PR 4865 L168t B * pi ^^^^^^^^^^^1 R i ag m ■ ^ THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES y THE TEIALS OF A VILLAGE AETIST. iniLTLAIJIE j1B.T1,^T THE TRIALS OF A TILLAGE ARTIST. BT EUTH BUCK "For unto every one that hath shall be given, and he shall have abundance : but from him that hath not shall be taken away even that which he hath."— St. Matthew xxr. 29. L X D I^ : JOHN MORGAN, 10, PATERNOSTER ROW. r r^ CONTENTS. CHAP. PAQB I. — The Buried Talext, or " Lost." Am'ASted Life 7 II. — The YorxG Carter's Expermext, axd HOW IT SPED 29 m. — The Father's Reasons, a^td the way in WHICH ElCHARD KEPT HIS RESOLrTION" . 59 lY. — The Head of the Family cut off. A Xew Stone in the Churchyard 73 V. — A little more Fruit from the hidden Seed 83 YI. — " If at first you don't succeed, try again" 94 VII. — The "Work INTERRUPTED. Finished at last 107 Vin. ElCHARD AT THE EXHIBITION. ThE EeWARD of Perseverance 120 IX.— The Path Open. Won 131 614245 LIBRARY THE TEIALS OF A VILLAGE AETIST. CHAPTER I. THE BUEIED TALEXT, OR "LOST." A WASTED LIFE. OxE simny afternoorij a good many years ago, a troop of boys miglit have been seen rushing out at the door of a country school- house. In their haste they ahnost forgot the bow which was due to the teacher ; and as they poured forth, cap in hand, and scattered them- selves across the favourite playground, they looked very much Hke a swarm of bees issuing from the hive and disj)ersing amid the flowers of a garden. The lads, rough fellows most of them, were glad that their school hours were over, and now prepared to enjoy a hearty game before going home to tea and to prepare lessons for the morrow. 8 THE TRIALS OF But there was one exception to the rule. He was not a very big lad, but be was mucb looked up to by bis companions, wbo boasted of his cleverness in carving all sorts of things out of bits of wood. They liked to tell what wonders httle Dick Eraser could do with no- thing but a pocket-knife and the stray odds and ends of hard wood which he picked up in his father's workshop. Lads who could do nothing in that line themselves were proud of Bichard's productions, and there was not one in the school but could thrust his hand into his pocket and bring out a sample of the boy's handiwork. What boats Dick could make to be sure! Beautiful little delicate things, with the tiniest of faces for figure-heads! And what dainty boxes for small girls of his acquaintance to put their thimbles and cotton into ! His little sisters had the most substantial and prettiest of dinner services, all cut out in wood; and even the very handle of his mother's potato bruiser was found decorated with a specimen of carving, after that useful implement had been missed and vainly sought for two or thi'ee days. A YIIXAGE ARTIST 9 The good dame vra.3 at first incKned to scold wlien she thought of her long and fruitless search. But the frown turned to a smile, as she could not help owning that ' ' the flowers and leaves were very pretty, for certain, but the potatoes would have been mashed just as well without all those fine things on the handle." When Dick was gone to school, though, she exhibited his work to all the neighbours, as she had done many a time before after the comple- tion of a new toy for his sisters. And all the said gossips held up their hands in astonish- ment and said, "Wonderful!" ''How ever does he manage it?" and, "Well, Mrs. Fra ser, but you have a clever son ! He beats all our lads, and you may well be proud of him 1 " — and so on. There was one voice, and only one, raised in disparagement of this new proof of little Dick's ingenuity, or rather, of the particular purpose to which he had applied it. The speaker was a somewhat slatternly dame, of whom good Mrs. Fraser was in the habit of saying she 10 THE TllIAIiS OF sliould not like to dine with lier unless she her- self acted as cook, and moreover quoted the old proverb, "An egg and a nut you may eat with a slut" — ^in allusion to some of her neighbour's peculiarities. This individual, then, suggested that little Dick's ingenuity was sadly misplaced as re- garded the potato bruiser. 'Tor," said she, **the more crevices the more dirt. / Hke things plain for mi/ own part." Mrs. Eraser gave her a look of withering scorn — in itself a sufficient reply — and answered, ' ' That people who kept plain things clean would keep carved ones as they should be too. But it mattered very little to herself, carved or not carved, any person who found dii^t on her cooking utensils would have most uncom- mon sharp eyes." Then, without waiting for further comment, the good woman marched oif home again, carrying in her hand the orna- mented potato bruiser, with something of the dignity and pride with which a queen might bear a sceptre, and inwardly resolving to set extra store upon that implement, and wage A VILLAGE ARTIST. 11 additional war against dust in every shape, because of the remark which had so offended her ear, and which showed that her neighbour's notions of cleanliness were by no means what they ought to be. Mrs. Fraser met her husband, a rather sickly looking man, on the threshold, and to him she displayed the potato bruiser. "Just look here, James," she said, holding it up for him to examine. *'AMiat, you have found it," he replied, scarcely glancing that way. * ' I was going to set one of the boys to make you another." *' But look, James, what our lad has done," remarked the mother, not willing that Dick's work should be so lightly passed over. "Our lad will not always be a country joiner, as 3'ou and his grandfather have been all your hves." James Eraser shook his head. "I shall be quite contented if he turns out a good hand at a respectable business. A vast number of lads have got it into their heads at one time or another that they were artists, and geniuses. 12 THE TRIALS OF and I don't know what beside, and grown dis- satisfied with, a good honest business they might have lived by if they would have stuck to it. Then, in the end, they have turned out good for nothing at all, and been a plague and a drag to everybody belonging to them. My lad shall be a plain joiner." As he finished speaking, James Eraser went back to the workshop, leaving his wife any- thing but satisfied with his mode of treating this new proof of little Dick's talent, of which she was so proud. *^I can't understand my husband," said she to herself, as she went about her household work ; "he always seems to want to keep that lad back, and, if he were not such a good, kind father in other things, I should think it very hard. But he has some reason that I don't know, for James was of rather a close disposition from a lad. Ah, well! he is a good husband, and one can't expect people to be all perfection." A httle sigh ended this mental speech, and then Mrs. Fraser dismissed the afi'air from her mind, in order to consider whether the kitchen A TILLAGE ARTIST. 13 •walls slioiild be wHtewaslied or wlietlier she should mix with the ready-prepared whitewash a dash of yellow ochre, to make them of a pale cream colour. By the time that she had decided on pure white as the sweetest and cleanest-looking, she had forgotten all about little Dick's handiwork in anxiety about the completion of her own during the absence of the children at school and her husband in the workshop. But James Eraser's thoughts were occupied by his only son long after he returned to his work. It is true that he always discouraged the lad's efforts to reproduce, in wood, various objects that attracted his fancy. Yet he was also aware that the lad possessed very con- siderable talent, which showed itself more and more every day ; but, as his wife said, he had his reasons. In the first place, his own beloved younger brother had shown similar tastes to those which his son now displayed, but they had produced no good results either to himself or others. As a lad he had been flattered, and his 14 THE TRIALS OF labours praised, until, dissatisfied with the occupation by which he earned his bread, and beheving that he only needed to be known to be- come famous, he left his country home and went to London, to find — as he thought — the proper field in which to labour. But he did not take with him two things without which the Irightest genius will avail hut little — industry and perse- verance. He soon found, too, that the works which were the admiration of a country to^vn, and of the simple people who judged them, as things far better than anybody else in their neighboui'hood could do, were not to be com- pared with those of many other wood carvers in the great city. At home, he had been almost worshipped as the 07ie who could produce such imitations of nature ; in London he was only an item in the great sum total of similar workers. And yet this man — James Fraser's brother — possessed true genius, only he expected to arrive at the summit of art, as the bird flies, lightly, swiftly, and with little apparent efi'ort, to the top of a hill, leaving far behind the plodding mortal who must ascend it with toil,- A ^TXLAGE ARTIST. 