost 
 incessantly. It seemed as if she measured 
 her own life by his. She refused food, and 
 looked wild and haggard. 
 
 " Mother," said Gilbert (he had returned 
 to his old habit of calling her mother), " do 
 you know that he is going ? " 
 
 " Yes," she returned sharply but feebly. 
 " Going ? yes ; and I am going too. You
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 473 
 
 shall not hinder me ! I ve not clung to him 
 all these years to leave him now." 
 
 " Speak to her of Christ, Gilbert," whis 
 pered Elsie : " ask her if she knows him." 
 
 Gilbert leaned over to her. " Mother," 
 said he, " do you know Christ, the Saviour? " 
 
 " Mr. Bernhard has told me and him all 
 that," she answered, pointing to her husband. 
 
 " But do you know him to love him ? Will 
 father go to him ? would you ? " 
 
 " I do not know," she answered in her 
 old sharp tone again. " I am content to go 
 with Jacob." 
 
 Elsie turned away. It was more than she 
 could bear. Gilbert led her to a seat at the 
 farther side of the room. 
 
 " Will she die too, do you think ? " she 
 asked. 
 
 " It may be before long, but I think not 
 yet. Such cases are not uncommon where 
 two have clung together so. His was the
 
 474 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 stronger life naturally, and hers was always 
 bound up in him." 
 
 He went back to the bedside. Mr. Mar 
 vin opened his eyes, saw clearly his wife 
 bending over him, and Gilbert. "Where s 
 the little girl ? " said he in a slow whis 
 per. 
 
 Gilbert put his face down to his ear. " She 
 is at home," said he. " It is all well." 
 
 Something that might have been a smile 
 flitted across his face (they could not tell), 
 then a dark shadow, and he went out into 
 the unknown. 
 
 Gilbert went round to Mrs. Marvin. 
 " Come with me now, mother," said he. 
 
 " No," she said, her sharp tone changed to 
 a husky whisper. " Has he gone ? " 
 
 Gilbert did not answer. She sat down 
 upon the bed, without a word, and gazed 
 fixedly at her husband. Gilbert went over 
 to Elsie, and they sat in silence till Robert
 
 OB, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 475 
 
 and Oliver came ; and then Elsie went 
 home with Oliver. 
 
 Robert did not return till the early morn 
 ing. Elsie was up, waiting for him. 
 " How is it, Robert ? " she asked. " Is she 
 gone too ? " 
 
 "No, dear. She sits by him still." 
 Robert sat wearily down, and sighed. 
 
 " I have witnessed many such scenes, El 
 sie," said he presently, " but never any thing 
 that was so hard to bear as this. I have 
 known their history so well, have seen them 
 in such good circumstances, have understood 
 so clearly what they might have come to be, 
 and then to witness the depth to which they 
 have sunk, the imbecility and stupidity, all 
 resulting from wrong steps and the terrible 
 effects of strong drink. Oh ! if every young 
 man in our land could know all this as I 
 have, he would flee from the accursed cup 
 for ever."
 
 476 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 That day and the next Elsie, with a kind 
 neighbor, watched with Mrs. Marvin; but, 
 as the second night drew on, they saw that 
 they would not be needed long. The poor, 
 wretched, but still devoted wife seemed 
 to have consumed her own life in watching 
 the wasted frame that she had clung to 
 through so much that was sorrowful and 
 trying. 
 
 When the last flicker of life had gone out, 
 Gilbert and Elsie stood beside the dead. 
 
 " Two wasted lives," said Gilbert sadly. 
 
 " Perhaps not," Elsie returned. " God 
 had some end to be accomplished in keeping 
 them here so long ; and their history may 
 stimulate others to shun the evils which 
 crushed them down. We do not understand 
 God s purposes, Gilbert." 
 
 " I know it," he replied. " There will be 
 a time when all things shall be made clear. 
 God grant it may prove that all this has 
 not been in vain for me I "
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 477 
 
 In her heart Elsie echoed his prayer ; but 
 she said nothing. 
 
 The next Monday Elsie went back to her 
 duties with a brighter eye and a rosier cheek, 
 and found herself warmly welcomed. She 
 could not help being amused at Mrs. Rush- 
 ton s gratuitous account of the hours Amy 
 and Ellen had spent in the sewing-room. 
 
 " I really believe," she said in conclusion, 
 " that Miss Amy took it up half in fun ; for 
 the sewing was not so much, after all, and 
 seemed mere play to them both, and they 
 were as gay as crickets." Amy was entering 
 the room at the time, and heard it all. 
 
 " My dear mother," said she, " I never 
 did any thing more in earnest in my life. 
 Gome, I want you to go out with me to see 
 Johnny again this morning." 
 
 " In a minute, child. Get ready, and. I ll 
 come. You may leave the curtains till I 
 come back, Bernhard. Miss Amy has really
 
 478 BOUNDBROOE, 
 
 interested me in a little orphan-boy, who is 
 at the Home, sick, or rather convalescent ; 
 and I am foolish enough to allow myself to 
 be dragged out occasionally to see him. 
 Have you ever seen much sickness, Bern- 
 hard?" 
 
 " I saw both sickness and death last week, 
 Mrs. Rushton," answered Elsie. 
 