15 some steps. "V^Tien the young man discovered his error, and found that he must laboiu' long and steadily to arrive at eminence, he failed utterly. The good people at home had spoiled him by their kindly meant but injurious flat- tery, and when he failed to obtain the same meed of praise elsewhere which had attended all his efforts in his native village, he blamed others — not his own want of perseverance — and said that the talents of the humble stranger could not obtain that recognition which hirtla. and money could always procure for their owners. He said that '^Env}^, not Justice, gave the verdict against him." Yet the yoimg man did not profit by his want of success, or allow it to stimulate him to new efforts. He did not recognise the truth that ive oltain experience ly every failure, and that it is ly oft-repeated failures, rightly used, we arrive at last at perfection. He brooded over his disappointments, joined others in railing at the world for not giving them unmerited credit, fell into evil habits, and 16 THE TRIALS OF gradually sank lower and lower in weakness, both, of mind and body. Meanwhile, his good friends at home — the father, mother, and elder brother — who had sent out the young genius with so much pride, never doubted that he was winning fame, and would make them all exult at the thought of being able to claim kindi-ed with him. Perhaps their disappointment at the real result was gi'eater than that of the youth who had ly idleness and want of perseverance buried his talent. They could not rail against those who con- demned his works. They could only grieve, though they knew not how much cause they had for regret. The young aspirant after a ''royal road" never let them know the full extent of his fall tmtil he could no longer keep it a secret. One or two letters, written soon after he reached London, told them a little, but the youth was too proud to complain or to return to be the village idol after having hoped to reign amongst artists. There was vague talk of his doings, and the A VILLAGE ARTIST. 17 country folk spoke about ''tliat young Fraser that went to London," as though he had been removed to a higher world. For these things happened before the world ran from place to place in railway carriages as it does now. At last a letter came to the brother at home. It was written in such a poor feeble hand, that it was almost a wonder it ever reached its des- tination. It said, ''Dear James, come to me. I am dpng, and in want of common necessaries. I have utterly failed in the object for which I came here ; but time is so short for me now, that it matters httle, only I would fain see one fi^iendly face before I die." Then, in a postscript, a little of the old lingering pride crept out ; for, though it plainly cost the writer a great effort to complete the wretched scrawl, he added, " Do not let the old neighbours know." AVith a heavy heart, James Fraser hastened to London, and in a miserable lodging found the much-loved brother, whom he had always pictiu-ed as winning his way ro fame and honour. With his own haT'.ds he ministered to B 18 THE TRIALS OF the wants of the dj^ing man — dying while j'et in his first, fresh youth. He watched him with unwearied eyes, until at last those of his brother were closed in death. But before that hap- pened he heard the sick youth say, '' I wish I had been contented to stay at home and work like you as a plain mechanic. My early life was only a dream of happiness, and since I left home each day has shown me that the vision had no reality in it." ''But you may yet prove it real," replied James; ''or at any rate, you can be a plain mechanic like me." Bichard shook his head, "Too late, too late," he cried. "I am dying. I know that is no dream, and you will find Death real enough Boon. And if I were likely to hve, do j'ou think I could go back home for people to poirit at me as the man who tried and failed miser- ably ? I could never bear it. Far better that I should die. My talent has paid me no interest, whj^ should I wish to Hve ?" It was no time for James to contradict him, as he lay there so wan and changed. Besides, A VILLAGE AETIST. . 19 lie had nothing but his village experience to set against his brother's greater knowledge of the world, so he was silent, though unconvinced. But, after the poor remains of his brother were buried, and tongues which had been silent while Pdchard was stiU ahve, were loosed, and told what his actual mode of hfe had been, the village joiner thanked God that he himself was not tempted by the possession of superior talents to neglect the common business and duties of his position. And was it wonderful that he returned to his country home to find it more precious than ever, and that he thought those humble abilities which made him a steady, hard-working mechanic, were preferable to those higher powers which had proved a snare to his erring brother ? But the village folk did not forget their young genius. They lamented his early death, and said what he might have done to make them prouder still had he lived. Only James Eraser knew all, and mourned not so much his brother's early death as his 20 THE TRIALS OF wasted life. And when, in after days, he mar- ried, and had children of his own — aye, even when he called his only son " Bichard," after the dead artist yonth, he trembled lest his boy slioiild display similar talents to produce similar results. No one could well understand why James Fraser shook his head and tm-ned away with a look of annoyance when his Httle lad first began to cut and carve with a pocket-knife, to the dehght and admiration of his mother and liis school-fellows. They could not feel the spasm that wi'ung the poor man's heart when a neighbour who had been a boyish companion of that other Eichard said, 'Traser, your lad will just be his uncle over again ; look how he is whittling away there, as though there were no such things as balls or tops in the world, or at least as if he cared only to cut them out." " May God in mercy forbid," rephed .Tames, with a shudder, and then, seizing a plane, he worked away with such good will that the big drops of perspiration soon stood on his bvow. A VILLAGE ARTIST. 21 His neigliboiir looked on cm-ioiislj, then waited till the sound of the plane ceased, and Fraser began to make an alteration in the posi- tion of the plank, when he again si^oke. ''You are a queer fellow," said he. ''Most people would be proud of that lad, and try to bring him out, instead of keej^ing him back. Your poor brother would have made a grand carver in wood, and may be in marble, if he had Hved." James had ever been too tender over the memory of him that was gone to make his faidts and failures a subject for Tillage gossip. Even his own good wife knew them not; for his mother, now dead, and he, while they min- gled their tears for the departed, had resolved that his very weaknesses should be respected. "He said, 'Do not let the old neighbours know,' and we will not," was their determina- tion, and it was faithfully kept. James turned sharply round to the sj^eaker who had thus reminded him of the past, and said, " Neither you nor I can tell what my brother would have been ; but, as for my boy, 22 THE TIIIALS OF I want liim to be just wliat I am — in trade I mean. God grant that in all else he may be a far better man than his father;" and James lifted his paper cap reverently, and spoke in a lower tone as he named that Holy Name. *' But I did not mean to speak sharply," he added, seeing that his neighbour looked hurt ; ''only I am not a strong man, and, if I should be taken away from my wife and the little girls, Eichard, as a plain, hard-working lad, would be a staff for them to lean on, and would keep a home over their heads. Better be a home-bird than go flitting the world over to find a grave among foreigners in a strange churchyard as the end of it all." James Eraser dashed his hand across his eyes, and then swept the moisture from his brow also with his handkerchief. The tone of deep feeling with which he spoke moved his listener far more than sharp words could have done. "I don't wonder at youi' thinking as joii do, James," he replied. "It was hard for you to go and find the lad we had been so A VILLAGE ARTIST. 23 pr»)ud of tl^'ing in a strange place ; and you loved one another better than most brothers do, James." "Aye, lad, we did," was the answer; and then the plane moved faster and faster, as though the worker would force the moisture from his brow to keep it from flowing out at his eyes. ''You wish to make your child happy, James, and to choose that path in Hfe for him in which he ^411 find the fewest rough places ; but don't be too hard on the lad, or try to crush the talent out of him. I take it these gifts are all from God ; and it is neither for you nor me to presume to say that his was not bestowed for a wise and good end." James looked thoughtful when his friend made this last remark. "Well," said he, "I didn't exactly think of my little lad's gift in that Hght ; but, to be sure, how it brings to mind what I was reading only last night. It was about the building of Solomon's temple. That sort of work seemed, in a way, to be in my line, though a long way above, in 24 THE TRIALS OF another sense. However, I have read that description many a time about the walls of 'the house carved round about with carved figui-es of cherubims, and palm-trees, and open flowers, within and without;' and 'the doors of oHve-tree,' with carvings of the same sort, in the wonderfiJ place that was put together without so much as the sound of * hammer, nor axe, nor any tool of iron heard in the house while it was in building.' I have read about it, bit by bit, and then I have shut my eyes and tried to fancy how tlio parts looked separate, and then all together; but I never coidd do it. I always got be- wildered, and only came to the conclusion, that though I call myself a master-man at my business, I am only a poor bimgier in com- parison with those men of old." James Eraser's pale face was lighted up with enthusiasm as he spoke, and, for the moment, he looked a different individual from the plodding mechanic who seemed to have no soul beyond the present homely every- day work in which he was constantly engaged. A TILLAGE AP.TIST. 25 His neigliboTir smiledj and gave liim a gooil- liiimoiired slap across the shoulder. ' ' Wliy, man," said lie, "I believe yoiu' boy is not indebted to bis uncle only for that talent of bis. You bave tbe same sort of fii^e smoulder- ing in you, only you never will let it break out. You keep it down witb sawdust and sbavings in your country workshop ; but, mark me ! these talents are from Grod." *'I can think of beautiful things, and love to see them ; but it is the truth that I have no hand to execute such, and I am content, I tiy to do my duty ; and if you wish to be kind, don't praise and flatter my lad into thinking he is cleverer than his neighbours. I was going to say I would give my right hand, but I want that to work for him and the rest. Still I woidd make any sacrifice to keep him in his own station." *' Then you wouldn't like to see your Dick at work chipping and carving in the old chui-ch yonder a few years hence?" "I daren't say that exactly; but I behevo he will not have the chance. The old Squire 26 THE TRIALS OF is no man to forward such a work, and the young one has not the chance now." "Well, do you think it matters? The God that heareth prayer will hear and ans^ver those who worship in sincerity, whether their hymn of praise be sounded amid the lofty aisles of a cathedi'al or under the low roof of our old chui'ch, which is ready to tumble down almost." James threw down his plane. ** That's all right enough ; but still it isn't the only way one shoidd look at things. It seems to me that we ought to offer of our best for God's service, and that there should be in us some- thing of that spirit which moved David, as soon as the Lord had given him rest from liis enemies round about, and made him say, * See, now I dwell in a house of cedar, and the Ark of God dwelleth in curtains.' I woidd like to see rich and poor join together, thank- ing God that they were esteemed worthy to help in the adornment of His house ; and yet, when they had done their best to make it worthy of its sacred purpose, to sa}- in the spirit of the A VILLAGE AETIST, 27 builder of the temple, 'But will God indeed dwell on the earth ? Behold, the heaven and the heaven of heavens cannot contain Thee ! how much less this house that we have builded?'" James Fraser's words, or rather liis simple and earnest appKcation of the words of Scrip- ture, had a visible effect on his listener. The man made a movement of assent, and added, ''I believe you are right after all; but it isn't often that folks like us look at things in that light; though, to be sure, all have the same interest in them, or ought to have. But I must go now. Good day; and don't forget what I have said about your lad." The friendly nod was returned, though no answer was given to the concluding remark ; and the man went his way, thinking to him- self that Fraser was a queer, crotchety fellow, and that if Dick were his lad he would sa- crifice anything to cultivate the boy's natm-al gifts. And James Fraser was in some degree to blame. There was no need to gi'ieve that his 28 THE TRIALS OF boy displayed talent of a peculiar kind, as liis uncle had done before him ; it was only to bo regretted that in the latter it had been buried and lost. Yet the father was earnest, very earnest, in desiring the child's welfare, and thought that by discouraging him from exercising his ingenuity, he was shielding him from tempta- tion. Manj^ a parent has erred in like manner out of anxiety for a child's good ; and children should be slow to think those measures harsh which, though irksome to them, are never- theless the fruit of a true regard for their welfare. A. VILLAGE AP.TIST. 29 CHAPTER n. THE YOUNG CARVEr's EXPERIMENT, AND HO"W IT SPED. James Eraser and his neighbour had not been alone in the -workshop while conversing on the subject mentioned in the last chapter. Behind a number of flooring-boards, which were propped in a sloping position at the farther end of the workshop, and in a line with the door, crouched a lad of somewhat delicate appearance, and with an earnest, thoughtful countenance. He had not con- cealed himself for the purpose of listening ; but it was his fashion to hide behind the flooring-boards in order that the companions who came, marbles or ball in hand, to di-aw him from his favourite pm-suit, might not suc- ceed in finding him. Busy as usual with his 80 THE TRlALri OF pocket-knife, the only graving-tool lie pos- sessed, and a bit of hard TTOod, little Dick Fraser heeded not what was passing outside his retreat, until the allusion to his talent for carving, and his father's prayer that it might not be with him a ruling passion, caused him to suspend his labours and listen for more. And the two men, all unconscious of his pre- sence, talked on. James Eraser's back was towards the row of flooring-boards, or he might have seen a httle figure steal softly from behind them a few moments after the sound of his neighbour's departing footstej)s ceased to be heard. The lad's cheek had become pale and red by tui-ns, as liis favourite occupation was in turn praised or blamed. But high above all the rest came the idea, "It is a gift fi-om God. This power is a talent, and it ought to be used ; even father himself can't deny that. The master at school says oui' talents should be made to pay interest to Him who gave them ; and must I bury this Dne of mine?" The lad began to consider from that moment A VILLAGE ARTIST. 