 " How dreadful ! Some of your brother s 
 poor people, I suppose. How could you go 
 through such scenes, and come back looking 
 so much better ? " 
 
 The lady seemed waiting for an answer ; and 
 Elsie replied, 
 
 " It was dreadful in one sense, Mrs. Rush- 
 ton. It was the case of a husband and wife 
 who died in great poverty, and within two 
 days of each other, two poor, shattered 
 wrecks both physically and mentally." 
 
 " Dreadful ! " said Mrs. Rushton with a 
 shudder. "I can t bear to think of death,
 
 OR, AMT RUSHTON S MISSION. 479 
 
 much less to see it. Don t such things affect 
 your nerves seriously ? " 
 
 " I can not tell, Mrs. Rushton," replied 
 Elsie respectfully, " how it would affect me 
 if I could not look beyond to God. What 
 can we do, when our own dying-hour comes, 
 without him to lean on? " 
 
 Mrs. Rushton s face grew a shade paler, 
 and she passed out of the room without 
 replying. But Elsie remembered what 
 Robert had said to her, and was glad she had 
 spoken. 
 
 The spring passed ; and summer came on, 
 with its reminder that Amy was to spend a 
 portion of its days at Boundbrook. Mr. and 
 Mrs. Rushton seldom left the city for any 
 length of time. It was the only thing in 
 which Mrs. Rushton could reconcile herself 
 to being unfashionable. But she was too 
 querulous to leave such an establishment as 
 theirs even to a long-tried housekeeper;
 
 480 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 and, except an occasional short trip to the 
 seaside or mountains, they spent their sum 
 mers at home. 
 
 Amy could hardly bring herself to leave 
 them, or her needy and sick people scattered 
 over the city. How grateful she felt when 
 Mr. Rushton offered to make Robert Bern- 
 hard acquainted with the facts of their 
 wants, so that, although most of them were 
 not in his rounds, he might interest some one 
 for them ! And she was sure mother would 
 go and see Johnny, would she not? The 
 little boy had taken a great fancy to her 
 already ; and Mrs. Rushton yes, even the 
 elegant and aristocratic Mrs. Rushton had 
 held him in her arms, with his sweet, intelli 
 gent face pressed against her costly silk. 
 But the time came for leaving ; and one 
 bright morning the family carriage was 
 brought up, and Amy and Ellen, with Mr. 
 and Mrs. Rushton as escorts, whirled away 
 to Boundbrook.
 
 07?, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 481 
 
 Delightful days were they there, at the 
 precious home where she had drunk in her 
 first knowledge of God ; where, under her 
 friends judicious culture and religious train 
 ing, she had grown steadily into the " abiding 
 peace " of the Christian ; where the little 
 sabbath school had kept her dancing spirits 
 subdued on many a sabbath evening ; where 
 Mr. Ellery had talked with her so kindly 
 and sympathetically ; where her version of 
 the "old, old story," had been told; and 
 where, in the summer that followed, the 
 converts to the faith of Christ had been 
 multiplied as those " that fly as a cloud, and 
 as doves to their windows." 
 
 The schoolhouse, in its outside dimen 
 sions, was quite overshadowed now by the 
 church edifice that towered near by; but 
 Amy felt that the new place of worship 
 could never be so dear to her as the old, for 
 there the truth had come to her from Mr. 
 
 31
 
 482 BOUNDBROOK. 
 
 Ellery s lips, and Maggie s feet had crossed 
 the threshold. 
 
 The gray stone cottage still stands in its 
 dress of moss, and the blue river glides in 
 front. The pet lanib of Amy s childhood 
 has gone ; but there is always one youthful 
 descendant to keep her memory green, with 
 which Amy can renew her undignified races 
 in the cool mornings. Then, too, Bertram 
 Morley is at home during his vacation at the 
 seminary ; and Mr. Ellery finds time to leave 
 his people for a short visit. So there is no 
 lack of youthful buoyancy mingled with the 
 quiet and deeper enjoyment of 1 appy Chris 
 tian society.
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 NEW RELATIONSHIPS. 
 
 | 
 
 UMMER was over ; and in early Sep 
 tember the carriage came for Amy 
 and her friends, Mr. and Mrs. Perci- 
 val~to be conveyed to Cummington Square. 
 It was dark when they reached the house ; 
 but it was brilliantly lighted, and, as the car 
 riage halted, Amy s eyes caught the figures 
 of her father and mother in the doorway. 
 Mr. Rushton ran down the steps, and lifted 
 her out. " My precious child ! " he said in a 
 low voice that nobody but Amy heard. Then 
 he assisted Mrs. Percival and Ellen to alight ; 
 while Amy, begging pardon for her impa- 
 
 483
 
 484 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 tience, ran up the steps. Had she seen a 
 little figure flitting about among the others ? 
 
 Mrs. Rushton met her with a warm greet 
 ing. " We have been really lonely without 
 you, my dear Amy," she exclaimed. " And 
 it seems good to see you here again, looking 
 so well ; though your cheeks are not quite 
 delicately tinted enough for beauty." 
 
 Amy s happy laugh rang out. " These are 
 country cheeks, mother. But I thought I 
 saw a little child s figure here when the door 
 opened." 
 