31 how he might use it, and that too with his father's consent ; and he resolved to give such a proof, both of his powers and perseverance, as to win over his parent to sanction the apph- cation of them as a means of earning a living when he should be no longer a child. Four months after Dick accidentally heard this conversation, he formed the one exception amongst the swarming schoolboys who rushed off to play on the common on that afternoon when I fii'st gave a glimpse of him turning homewards, instead of joining them in their sjjorts. Eichard's companions were not, however, inchned to let him off so easily. They crowded roimd him, one protesting that he never did "play a single game now;" another coaxing him "just to have a round, instead of going home directly," and so on. But Dick made a motion of refusal, and turned in an opposite direction, though not until he had stooped to 2^ick up something fi'om the ground. " He has got a new bit to carve," cried one of the boys, who was looking most regretfully 32 THE TRLULS OF after Eicliard. '^ I'll run and see what it is;" and suiting the action to the word, he bounded after his schoolfellow, and said, "What are joii going to carve now, Dick? Show me." The boy smiled, and without a word held out a spray of oak. Such a beautiful piece, with thi-ee or four acorns, and all the leaves j)erfect except one, and that was only sufficiently injured to show off the beauty of the rest more fuUy. '* Oh ! what a pretty piece. "When shall you begin?" "Just now, or at least as soon as I get home. I have a bit of nice wood that will just do." "I should think you would alwaj'S have plenty of wood to choose from, as your father has so much," remarked the other. " You are mistaken though ; father only lets me have bits that he can make no use of, for he sajs I waste wood." "/don't call it waste though," replied the other, looking very wise, and as if he were lay- A VILLAGE AUTIST. 33 down tiie law, and could convert Pticliard's father to liis opinion witli a word or two. "It does not matter wliat we tliink, it is what father thinks; and by his good will I should never so much as carve a toy for one of you again." ' ' "Well, that is queer I Xow I must go back if you really will not come. Show me that when you have done it." *' To be sure I will," Eichard answered, with a nod of the head; and he added, when his friend was out of hearing, while a look of satisfaction stole over his face, " I hfive two or three more bits at home that no one has seen yet." AMien he reached home he foimd the work- shop vacant ; for the master and his workmen, including the two ax->prentices, were up at tlie Hall, making alterations before the arrival of the Squire's only son and heir, who, with his young wife, was coming to the country for the shooting season. Indeed, Mr. Frederick MiUm^an, the yoimg Squire, had already come down to give orders as to some alterations 34 THE TRLAXS OF which he TA'ished to be completed before his wife's arrival. Little Dick felt pleased at the thought tha) for some days to come his father would be s ^ constantly engaged at the Hall as to leave him at liberty to pursue his carving unnoticed. Kesolved to make the most of this opportunity, Eichard at once chose from his little hoard of wood a piece suitable for his purpose, and set to work. So intent was he upon reproducing, in an enduring form, the beautiful spray of oak with its acorn fruit, that he never heard his mother's summons to tea. And, as he sat screened from view, in his old nook behind the deals, the good dame never saw her busy son, but mentally scolded him as a truant who could not leave Ms pla}Taates in time for the evening meal. It was only when the boy heard the return- ing footsteps of his father that he crept ii'om his hiding place, and, after survejdng his progress with much satisfaction, put away his tools and entered the house. He guessed well that his mother would say nothing about his absence while his father was there ; so, hastily A VILLAGE AETIST. 35 STvallow'ing his meal he was soon deep in pre- paring his lessons for the morrow. But, when Eichard went into his little bed-room that night, the wood, which abeady began to bear some resemblance to the model, was carried thither also. Country folk keep early hours, and little country boys have not generally much chance of sitting up late in order to indidge their liking for study or handiwork of any kind. Eichard looked longingly at the graceful spray and then at the end of candle, and wished he could increase the latter to an almost indefinite length, in order that he might have light to pursue his work through the still hours of the night. This was, however, impossible, and a second thought warned him that even had he the means of continuing his labour he could not do so undiscovered. It was well for him that he had not the means of turning the hours set apart for rest into a time of labour, for natui^e, when overtasked, takes revenge both on mind and body sooner or later. So Bichard could only take one look at his box 36 THE TRIALS OF of treasures, and was just liandling them with gentle touch and admiring ghmce when down popped the end of wick into a j^ool of grease, and he was left in darkness to replace his precious projoerty and grope into bed as best he might. But with the early dawn he was up and at work on his oaken spray. There was a true love of the beautiful in this lad, for he gazed upon his simple model as though drinking in its lovehness with his eager eyes. " If I can only copy it exactly," he murmured to himself, "the set will be complete and father must be pleased this time, though he never was before." With renewed energy he worked until he heard his father astir and his mother's voice calling, '* Eichard, Bichard, it is time to get up." Then after briefly comparing his copy with the original, he went down stairs to breakfast. For thi'ee more days the lad laboured thus, devoting every spare moment — stealing hours from sleep, denjdng himself play, and scarcely giving himself time for meals But on the evening of the third day he looked at it with A TILLAGE ARTIST. 37 beaming eyes and joyful face. It was finislied. And truly as lie laid it and the original spray side by side, it was bard to discover any very great difference. He bad tbrown. bis wbole soul into tbe work, and by zeal and patient labour bad attained success. His face was pale and bis eyes weary, but tbey were bgbted up by a feeling of natural and entire satisfaction. But Iticbard did not sj^end many moments in gazing at bis finished work. He had Icibuui-ed with a particular end in view, to which this oaken s^^ray was only an auxihary. He turned from it, and running quickly to his bed-room brought down the treasure box before alluded to, and then taking out its contents, spread them in order upon liis father's bench, having first carefully cleared away the stray curls of shavings and chisel- ings of wood which were plentifully strewed around. Hichard's heart beat loudly, and his hand trembled as he did it, for this e\'ening would test the success of an experiment vrhich had occupied him for several months and cost him an immense amount of seK-denial and 38 THE TRIALS OF painstaking. And truly Eichard had cause to be proud of his handiwork ; for there, upon the bench, were laid specimens of foliage in •wood, enough to delight any young lover of art. There was a single leaf of the vast horse- chestnut — the cone of flowers would have been too delicate for his yet growing skill — there was a little sprig of elm, and there were similar sprays of birch and of walnut. There was the fir-cone, wonderfully well carved, a sycamore leaf, and a sprig of beech, with a nut or two, which made a pretty companion for his best and crowning work, the spray of oak, Nor was a bunch of filberts and its leaf forgotten. With true taste the lad grouped the several portions together, so that they seemed to form one piece, or rather cluster of foliage, in wood, and then, hiding behind the flooring boards in his old corner, he awaited the coming of his father. Well, he had worked, and now he waited with throbbing heart and prayerful lips, for it seemed to him as though on the success of this scheme would depend his futui^e happi- ness. But he was very young, and he could A VILLAGE AllTIST. 39 not see far, or judge for the futiu'e, or giiesa that just as a dim and misty morning is often the forerunner of a glorious noon, so might the very clouding of his hopes in early youth be the presage of a happy manhood. Our bless- ings "would oft lose their charm, and we should fail to know theii- value, if we were not pre- pared for them by previous trial and chastise- ment, sent in love and mercy. James Eraser was a first-rate judge of wood, and possessed, though he was most careful tq hide it, something of that taste which had been so marked in his unfortunate brother, and which was now showing itself in his own child. He was a great admirer of trees, not merely because as a carpenter and joiner hg could cut them up and use them in his trade, but because of their majestic beauty and varied loveliness of form. He was especially fond of marking their foliage, and many a time had he unconsciously given little Eichard a lesson in gi^ouping by the artistic way in wliich he arranged a few green sprays brought fi'om the wood at his son's request, or which he was 40 . THE TRL\XS OF accustomed to reacli for tlie lad when they •were out together in the hekls diu'ing the summer evenings. The hid had discovered this liking in his father, and it was in the hope of gratifying his taste, giving him pleasure and obtaining leave to pursue his work unchecked, that he had carved these specimens of foliage as a surprise. Kichard was still waiting for the appearance of his father, when he heard a light step ap- l)roacliing the door of the workshop. It was that of his sister Margaret. He peeped from his hiding-place hoping to see her turn back; "For," thought he, "it will spoil all if Maggie sees the carving, and tells mother or anybody about it." But Maggie stepped into the shop and began looking about for stray bits of wood for fii^e-kindling purposes. It was some consolation to Eichard during this time of suspense to observe that her eyes were always turned floorwards, and that she trudged round and round filling her pinafore and singing as she moved without thinking of anything but her employment. All at once A TILLAGE ARTIST. 41 Jlaggie found out that stooping continually made lier back ache, and she raised herself into an erect posture close to the bench on which lav the earring. Her quick eyes sa^v it in a moment, and she exclaimed, "Oh, how pretty ! mother, mother !" she added, intending to call her mother to look at the pretty things she had discovered on ''father's" bench. Fortunately her cry was not heard, and before she had time to utter another word, Eichard came from his hiding-place and stood before her. The little girl was so startled at his sudden appearance that she forgot eveiwthing else for the moment, and thus he gained time to tell her his project in a few hasty words. *' And now you won't tell, Maggie, ^^tH you?" said he, "most likely you will all know about the carving as soon as father has seen it, and if you tell 7ioiv you will spoil everything." But Maggie wouldn't tell. She would have been very sorry. Quite alarmed at the sight of her brother's pale, anxious face, she left hold of her pinafore and never heeding that all her 42 THE TRLiLS OF fire- wood fell to the ground, slie tlirew her red, cliuLby arms round Eieliard's neck, gave liim a hearty kiss, and said, ''Dick, don't look so frightened. I won't tell. I wouldn't for ever so much." Bichard heartily returned the little sister's kiss, and said she was a dear, good Maggie. Then, hearing her father's step and voice, she hastily snatched up the bits of wood she had collected, ^^nd scampered off into the house, while Bichard went back to his hiding-place. The sound of his father's voice in conversation was a disappointment to the lad, for it showed that he was not retui'ning alone. He had in- tended to watch James Eraser's face as he caught sight of the carved foHage, and then to Xun. from his hiding-place and ask him to accept it. ^'He must see how hard I have worked," said he to himself when he formed this plan. But now this could not be done. His father would not be alone when he fii*st saw the fruit of his son's labour, and it would be useless for him to remain concealed. The boy was on the point of leaving his hiding-place when his A YILI^iGE .-LRTIST. 43 father entered the shop in company with Mr. Frederick Millman, the young Squii'e. James Fraser and his employer were talking of the alterations going on at the Hall, and the joiner, in order to make something plainer, took up a piece of chalk and advanced to the bench to make an outline on it in chalk for the young gentleman's information. The young Squire was just at his heels, and both uttered an exclamation of sm-prise at the sight which met their eyes. "A^Tiy, Fraser," exclaimed Mr. Frederick, '* is this your work ? "WTiat tasteful grouping and well-executed foliage ! Upon my word, it does the artist credit, whoever he may be. I had no idea any of oiu? country hands could do this sort of thing. Is it for sale ? " "Like yourself, sir, I see it for the fii'st time," rephed Fraser, without showing any very great satisfaction. Indeed, a sort of pained expression crossed his face, for in this new proof of his child's talent he seemed to see a fresh temptation to lure the lad from the path in which he wished to keep him. 44 THE TIllALS OF *' I presume j'oii know wliose work tliis is, thoiigli, rraser," returued the young Squire. "You have, doubtless, a rustic genius among your workmen." *' I don't tliink it was done by a man's band, sir." "What! is it a woman's doing? I know there are and liave been female artists, but I should never expect to find one here," returned the young man, interrupting the explanation that Eraser was about to give. Fraser could not restrain a smile as he repKed, *' dear, no, sir." Then turning to his boy, who stood just where he had been when they entered, half afraid and altogether too shy to advance, he said, "Richard, come here and tell us who carved this group of foHage." The lad's voice was scarcely audible as he answered, "I did, father," in a tone more like that of a culprit before his judge than of one who had achieved what was, for his years, a j^reat success, and felt proud of ha\dng done so. "You! impossible," said the young Squii'e, A "STLLAGE ARTIST. 45 *' AMiy these little sprays, especially the oak leaves and acorns, are really Leautifid. If you have carved them I — , but no, it cannot be." ' ' Indeed I did, every bit ; some at nights and some in mornings before father and mother -were up," replied Eichard. ** I finished that piece of oak this very day. If you don't believe me, sir — though father kno^s I would not tell you a lie — ^you may set somebody to watch me ^hile I cut some more leaves and things just like these." "Then all I can say is that your work does you gTeat credit, and, Eraser, you ought to be jjroud of your son, for he has not only an artist's talent, but the industry which vriR enable him to tiu^n it to good accoimt." "You are very kind to say so, sir," replied Fraser ; and, in sj)ite of himself, his own face lighted up with the pride and pleasure he could not help feeling at hearing his only son so highly spoken of. He knew, too, that the young Squire was no mean judge of art, and that Wellesby Hall had been enriched by a choice collection of beautiful objects which he 46 THE TRIALS OF had gathered both in England and abroad But by a strong effort Eraser mastered that first flush of pleasure, and, turning to his employer, said, "I dare say jou vrill think me mistaken in my notions when I tell 3'ou that I would rather see a model door, window, or even washing-tub made by my son than this group of foliage which you are pleased to admire. A thorough workman at my own honest trade is better than a vagabond * artist,' as too many call themselves, who are too idle to work at a homely occupation, and therefore pretend to be above it." Mr. Erederick smiled. " In one sense, Eraser, you may be right. There are many lads who, from being praised beyond their due and made to beHeve that they are too clever to hve in an every-day world, become fit for none at all. For my own part I do think that we do as cruel a thing when we over-praise as by over-censure. But again, there are others who could succeed, but fail for lack of the industry that would have made them great men. Yet when there is a real talent, no matter for what, so long as A VILLAGE ARTIST. 