 Mr. Rushton had entered now with Mr. 
 and Mrs. Percival ; and Amy, not waiting an 
 answer to her question, glanced round, and 
 discovered a little foot peeping out from be 
 low a door. She cautiously went up to it. 
 A bright intelligent face next peeped out. 
 
 " Johnny, my Johnny ! " she cried joy 
 fully, catching him in her arms. " You little 
 butterfly ! when did you burst your shell ? 
 My little darling ! "
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 485 
 
 Half laughing and half crying, she took 
 him to her father. 
 
 " What does this mean, father ? What is 
 it, mother ? " 
 
 " He is mother s boy, Amy," said Mr. 
 Rushton. " She has the whole story." 
 
 All eyes were turned upon the lady. 
 
 " Oh ! I never could tell a story," returned 
 she, embarrassed for almost the first time in 
 her life. "We were lonely, and we liked 
 the little fellow ; and so we have taken him, 
 and named him John Rushton. And that s 
 all the story there is to it. Mrs. Gay, will 
 you show these friends to their room ? " 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Percival went up stairs ; but 
 Amy let Johnny go, and flung her arms 
 about Mrs. Rushton s neck. 
 
 " There, you foolish girl ! " said the lady 
 at last. " Johnny is wondering to see you 
 cry. And my nerves are not quite strong 
 yet. Go to J our father."
 
 486 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Rushton had really adopted 
 the little orphan. How much of sunshine 
 came into the house with him, they whose 
 homes are blessed with little children will 
 know. 
 
 A month Mr. and Mrs. Percival were 
 honored guests at Cummington Square, and 
 then returned to take up their quiet life at 
 Boundbrook, where Mr. Percival continued 
 to study and write, as had long been his 
 wont, for the leading scientific and literary 
 journals of the day. 
 
 " What a work Amy has done there ! " 
 was Mrs. Percival s first remark as they 
 rode away. " Dear child ! It is because 
 she is such a happy, working Christian. How 
 little Mr. Rushton foresaw that he was, as it 
 were, entertaining an angel unawares, when 
 he took her from the street ! " 
 
 " God s providences are wonderful, won 
 derful ! " said Mr. Percival meditatively.
 
 OR, AM7 SUSHTON S MISSION. 487 
 
 " A wheel within a wheel, turning continu 
 ally, and involving such varied complica 
 tions. Who knows but that God means by 
 this to bring both Mr. and Mrs. Rushton into 
 the fold?" 
 
 Amy had by no means been idle at Bound- 
 brook, and, as soon as she reached home, had 
 taken up her work among the poor again. 
 In one of her walks, about this time, she 
 passed Gilbert Marvin on the street. Once 
 she had seen him before, and now recognized 
 him instantly. He did not appear to see 
 her, and passed on with his somewhat dig 
 nified air ; but, out of her sight, he leaned 
 against a fence, and covered his face with his 
 hands. He felt himself too unworthy to 
 look at her. And yet why was it, that, every 
 time he thought of the sister that might be 
 waiting for him somewhere, his mind would 
 fasten itself on Amy Rushton ? Not long 
 ago he had heard that she was an adopted
 
 488 BOUNDBEOOK; 
 
 child. " Rich and beautiful," Mrs. Marvin 
 had said. He did not know whether Miss 
 Rushton was beautiful or not. He never 
 could recollect any thing about her face, 
 except the sweet, childish mouth, and pitying 
 eyes. But no, the wild thought that flashed 
 over him could not be true. It was an insult 
 to her, for which he despised himself. 
 
 That evening, quite early, Amy went to 
 Mr. Rushton. " Are you very tired to 
 night, father? " she asked. 
 
 " No, darling." 
 
 " Would you go out with me a little while 
 to a prayer-meeting ? " she asked doubtfully. 
 
 Since Mr. Rushton first attended Elm- 
 
 
 
 street Church to hear Mr. Ellery, he had 
 once or twice entered its walls again. But 
 this was going a little too far. 
 
 " Nonsense, my child ! " said he. " You 
 know my weak points, and that I never 
 refuse you any thing. How could you have
 
 OR, AMT RUSHTON S MISSION. 489 
 
 the courage to ask this ? John Rushton at a 
 prayer-meeting indeed ! " Amy caught the 
 slight curl of his lips as he spoke. - 
 
 " Father," said she, and it seemed as if her 
 heart stopped beating for the moment, " John 
 Rushton will have to stand in the judgment." 
 
 From some lips the words might have 
 fallen harshly ; not so from hers, though they 
 were uttered with a power that made the 
 man start inwardly. But such tenderness 
 and grief Mr. Rushton had never seen in her 
 face before. It was no affectation of tender 
 ness, no sentimental grief. Her face and 
 words were alike honest. 
 
 " Pshaw ! " A bright spot glowed in 
 either cheek, as once before when Robert 
 Bernhard had been talking with him. But 
 he was not angry. " Go and get yourself 
 ready," said he, turning away from her. 
 
 " What courage she has, in spite of her 
 sweet innocence ! " said he to himself. " Who
 
 490 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 else would have dared say that to me, unless it 
 were Robert Bernhard ? John Rushton will 
 have to stand in the judgment? Strange all 
 the arguments I fix in mind on these points 
 are scattered by one word or look of hers ! 
 There s one thing about it, John Rushton, if 
 there is any thing in all this, you re a fool, 
 and a fool of fifty years growth too." 
 