47 it can be used for tlie good of our fellow-men, I tliink we have no more right to try to crush it than the man in the parable had to bury the one entrusted to him, instead of using it for the honour and benefit of his Master. Let me persuade you to cherish the powers your boy manifests. He who gave it gives nothing in vain or to be useless." "WHiile the young gentleman spoke little Dick listened with kindling eyes and glowing cheek. Some such thoughts had been in his boyish mind, though he could not have put them into words. And he durst not have said them to his father even had he been able to express them. Indeed, had any other person spoken as the Scpiire did, most likely James Fraser woidd have refused to listen. But he being son to the "great man" of the village, owner of all "Wellesby, and the joiner's landlord besides, there was nothing for it but to wait patiently until the young gentleman had said his say, though he would gladly have sent his son out of hearing. "Now," he rephed, " there's no doubt a deal of truth in what you say, sir; 48 THE TRIALS OF but I stick to my iii'st tliouglit, and sliall not fui'ther any of Dick's fancies about carving. I wish from my heart lie bad never tried a thing of the sort. I would give fifty pounds at this minute, though I have no such sum to spare, and should have to work early and late to make it up again, if I could be quite sui'e ho would never carve another." Young Millman shook his head. ''Well, well, Fraser, I can only quote the old proverb, 'A wiKul man must have his way.' Apply it as you choose. I have no business to interfere between a father and his child ; only I would gladly have served your son if you would have let me. I wonder how the carved work of 'open flowers,' of ' cherubims and palm trees ' overlaid with gold, that you and I have talked about, and which adorned Solo- mon's glorious temple, would ever have come into existence if all fathers had been like jou. They wcmld have sought in vain for ' all manner of cunning men for every manner of work.' And yoiu' lad might have been my right hand man some day, to help me to restore A VILLAGE AETIST. 49 the old cliurcli and to execute oak cannings whicli should not shame those beautiful frag- ments which alone are left to tell us what glorious things were there in bygone times." " I hope my lad iciJl work for you, sir, as my father laboured for yoiu's before I was born, and as I do now," answered Fraser with a respectful bend of the head. ''Well, I must have a word with the lad "before we say any more about repairs and alterations. Now, Eichard," said he, ad- dressing the child artist, ''if you want to sell this group of fohage tell me the price, and I will buy it of you." The boy's face worked as if moved by some strong inward feeling, and for a few moments he was silent, as though, try as he might, his lips refused to utter a word. "Do you not know its worth ? Then I shall have to fix it for you," continued the young gentleman in a pleasant tone, and taking out his purse as he spoke. "I don't want money; I will not seU it," cried Eichard in an agony of disappointment. D 50 THE TRIALS OF **I worked so hard, I got up by dayliglit for months and months to ccrve these things be- cause I thought of surprising father, and pleas- ing liim too, with such a present. And now all my work is of no use. He does not care for it^ so no one else shall have it." Without giving his father or the young gentleman time to speak again or himseK to think, Eichard swept the whole of the carved foliage fi'om the bench to the floor, and by stamping upon it with his feet destroyed or injured in a moment of j)assion a great part of the labour of months. Then, bui'sting into an agony of weeping, he was about to dart from the shop without bestowing another glance on the wreck of all his pains and labour, when he was stopped by a kind but fii-m hand from which he vainly struggled to escape. It was young Mr. Millman who held him. James Fraser stood stillj but on his face was a look of pain. In fact, the tears which rolled in a torrent down little Eichard' s face and the words which showed how very strong had been his desire to please his father, had stirred the A VILLAGE ARTIST. 51 current of paternal love in the man's heart, and caused it to well iip to his very eyes. Perhaps it would have been hard to tell which suffered the most at that moment, the man or his son. Finding it was in vain to struggle against the young gentleman's fii-m hold, little Dick at length ceased his efforts to escape, and stood quite still, though he sobbed bitterly. For a little time the sound of his weeping was the only one that distui'bed the quiet of the country workshop. Mr. Frederick Millman, though young, was a sensible and right-minded man. He was fai? above the petty feeling which would have been wounded by Eichard's rejection of his offer, or which would have sent him away offended on ac- count of a child's burst of passion and disrespect- ful conduct towards himself. So far from con- sidering himself at all in the matter, the young man looked below the sm^face and grieved to think how deeply both the filial affection and love of art — so strong in this poor lad's breast — were wounded by his father's harsh reception of hia 52 THE TRIALS OF beautiful offering. During that short pause the young Squire was considering how he might best promote a good understanding between James Eraser and his son. "Wlien Richard's Bobs became less violent he spoke to him in that low, fii'm voice, which always commands the most ready obedience, and desired him to pick up the broken fohage and place it on the bench. The lad obeyed without hesitation. Perhaps, now the storm of his passion was over, he might feel some regret for having so hastily destroyed what had been with him, in a double sense, a labour of love. There was even a gleam of satisfaction on his face as he saw on raising the oaken spray from the ground that it had escaped uninjured, though it was the only one. The young Squire marked this look, and augured good from it. When Bichard had finished he turned an imploring face towards him and said, "Please, eii', may I go now ?" He was longing to rush away to weep unseen and unchecked. '' Not just yet, Eiehard," was the reply. A TILLAGE ARTIST. 53 ** Let US first talk a little as friends, we two, you know." The boy gave an impatient movement, as though, he would escape if he coidd ; but Mr. Frederick passed his arm round him in a kindly way, and, with a touch as gentle as a mother might use when uttering words of advice to her child, thus detained him. There was something soothing to the wounded heart in this half- caressing touch, especially as Richard could not help bearing in mind the fact that it was the young Squire, son of the greatest and richest gentleman in all "Wellesby, that tlius treated him. Tears came again, but they were tears of regret for the passion and ingratitude which, had been his return for the young Squire's kind offer. "My poor boy," said Mr. Frederick, ''you have had a great trial to bear with in the last half hour, and I feel much for your disappoint- ment ; but I am afraid if you go away without our talking a little more, you will think I blame your father and encoui-age you to do it also. Then / should have more cause to be 64 THE TRIALS OF sorry, for I should grieve if eitlier Tvord or act of mine helped to build up a barrier between father and son. So, before I go, let me tell you that I believe your father acts in the way that he thinks the best for you, that he "u-ishes to guard you from temptation, and has some good reason for all, which I do not know any more than you. And it is not always possible for a father to tell his reasons to his childi'en. Yet, if a child can feel that his parent loves him, lahours for him, and tries to make him happy, that child should trust his parent, even though his otvn inclinations are crossed and he knows not lohy. You know what God's Word sa^^s, Eichard, I mean about what is the duty of children?" The young gentleman waited, and Eichard replied in a very low voice, '"Children, obey yoiu' parents in the Lord, for that is right.' " *' And you are a child, and there stands your father. Obey and honour him if you would claim a share in the blessings promised by the Most High to dutiful children." Little Dick Eraser was a boy of noble thoughts and generous impulses. Without g, A VILLAGE ARTIST. 55 moment's hesitation lie stepped up to Ms fatlier — for with him the being conyinced that he Tvas wrong was ever followed bj an acknowledgment of the fault and a petition foi? forgiveness — and said, '^ Father, I know you love me. I grieved you by being in such a passion just now. For- give me, father, J -sriU try to do as you wish me." Not a syllable about his own bitter disaj)point- ment, liis lost labour in the work which lay half-crushed and scattered on the bench. With a delicacy that woidd have done honoiu' to a hero, the boy refrained fi-om alluding to all his strivings — vainly piu'sued — to ^^n a father's favour. He simply owned the fault of which he was conscious, and added to the confession a promise — which it cost him a great effort to make — that, for his father's sake, he woidd try to give up his own cherished hopes. James Fraser dropped the chalk which he held in his hand, and threw his anns round the boy. "My son, my dear Dick," he exclaimed, ^' if ever a father's prayers deserved an answer on accoimt of their earnestness, mine will gain 56 THE itlLVls of one now as I pray God to bless you and make yoiu' days 'long in the land.' " Fraser tried to say more, but lie could not. Strong feeling, wliicli sometimes gives the power to speak with eloquence, as often takes it away. The young Squire, rejoiced at the success of his mediation, walked towards the door, and thus placed the length of the workshop between himself and the two Erasers, that his presence might be no check upon them. Soon his atten- tion was called by the voice of the boy, * ' I want to beg ijour pardon now, sir, for having t>ehaved so badly when you spoke so kindly to me. I have nothing to say for myself, only I hope you will forgive me. I am sorry for my anger now." "Most fi-eely and willingly, Eichard," re- plied the young gentleman ; " but my dear lad, do not forget who sees and hears us at all times when you are again tempted to give way ' to anger. Better oifend all the people in the world than grieve our Maker by giving way to Binful passions." Then shaking the boy kindly A TILLAGE ARTIST. 