 He went to the prayer-meeting. It was a 
 simple vestry-talk, that the Christians there 
 were enjoying that evening. Robert Bern- 
 hard and Gilbert Marvin were both present, 
 sitting some distance in front of the seat 
 which Mr. Rushton and Amy occupied. 
 Gilbert spoke, in a few humble but earnest 
 words, of the wonderful love of God hown 
 to him of late. Would he have had courage 
 for such a pleasure and duty, had he known 
 that Amy Rushton was there ? 
 
 In going out, absorbed in thought, he came 
 directly in her way. He could not but know
 
 OR, AM7 RUSHTON S MISSION. 491 
 
 her anywhere. He recovered himself, and 
 passed on hurriedly, but not till he had 
 caught her glance. Then she remembered 
 him too. And it was not pity now in her 
 eyes. What was it ? A sweet, genial sym 
 pathy. Even in that startled moment, 
 Gilbert knew by the light in her face that 
 Amy Rushton was a Christian. 
 
 " Amy," said Mr. Rushton on their way 
 home, "you remembered young Marvin, I 
 saw." 
 
 " I should always have known him in any 
 place, father ; but I expected to see him 
 there." 
 
 A pause. " He talks somewhat hesi 
 tatingly, Amy." 
 
 " But, O father, to think of his talking at 
 all ! And he is only a child in the Christian 
 life. How much pleasanter to hear such 
 words than none ! " 
 
 " That may be," Mr. Rushton replied 
 lightly.
 
 492 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 They went into the house ; but, instead of 
 going away to her room, Amy sat down by 
 her father. 
 
 " Father," she asked soberly, " has the 
 time come yet for me to know all that you 
 do of my history before you found me ? " 
 
 " Why do you ask me just now, dear ? " 
 
 " Because, father, I can never free myself 
 from the strange impression I have always 
 had in regard to young Marvin. It deepens 
 continually. There is a vague sense of some 
 thing, I can not define it, which makes me 
 feel that he is nearer to me than others : your 
 interest in him only increases this feeling. 
 Father, if I had ever been told that I had a 
 brother anywhere, I should believe it was 
 Gilbert Marvin." 
 
 Clear and straightforward as she always 
 was, Mr. Rushton felt it was no time to 
 evade the question. He did not know how 
 truly his face had answered it already.
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 493 
 
 " It is true?" she said, with one of her 
 steady, searching looks at him. 
 
 " Should you be glad, or sorry, if it were, 
 Amy?" 
 
 " Glad," was her instant, joyful reply. " I 
 can not tell you how glad ! Then it is true ; 
 and Gilbert Marvin is my brother ! O 
 father ! " 
 
 The next evening Mr. Rushton with 
 Robert Bernhard went to Gilbert s room ; 
 and, without any formality, they made the 
 young man acquainted with the fact of his 
 relationship to Amy. " It is wholly owing to 
 her own interest in you," Mr. Rushton said 
 in conclusion, "that I have become willing 
 to make this disclosure. Of myself, I frank 
 ly admit that I should not have done it at 
 present. Be grateful to her, not me, for the 
 knowledge that you have a sister such as, 
 it seems to me, never any young man had 
 before."
 
 494 BOUNDBEOOK; 
 
 Gilbert could not speak. The tide of 
 feeling that rushed over him was too strong. 
 He tried to be manly, and control himself ; 
 but his attempts were vain. He wept like a 
 child. " I am not fit to be her brother," he 
 said, finding his voice at last. " I am not 
 fit to speak her name. If she knows me, 
 she can only despise me for being her 
 brother." 
 
 "I am not sure of that, Gilbert," said Mr. 
 Rushton. " You do not know her yet. If 
 I remove all obstacles in the way of her see 
 ing you frequently, if you can prove your 
 self to be actuated by earnest desires to be 
 a worthy man, no recollection of the past shall 
 have weight with us. You shall come to us 
 freely. I say this for her sake and yours. 
 And if she shall be such a sister to you as 
 she has been daughter to me, and you can not 
 rise to all the manhood possible to you, then 
 you are not worthy of any sister."
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 495 
 
 Gilbert s stronger nature began to assert 
 itself. " Mr. Rushton," he said humbly, " in 
 God s strength I have been trying, for a year 
 past, to be a man. I do not know what you 
 think of these things ; but God is my only 
 helper. The thought of her pity for me, 
 when a little child, has often come to me 
 when I have been going down, and made me 
 long to be as innocent as she. God knows I 
 hold her in as pure and deep respect as ever a 
 brother could a sister. And if you can trust 
 me with this knowledge, knowing what I am, 
 if you can trust me to see her, there is 
 nothing in the world, I feel, that I could not 
 strive for." 
 
 Mr. Rushton grasped his hand, and shook 
 it heartily. " To-morrow evening come to 
 my house," said he, " and you shall see her." 
 
 Gilbert went. Those were trying mo 
 ments when he stood in Mr. Rushton s ele 
 gant library alone, waiting the coming of his
 
 496 BOUNDBROOK ; 
 
 sister, the sister of his dreams for so many 
 years, sleeping or waking ; for had not his 
 sister and Amy Rushton always been one to 
 him? 
 
 There was a light step near, and he turned 
 with a quick start. The serene, tender face, 
 all astir with sympathy, and shy amid it all, 
 was close by him ; and a trembling hand was 
 reached out to him. 
 
 " You are my brother," she said. But 
 Gilbert was speechless. Was it a dishonor 
 to his manliness that he had neither voice 
 nor language at command ? Nor did they 
 come to him, hardly, throughout the evening. 
 It was such a strange joy to look in her lov 
 ing face, and assure himself that this was his 
 longed-for sister, such a humiliation to feel 
 what he was beside her, such a weight of 
 gratitude to the dear Lord who had first 
 redeemed his wandering feet, and now 
 brought him to this wonderful moment,
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 497 
 
 that words would have been nothing to tell 
 it all. 
 
 So he sat with her for an hour, while she 
 sometimes was silent too, and sometimes 
 talked with serene happiness, telling him of 
 her joy that they had found each other, and 
 of her trust in him, that, through God s 
 help, he would redeem all the past, and 
 become an honorable man and a true-hearted 
 Christian. Then she brought him to Mr. 
 and Mrs. Rushton. 
 
 82
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 A FIERCE STEUGGLE. 
 
 R. RUSHTON manifested a kind 
 feeling toward Gilbert, for which he 
 was very grateful. He could now 
 go two evenings in the week, unquestioned 
 and undisturbed, to spend an hour or so in 
 the society of the sister who grew to be every 
 thing to him. Little as he felt himself beside 
 her, he never left her without feeling that a 
 better life was possible even to him ; never 
 sat with her a moment, that he did not 
 sensibly feel that her influence drew him 
 heavenward. It was not so much what she 
 said, for she never preached to him : it was 
 
 498
 
 AMY RUSUTON S MISSION. 499 
 
 her delicate understanding of his temptations, 
 which her work among the poor and lowly 
 had helped her to feel, and her whole-souled 
 interest in every thing and everybody, for 
 the sake of the dear Master she lived to 
 serve. So Gilbert grew through her com 
 panionship, and perhaps she no less through 
 his. 
 
 Mr. Rushton invited him once to dine 
 with them, and again ; but the second time 
 Gilbert did not come ; a third time, and he 
 was absent. Mr. Rushton went to Amy. 
 
 " Amy," he said, " your brother should be 
 careful how he slights these invitations to 
 dine with us. I want to treat him as your 
 brother ; and for your sake he ought not to be 
 uncivil. It can not be that he is weary of 
 you. Is he likely to fall back into his old 
 ways ? " 
 
 A deep pain, such as Mr. Rushton had 
 never seen in her countenance, settled upon
 
 500 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 it. She grew white even to her lips, and 
 with that old, well-remembered motion of her 
 childish days, her hands went up to shield her 
 face. But she spoke presently. " No, fa 
 ther : I have no reason to think he is. He 
 comes to see me as usual." 
 
 " Is he becoming careless in trying to im 
 prove himsel-f? I was beginning to hope 
 much for him." 
 
 " No, I think not, father." Still her voice 
 was troubled, and her face was hidden. Mr. 
 Rushton quietly drew her to himself. " My 
 dear child, what makes you tremble so ? 
 Have I not a right to know what is the cause 
 of this? It is not like you, Amy." It was 
 not like her. Yet how could she tell the 
 burden that had lain upon her for the weeks 
 that had passed since Gilbert was first invited 
 to dine there, and, yes, for weeks and years 
 previous, at times. It was the only point at 
 which her courage had ever failed her.
 
 07?, AMY ItUSHTON S MISSION. 501 
 
 " Aniy," asked Mr. Rushton, " do you 
 know why Gilbert refuses to dine here ? " 
 
 " He has told me no reason, dear father." 
 
 " Have you any suspicion of the reason ? " 
 
 She tried to force herself to answer 
 steadily; but her words were tremulous in 
 spite of her efforts. " Yes, father." 
 
 " Then I must know it, must I not ? " he 
 asked gently. 
 
 " Father, dear father, do not think me pre 
 suming. I have felt I could never speak to 
 you of this, you have been such a dear 
 loving father to me ; but it has troubled me 
 for years, and it seems more dreadful to me, 
 now that I know how it has been the cause 
 of so much misery, and how nearly Gilbert 
 has been ruined by it. I think this is the 
 reason why he stays away, though he has 
 never said it." 
 
 " Amy, my darling, your meaning is hard 
 to make out. What do you mean ? Is it 
 possible that "
 
 502 BOUNDBROOK ; 
 
 Mr. Rushton looked blank for a moment, 
 and then the red blood mounted to his tem 
 ples. " Amy, child, is it possible ? Do you 
 mean the wine on the table ? " 
 
 She was herself now, calm and steady. 
 " Yes ; and O father, think of Johnny ! " 
 
 Mr. Rushton sat troubled and silent. His 
 clear-seeing mind took it all in at a glance, 
 both past and future. 
 