57 by the hand, he re-entered the shop and joined its master. Eichard appeared very anxious to say some- thing more, and at length, mustering courage, he picked up the one uninjured bit of carving, the beautiful spray of oak leaves and acorns, and offering it to Mr. Frederick, said, "Will 3-0U accept this, sir, from me? It is the only one left whole, and I think it is the best, for I car^^ed it last. I can't offer to do you some more instead of the broken ones, for " — ^he tried hard to say it firaily — *'I am going to be a joiner now." "Thank you, Eiehard, I will keep it for your sake. It shall lie under a little glass case in the drawing-room at the Hall, and shall remind me how much may be done in spite of all obstacles by perseverance." Bichard's face brightened again at these kind words, far more precious than money would have been, and with a respectful bow turned to quit the shop. "Another word," said Mr. Frederick, stopping him. "You say you are going to be a joiner now, and I com- 58 THE T11I.\J.S OF mend the self-denial which makes you give up 3'oiir own will to your father's. At the same time let me say, I think you ought not to bury your talent ; for remember the very rarest gifts of mind, and the brightest artistic powers, are nut xmsuited to pair with the homeliest in the per- formance of our every-day duties. And Eichard, if you live to be an old man, you will look back all the more happil}'' on the days of your youth, if you can reflect that you did not fail in duty to your father. Good bye for the present." The young Squire shook the childish hand once again, and then Eichard left the work- shop, his heart cheered and lighter that he had owned his fault, and that in his trial he was sure at least of his father's sympathy and blessing. A VILLAGE ARTIST. 59 cn.ApTEr. III. THE father's REASOXS, AXD THE VAY ITn' WHICH RICHARD KEPT HIS RESOLUTION. Mr. Frederick Mill^iax finished his talk with James Fraser, and little Dick saw him start homeward ; but he never observed his father leave the shop. Still he thought he must have gone out unperceived, for he went to the door and listened, but heard no movemeiit within. And James Fraser was rarely within his workshop without letting his busy hands give token of his presence. Eichard had taken no small pains to elude his sister Maggie, for he felt he could not bear any questioning, The moon was shining in at the latticed windows, and giving a ghtter to the sharp- edged tools that lay about on the benches, as little Dick crept softly into the shop to execute a plan he 60 THE TRIALS OF had formed. He went up to tlie bench on which lay the broken carving, and was about to sweep all the fragments into the empty box that had contained them in their beauty, when he was startled by seeing his father sitting with his head leaning on his hands, and appa- rently in deep thought. *' I did not know you were here, father," said he. ** That need not frighten you away, Eichard," was the reply. ** I want to talk to you, and 8o come and sit beside me here in the moon- light." Fraser made room for the hoj by his side, and as Richard looked in his face, its ashy colour made him feel afraid. He had seen hif? father pale before, but never as he did just then. He tried to think it was the silvery moonlight which gave his father's face that ghastly hue, but in spite of this he felt uneasy, and whispered, ''Father, are you ill?" "I have not been well, but I am better, and I have a deal to say. You heard the young Squii'e's words about trusting your father, even though he might cross your inclinations ? " A YILI^iGE AUTIST. 61 ±lie boy assented, tlioiigli his words were but a faint whisper. "And you showed j^oui'self willing. Well, I think I understand better than I ever did before the heart of my only son." Eichard made no reply this time, but he laid his hand in that of his father, and the mute pressure of the two palms said more than speech. ''You shall look into my heart, too, J ad, now, and be told my reasons for so deahng with you. You have heard me talk about your uncle Eichard, who died young, and was buried among strangers, but you cannot know how I loved him. And people have said you are so hke him, as, indeed, you are. Well, the talents that the folks praised as they now praise youi's, ruined my only brother, and I sought to save my only son from falling into the same temptations." Then James Fraser repeated in his child's ears all his unfortunate brother's history, and ended by saying, "It is a terrible thing to die and feel that we can only look back on a wasted life and talents which have been given 62 THE TRIALS OF to US in vain. Fearing you, my dear child, miglit follow in your uncle's footsteps, I dis- coui-aged your love of carving, and I liave now told you his story which only my mother ever knew the whole of before. Eespect the memory of your uncle, and do not speak of the faihngs of the dead." *'I will not, father," said Eichard, much impressed by his father's earnestness, and the evident pain with which he recalled the history of that dear, dead brother. ^' But, father," he added, not qiute convinced that because one had wasted his talent the other must needs do so, *'if I were to labour and persevere I might succeed, though my uncle failed. You say that he was not in- dustrious, and that without hard work no one can succeed." "I expected this answer, Bichard ; but listen, I have something to tell you about myself. I am not a strong man. I never have been one, and lately I have suffered more than I can make you understand. But I can tell you what will be the end of this pain, Eichard. A VILL.VGE AETIST. 68 I &liall never live to be old, I may die soon, and"— Here Fraser was interrupted by a great pitiful cry. He felt tlie lad's arms round his neck and Ids wet cbeek pressed close to his own while h sobbed out, "Oh, father, to think I should ever have grieved you." " Hush I my boy, my dear boy. It goes through my heart to tell you, because I knoW how hard it is for you to hear. But it is better that you who are willing to give up your dearest wish, to me should not think that I cross your hopes because, as your father, I have the power. You are my only boy, but there are three girls in the bouse with your mother, and Maggie is the eldest and eight years old. Now, if I should die in a few years, all these, as well as your mother, would be left unprovided for, unless you will bend your whole mind to learning a plain business^ so that you may fill my place and earn a living for them when I am gone. It would be a long while before you could do tbat in tlie path you would have chosen." 64 THE TMALS OF It was hard to say wlietlier tlie lad or liis father was the paler as they sat in the white, cold raoonlight. But Richard's voice was fii-m when he answered, ** I will give all m}^ strength and will, and try to learn the business for your sake and theirs." He pointed to the house in which were liis mother and sisters, as he spoke, to indicate who "they" were. "Thank you, dear lad; now I shall have an easier mind," was his father's answer. "But, father, are you sure of what you told me last?" " The doctors all say the same. I may live a few years, or I may die soon ; but there is no hope of cure or of long life for me." " Does my mother know ?" inquired Eichard, with faltering voice. "No, my boy. No one at home or near it. The secret is mine and yours now, and we must keep it between us ; for how could we bear to see your mother grieving, as she would grieve if she knew? Better not to make her life a daily di^ead that death is on the tlu-eshold. Now let us go into the house.' A VILLAGE ARTIST. 