 " Well, Amy," he said at length, " I have 
 yielded up several of my strongholds already. 
 I have tolerated your religious peculiarities, 
 I have gone to your poor people s houses, I 
 have been to church, I have been to 
 prayer-meeting ; and now, forsooth, I must 
 give up my wine. It s a pretty pass ! Am 
 I to be turned around by such a little wisp as 
 you are in every thing ? " 
 
 He spoke half gravely, half lightly ; and 
 Amy could not tell whether he were offended 
 or not. She asked the question almost as if 
 all her earthly happiness depended upon it,
 
 OB, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 503 
 
 " Father, are you angry with me ? " 
 
 " Angry, my sweet child, angry with you ! 
 Never ask me that question again, and I shall 
 not be. No, dear child, no ! But go away 
 now, and let me think of this matter." 
 
 He walked the room after she had gone 
 out. " Now, John Rushton " (he was in the 
 habit of apostrophizing himself thus as he 
 walked), " you ve another account to settle 
 with yourself; and, if these things are so, 
 then you re a greater fool than I ve suspected 
 you of being already." 
 
 Pride and conscience had a fierce strife in 
 the man s breast for weeks. Oh ! it was hard 
 to give up the luxury, the rich sparkling 
 wine, and banish it from his sideboard. Mr. 
 Rushton had too much good sense not to see 
 all that was involved by his persistence in 
 adhering to his life-long custom. But pride 
 held her own bravely for a while. Bright 
 little Johnny sat at the sumptuous table, and
 
 504 BOUNDBROOK ; 
 
 had always been helped to whatever was 
 needful and proper. How often his eyes had 
 wandered to the forbidden wine with all a 
 child s eager longing for the untasted luxury ! 
 Once or twice he had ventured to say, 
 " Please, papa, may I have just a little ? " 
 But Mr. Rushton had had sufficient firmness 
 to refuse the little pleader. 
 
 " It is not good for you, Johnny," he said 
 one day about this time, seeing the child s 
 questioning look. 
 
 " But it is good for papa ; and you said, 
 the other day, men were only big boys." 
 
 Mr. Rushton flushed slightly. 
 
 " Papa," said Johnny, after a moment s 
 profound consideration of the subject, " you 
 don t have to mind anybody, do you ?" 
 
 " No, my son." 
 
 " And I sha n t have to mind anybody 
 when I grow up, when I am a big boy like 
 
 you?"
 
 OR, AMY RUSIITON S MISSION. 505 
 
 " No," said Mr. Rushton, laughing a little 
 uneasily. 
 
 " Then I ll drink the sweet wine and the 
 champagne ; and I ll begin just as quick as I 
 don t have to mind anybody." 
 
 " But, Johnny," interrupted Mr. Rushton, 
 " suppose Sister Amy didn t want you to." 
 
 Amy sat at Johnny s side. His bright 
 eyes sought hers. 
 
 " Sister Amy, wouldn t you ever want me 
 to drink it ? Would you be sorry if I did ? " 
 
 " Yes, Johnny. I should be very sorry." 
 
 " If I ever did drink it, would you ? " 
 
 " Yes, Johnny." 
 
 He was puzzled, looking from one to the 
 other ; but his ready intuition kept him from 
 speaking the thought that was uppermost. 
 He contented himself with saying, as he 
 looked again regretfully at the wine, " I am 
 sorry you wouldn t like it, Sister Amy. I m 
 afraid I shall drink lots of it when I don t 
 have to mind anybody."
 
 506 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 Amy bent down to him, and spoke very 
 low. " Johnny, didn t you tell me, the other 
 day, you wanted to please God always ? " 
 
 " Yes, sister." 
 
 " But suppose it didn t please God to see 
 you so determined to drink the wine, could 
 you try not to think about it ? " 
 
 " Would it make God sorry ? " he asked, 
 wondering. 
 
 " I think it would, darling." 
 
 Again his puzzled look went over to Mr. 
 Rushton; and it said, as plainly as two bright 
 eyes could say it, " How can papa drink it, 
 then ? " Mr. Rushton rose, and abruptly left 
 the room. 
 
 Mrs. Rushton left the table also, and went 
 to the window. Amy followed her, bidding 
 Johnny run away to his play. 
 
 "I suppose," said Mrs. Rushton, feeling 
 Amy s arm steal round her waist, " that the 
 next thing will be to give up the wine. To
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 507 
 
 be sure, I don t care for myself; but how 
 will a table look without wine? In Cum- 
 mington Square too ! " Serious as the sub 
 ject was, Amy could not help smiling. 
 
 " Dear mother," she exclaimed, " it s the 
 privilege of Cummington Square to be inde 
 pendent, certainly." 
 
 " But to be so singular ! It really seems 
 to me every thing is getting turned round 
 here lately. What with your father going 
 to church and to prayer-meeting, and taking 
 so much notice of your brother, which is cer 
 tainly you will excuse my saying it, Amy, 
 very far from being as aristocratic as he 
 ought to be ; and now the wine, I really 
 am quite turned about with it all." 
 
 " Dear mother," said Amy with a little 
 unconscious sigh, " I wish we might all be 
 thoroughly turned about." 
 
 " It isn t that I don t think well of you, 
 Amy," continued Mrs. Rushton. "I think
 
 508 BOUNDBROOK. 
 
 you re a good girl, a little unsophisticated, 
 perhaps, for Cummington Square ; but you 
 mean well." 
 
 " Mother, dear mother," broke in Amy, 
 "let us be above Cummington Square. O 
 mother ! if father and you would look for the 
 best good; if you would begin to live for 
 God ! " 
 
 " Well," said Mrs. Rushton, a little moved, 
 " you have said that to me a great many 
 times. Perhaps I really ought to think 
 about it. But I must go now." 
 
 The next day Johnny looked for the wine 
 at table in vain; nor did it appear again. 
 And after a while Gilbert came to dine 
 with the family. But no one knew the con 
 flict between pride and conscience in Mr. 
 Rushton s soul, nor after how stubborn a re 
 sistance the former yielded. 
 
 " A little child shall lead them."
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 THE WIDENING FIELD. 
 
 ^IGHWAY and hedge work is delight 
 ful ; and in the sense that it is done 
 for the dear Lord, who is preparing 
 the feast, and bids us gather all in, it is sat 
 isfying. But every adverse circumstance is 
 not overcome in a day. Everybody is not 
 immediately brought into the kingdom ; nor 
 is every wanderer at once reclaimed from the 
 paths of waywardness and vice, and set on his 
 feet with a new song in his mouth. Mr. and 
 Mrs. Rushton are not yet within the fold ; 
 nor has Gilbert yet acquired a thoroughly 
 firm and self-sustaining character, though 
 
 609
 
 510 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 every day finds him more reliable, because 
 he learns to be more humbly dependent upon 
 the true Source of strength. Neither has 
 Elsie Bernhard, in her motherly care for Oli 
 ver, any reason to think that he yet loves 
 the Redeemer, whom he knows intellectually 
 so well through her own and her brother s 
 teaching. Robert goes to his daily work 
 with less of physical strength, so evidently 
 less, that Elsie s heart trembles with appre 
 hension ; but his spirit is brighter, and his 
 faith stronger, than ever. Still the seed he 
 sows with so much of hearty happiness and 
 fearlessness, and cherishes with almost wo 
 manly tenderness, does not all spring up and 
 bear fruit. When Elsie sometimes asks if he 
 is not discouraged (and she does it that she 
 may see the bright, trustful smile illumine 
 his pale face), he replies, " Never, dear sis 
 ter. I am working for a Master whose 
 promises are too rich to admit of that. His
 
 OR, AMY ItUSIITON S MISSION. oil 
 
 word shall not return unto him void ; and it 
 shall prosper in the thing whereunto he 
 sends it. What if my feeble call apparently 
 fails to reach some ears, shall I grow so dis 
 heartened as not to be able to raise my voice 
 at all ? This is God s work, not mine ; and . 
 I am content to remember that he seeth the 
 end from the beginning. " 
 
 Nor less trustfully does Amy repeat the 
 promises to herself. Long ago she put all 
 her anxiety for her dear father and her 
 mother into Christ s hands ; for the burden 
 grew too heavy to be borne. So now she is 
 not surprised when she finds her father at 
 his library-table with an open Bible, while 
 his cheeks flush and his eyes soften as he 
 looks up at her ; nor when she sees Mrs. 
 Rushton s moved face as she hears Johnny s 
 nightly prayer; for Johnny long ago won 
 his way into the selfish, weak woman s 
 heart, and the Lord may give it to the little
 
 512 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 child to complete the work that other hands 
 began. " His ways are higher than our 
 ways, and his thoughts than our thoughts." 
 
 Amy s mission has not been that of a 
 genius. She has never, any more than has 
 Robert Bernhard, startled the world with 
 heroic deeds, or with utterances from the 
 platform ; nor has she ever been guilty either 
 of poetical or prose effusions, other than the 
 little journal of long ago, the simple story, 
 which has done more for Mr. Rushton than 
 either of them know. Safely locked in his 
 escritoire still, the leaves are growing slight 
 ly yellow with the lapse of some dozen 
 years ; but it possesses for him the same 
 almost sacred interest. The time is coming 
 when he will share that interest with his 
 wife. 
 
 No, Amy s mission has been so like the 
 dew, refreshing every thing within its range, 
 so silent almost, yet so all-pervading in her
 
 OK, AMf RUSHTON S MISSION. 513 
 
 quiet, happy sincerity, so winning in her 
 quick sympathy, so wise in her continual 
 drawing nearer to Christ her Master, that it 
 is hard to tell of any great thing she has 
 done. It has been all doing, and the threads 
 of her working life are so closely interwoven, 
 that it presents only one unbroken, clear 
 surface ; yet what light springs from it ! It 
 brightens homes and weary faces in the 
 streets and lanes of the city where she has 
 been with her sunshiny presence and delicate 
 words of comfort ; and out in the country 
 homes about Boundbrook, where she was 
 never idle, her name is almost reverently 
 spoken. And what shall we say of her 
 home-work? of the father, and, yes, the 
 mother too, who cling to her so closely ; of 
 Ellen, who cares for her with tenderest 
 love ; of Johnny, and the brother who 
 wonderingly praises God every day for the 
 darling sister who makes life so bright ? Yet 
 
 33
 
 614 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 her mission may be told in the words she 
 quoted from Mr. Ellery when a little girl, 
 " to be as nearly like Christ as possible, and 
 to love everybody for his sake." And that 
 we can all do. 
 