65 Tliey tiu'iied to leave the place; and theu only did Eichard bethink himself of the object Avhich brought him there. By the light of the moon he gathered up liis broken car\dng and placed the pieces in the box. ''Aye, keep them," said his father; '*I am sorry they are broken." * ' If you Hke, father, but not without, I will juin the pieces together with glue and keep them to remind me " — '' Of yoiu* promise to me, Eichard, eh ?" '• Xot that, father," said the boy sadly. " I shall not need anything to remind me of it. But when I have put these pieces together they will teach me not to destroy by one moment's indulgence in sinful passion the work of months." ''Good. Put it together, Eichard, by all means. Lock the door when you come out of the shop." The father went into the house, and Eichard lingered behind. As soon as the sound of the closing door told him that he was alone save for tlio presence of Him " who never slimibereth E 66 TUE TIIL\J.S OF nor sleei^etli," the boy knelt in liis accListomecl place and prayed for strength, to perform the promise he had made. He did not forget to seek pardon also for his bui'st of angry passion. "When Eichard, after much pains and labom*, had succeeded in joining all the broken frag- ments of his carved work, he found there was still something wanting. It Avas a small bit of fir with a cone, on which, next to the spray of oak, he had bestowed the greatest amoimt of time and patience. He sought for it on the bench in the shop, raked over the shavings, examined all the odds and ends that were lying about; but still in vain. Neither by search nor inquiry could he discover the miss- ing piece; so he was fain to arrange the rest as well as he could upon a small mahogany stand which his father made and gave to him for the purpose. Eichard called liis father's attention to the deficiency, saying as he did so, "It seems I am to learn another lesson stiU, that the bad efi'ects of indulging in e^dl passion cannot be quite erased." A VILL-^GE .UlTIST. 6f Years after Eichard foimd that missing frag- ment. Many visitors to James Fraser's house saw and admired the carving after it had been repaired; but only the boy, his father, and young Mr. MiUman knew its whole history. Even sister Maggie failed to obtain any in- formation, though the inquisitive little maiden ti'ied hard to find out what father said when he saw Dick's caiwing. But it was remarked that, from that night, the j'vung caiwer laid aside his art. His mother wondered what had come over the lad ; his schoolfellows asked why he pleased them no longer with specimens of his handiwork. Pdchard's only answer was, "I am going to be a joiner; and I will never carve another bit till I am master of my father's trade." In accordance with this resolution, Eichard began to give up his spare hoiu^s to the work- shop, as though he took as much pride in using a joiner's tool as he once did in re- producing those beautiful objects in wood. He would stand beside his father in the shop. C8 THE TRIALS OF and ask him the meaning' and pm-pose of all he saw there; he T^ould listen -when Fraser gave orders, and accompany him when he "went from home to execute others. There were some, Loth boys and older per- sons, Avho did not hesitate to tamit Eichard, and say, ''AVell, we thought you were going to turn out a clever fellow, and be a credit to us AVellesb}^ folks ; and now you are going to settle down and be a plain mechanic after all." In time, Eichard left school, and applied all his waking hours to work. His mother wondered at the way in which he and his father "hung together now-a-daj'S ;" for the two were inseparable. She guessed not the secret that he carried about with him, or that ail}- moment a sudden blow might make her a widow. This knowledge was no light burthen to liim who bore it. It made him cling more and more closely to his father. Dreading that he might not keep him long, Eichard seemed to grudge every moment spent away fi'om Iiim ; and besides, he was in constant teiTor lest the A VILLAGE AllTIST. 09 sudden death wliich threatened Ms parent should come upon him when no one was near. ''Who wouhl have thought," said a Wel- lesby wife to her neighbour, as they saw James Fraser and his son coming home in the evening, side by side, and the lad bearing the weight of both sets of tools, — " AMio would liave thought that young Dick Fraser would 2)lay ' shadow ' to his father in yon way. They can't be parted." From this remark, people learned to call Eichard his father's ''shadow," until the "sub- stance " was no longer left. Time wore on. Almost before Eichard ceased to bo a boy he became a thorough workman. At seventeen years of age his father said that Dick's help was invaluable to him ; that it had improved his means and helped to ex- tend his business. "You are mj right hand, lad," he said to Eichard himself. "I can trust to you as I would to myself." And Eichard, when he heard his father say tliis, felt rewarded for his daily and hourly sacritice offered to filial love. 70 THE TRIALS OF But the yoiitli had another still holier and purer source of comfort and encoiu'agement. He had read about Him of whom the Jews said, ''Is not this the carpenter's son?" and who, though He i:)Ossessed all power and wis- dom from on high, was yet willing to go down unto Nazareth with His repiited father and lowly motlier, and there be *' subject imto them " until ripe manhood, that He might leave an example to the young of all succeed- ing ages; that sons might learn from Him, who was ''meek and lowly of heart," how to honour father and mother. Bichard Fraser not only read, but strove to profit by the greatest of all examples, and said to himself, "HI labour earnestly and strive to do my duty in my present position, if I am found faithful now, a time may come and a way be opened for me to use those powers which are Ipng dormant. I do not believe that am- talent is given for nothing, or that mine will j'^roduce no fruit, though I cannot at present see how it will be made fL'uitful." A VILLAGE ARTIST. 71 Yet wliile Eichard's talent -^as lying still it was not rusting. Like an article af fur- nitiu'e, wliich the careful houseTrife puts aside, because she deems it too good for every-day use, yet keeps bright and spotless, and ready when wanted, was that talent of wliich Eichard Fraser denied himself the present exercise, but kejot in good working order. No beau- tiful object met his view but he noted down its peculiarities in his memory, with the intent to turn this mental experience to accoimt at some future day. Thus he made his memory a sort of storehouse of beauty, while his hands fashioned the homehest articles for domestic and rustic use. Often, too, he gave these a grace of form unknown before in his country home, so that he got the character of being able to combine usefidness with attractive appear- ance; and thus he greatly increased the de- mand for work from his father's shop. jMany a time, too, did the young Squire, wlien down at "Wellesby Hall, put his head in at the door of the joiner's workshop and give Eichard an encouraging word. "It will 72 THE TIUALS OF all como rig-lit some day," lie ^^ould say. '' The good God wlio gave yon powers will bestow on you the means to use tliem hy-and-hy." ''Thank j'on, sir, for all you have said to cheer and help me on in the path of duty," Eichard would repl}'. *'I am not unhappy at my present work, for I never regret liaving given up something for my father's sake." ''I believe you, Eichard. *A wise son maketh a glad father;' and there is true wisdopJL in denying ourselves for our parents." Eichard had felt the truth of this daily for years. A VILLAGE Ar.TLST. 73 CHAPTEK lY. THE HEAD OF THE FAMILY CUT OFF. A KE^ STOXE IX THE CnURCHYAED. EiciiARD Feaser Tras just turned eighteen, and a little brother had been added to liis father's family when the blow came which he had so long dreaded. Though himself but a boy, he must be the prop on which Ids mother must henceforth lean, and stand in his father's place with respect to the other children, the youngest of whom, little George, was only foiu' j'ears old. The secret whicli Ptichard had borne about with him from almost childhood was not a secret now; but in place of that burthen had come this other one of managing the business and proyiding f