 But there is one more scene to describe, 
 and our work is finished. Since tlie events 
 of the last chapter, a year or so has passed ; 
 and, on this bright morning in October, let 
 us go down to the wharf where Gilbert was 
 once wont to go. A large ship, full freight 
 ed, and bound for Calcutta, waits the signal 
 for departure. Numbers of people, many 
 not unfamiliar to us, are passing back and 
 forth with interested faces and quiet talk. 
 
 But here, near the cabin, gathered around 
 a young man whom we can not fail to recog 
 nize as Bertram Morley, and a young lady 
 who leans on his arm, are a group we surely 
 know. There are Mr. and Mrs. Percival, 
 Mr. Ellery, Mr. and Mrs. Rushton (whose
 
 07?, AMY IWSnTON S MISSION. 515 
 
 nerves are manifestly growing stronger), 
 Amy and Gilbert, Ellen, and, yes, Robert, 
 Elsie, and Oliver. The one strong tie of 
 
 
 
 Christian brotherhood has brought all these 
 together ; and there is no foolish distinction 
 of wealth to keep them coldly apart. " The 
 rich and the poor meet together; and the 
 Lord is Maker of them all." 
 
 Here, too, are Mr. and Mrs. Morley, whose 
 acquaintance we have never made ; and Mrs. 
 Burns, Maggie s mother, giving up her last 
 daughter to help Bertram in his chosen 
 work ; and within the circle, also, Mary and 
 Esther Clay. 
 
 " Sister Amy," Bertram said to her as she 
 was near him, " can it be wrong to wonder, 
 even at such an hour, if Maggie knows 
 this?" 
 
 She could not answer except with a tear 
 ful smile. Mr. Ellery, who had heard it, 
 drew nearer. " It can not be wrong," he
 
 516 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 said ; " but, if she does, she sees the glorious 
 work more clearly than we. Oh, dear friends, 
 what a joy to carry our Master s word to 
 the land of darkness ! But the Lord shall 
 arise upon that land, and his glory shall be 
 seen upon it. So shall they fear the name 
 of the Lord from the west, and his glory 
 from the rising of the sun. >: 
 
 There was a stir in the vessel. It was 
 nearly time that she should sail. Mr. Ellery 
 was asked to lead in prayer ; and, after it 
 was concluded, from a hundred voices rose 
 the triumphant hymn beginning, 
 
 " Yes, my native land, I love thee ; 
 
 All thy scenes, I love them well : 
 Friends, connections, happy country, 
 Can I bid you all farewell ? 
 
 Can I leave you, 
 Far in heathen lands to dwell ? " 
 
 The friewds silently left the ship, a few 
 lingering for the last word, Mr. and Mrs.
 
 07?, AMY RUSHl ON S MISSION. 517 
 
 Morley, Mrs. Burns, Mr. Ellery and Amy 
 also ; for Bertram was as a brother to them 
 both. 
 
 The signal was given. They returned to 
 the wharf, and watched the receding ship 
 with dim eyes, as she bore away dearly-loved 
 ones. But with Christian trust they said, 
 " They are gone for our Master s service : we 
 can give them up joyfully to that." Gath 
 ered closely together, they stood on the shore, 
 and, until the widening distance shut out the 
 sight, discerned and answered the waving 
 handkerchiefs of two figures who stood by 
 each other on the deck. 
 
 The last faint flutter was lost in the dis 
 tance, and Bertram Morley and his young 
 wife were out on the blue deep, eager to 
 reach the land where they longed to labor, 
 and strong in their faith that God s presence 
 would be with them in their coveted work. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Percival, with Mr. Ellery,
 
 518 BOUNDBROOK; 
 
 went home with jheir friends to Cummington 
 Square. Aftei dinner Mr. Ellery came to 
 Amy. 
 
 " Amy," said he, " I have a great favor to 
 ask of you. Since I give up my work at 
 Dayton to-day, will you show me yours ? " 
 
 " But mine is so little, compared with 
 that," she answered humbly. 
 
 " Whom do you serve ? " he asked, his 
 eyes meeting hers with the old look of intel 
 ligent sympathy. 
 
 " Yes, you shall see it," she said. 
 
 Together they went out among Amy s 
 " poor people," as Mrs. Rushton always called 
 them. It was Amy s usual day for her visits ; 
 but to-day Ellen was content to remain at 
 home, and let Mr. Ellery carry the basket. 
 It was growing dark when the basket was 
 emptied, and they set their faces homeward. 
 " So may we go home when our life-work is 
 done," observed Mr. Ellery, " like tired
 
 OR, AMY RUSHTON S MISSION. 519 
 
 children, as I hope we shall be, ready for the 
 rest in our Father s arms." 
 
 But Amy had no answer for this, as she 
 seldom had for any thing that moved her 
 tenderly. 
 
 " I have learned a great deal this after 
 noon," was Mr. Ellery s next remark, after a 
 moment s silence. 
 
 " I always do, Mr. Ellery," said Amy 
 innocently. " It is more to me than to them, 
 after all." 
 
 " But I did not mean that," he said ; and 
 she knew by his tone as he spoke, that he 
 was looking down at her, and smiling. " I 
 have been learning more fully what my par 
 ish needs. Dear child, I have told you before 
 that I was waiting for one of my little schol 
 ars to come and help me there. How much 
 longer do you think I can afford to wait ? " 
 
 And he did not wait long. 
 
 THE E.JD.
 
 
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