CHAPTER II.

Decision.

VERY quiet and very dull sat Annie on the counter, staring gravely at the window. She could not clamber down from the counter, and she dared neither play with anything on it, nor ask to be set down on the floor by her mother, who was putting things in order on a shelf, with her back towards the little girl. Suddenly Annie uttered a cry of delight, stretched out her hands, and in her eagerness to get down from her perch would have fallen off the counter, had she not been caught in the arms of her father, who fondly pressed her to his heart.

"Ah! Martin, is that you? I did not look for your coming till the evening," cried Mrs. Laver, turning round, and then giving her husband a welcome that was not unkindly, though she shewed none of the rapturous delight of the child, who clung to her father's neck, and buried her face on his shoulder.

Martin Laver was a tall, fine-looking man, and until his illness had possessed more activity and strength than most men; but his eyes were now sunken, his face looked sickly, and he slightly stooped from weakness.

"Put that monkey down, she'll tire you," said Ann.

Martin smiled, and, shaking his head, pressed his little one to him more closely. He however took a seat, and sat down in the shop, leaning his arm upon the counter. It was such a pleasure to him to feel the soft little hands of his child again stroking his face, and playing with his whiskers, and then the sweet infant lips pressed to his cheek.

In the conversation between husband and wife which followed, Ann took by far the larger share. She told all the gossip of the neighbourhood, while Martin sat listening, or perhaps scarcely listening, with a thoughtful, and somewhat anxious look on his face.

Ann expected a great deal of credit from her husband for the way in which she had conducted the business during his absence.

"I cleaned that window with my own ten fingers," she observed, "and that's not what every woman would have done, you may take my word for that."

The expected praise was heartily given.

"And I've arranged it too, with a pretty bit of taste; those picture ballads attract the passersby, as fly-papers catch flies, specially the one about the murder."

"Ah! That reminds me of what I had resolved on," said Martin, rising from his seat.

After setting down Annie on the counter, he went up to the window, took down the papers, and examined them, one after the other, dividing them into two sets as he did so. Martin then replaced the larger number in the window, but four of the ballads he laid down on the counter with the words, "You had better use these to light the fire, my dear."

"Light the fire! My patience," exclaimed Mrs. Laver, her earrings glancing and twinkling with the jerk of her head. "Why, each of those may bring us a penny, and I'm not so flush of cash as to use them for lighting fires. Take care of the pennies, and the pounds will take care of themselves."

"With me this is no mere matter of money," said Martin. "I want to tell you, dear wife, all that is now on my mind. I've been thoughtless and careless enough in times past, but my eyes have been opened of late, and I intend, God helping me, to lead from henceforth the life of a Christian man."

Martin spoke with some effort, for he knew that his words would rouse a bitter feeling of opposition in his self-willed and worldly wife.

"As a matter of conscience," continued the husband, "I have resolved that nothing immoral or profane shall ever again be seen in my shop."

"Hoity, toity! Fiddlety dee! Here's a pretty kettle of fish!" exclaimed Mrs. Laver, in a tone that frightened Annie, and made her stretch out her hands to her father. "I thought that, in the hospital, you'd have got rid of all that stuff and nonsense."

"In the hospital I hope that I have got clearer views both of a Christian's hopes and a Christian's duties than I ever had before," began Martin.

But his wife would not let him finish his sentence.

"Put back those pictures, I say, and don't let us have any more of this sort of thing, which will only keep us in perpetual hot water!" she exclaimed. "Put them back, or I'll do it myself," and she advanced as if to take them.

Martin was a poor man, but he knew that God had placed him in the position of master in his own little home. He did not choose to bandy words with his wife, but he gave his answer in his action.

Quickly and firmly, he put the four ballads together, and tore them across, then laid down the halves on the counter. There was a resolution shewn by his manner and look, that for a moment overawed as well as surprised Ann Laver. No man is likely really to lose his hold over the affections of his wife, by letting her see that her influence cannot turn him from what he knows to be right. The husband who wins his spouse's respect is most likely to keep her love.

Customers now entering the shop, Martin took his place behind the counter and served them, while Mrs. Laver carried off Annie to the little back parlour. The woman was sullen and out of temper; she foresaw that struggle which must take place, sooner or later, in every home, where two who are not agreed on the most important of subjects, are coupled together as man and wife.

"There will be no peace her; I can see that well enough," muttered Ann to herself. "He'll be pulling one way, I pulling the other; but let him drag his very life out, he'll never get me to follow him in his methodistical ways!"

The jerk which followed this resolution was more defiant than usual.

"There will be no peace here!" How often had that painful thought crossed the mind of Martin, as he had lain in the hospital ward, silently resolving, at whatever cost, fully to follow the Lord.

Feeling too weak in health to be able to battle against a woman's violent will, yearning for the quiet, and comfort, and love, which can make even a humble home such a holy and happy place, Martin had looked forward with something like dread to the constant domestic struggle which was likely to follow any attempt on his part to lead a consistent life. Laver could better, far better, have borne even persecution from without, than the constant jarring with the woman whom he loved, which seemed likely to embitter his life. It was as one who girds himself and prepares for a painful conflict, that Martin, on returning to his home, resolved from the very first to confess his principles openly, to take his stand on the ground of conscience; and while acting with consideration and gentleness towards his wife, never to yield to her a single point where his duty to God was in question.

Martin had not, however, much opposition to encounter on that day of his return, which chanced to be the last of the week. Perhaps Ann's heart, for she had a heart, had warmed towards the husband of her youth, who had suffered so patiently and long; perhaps the sight of that pale sunken cheek roused a feeling of pity within her. Ann kept truce on the first evening, and gave only a look of careless indifference when Martin asked aloud a blessing at his meal, with his Annie's little hands tenderly folded within his own.

Annie was very unwilling to quit her father when Mrs. Laver, in her quick sharp manner, told her that it was time to come to bed, for that she could not keep her eyes open. Those blue eyes filled with tears, little arms were clasped round Martin's neck, and he only prevented the child from bursting out crying, by a promise to come in a little while, and give her a good-night kiss. Mrs. Laver carried Annie upstairs, and Martin was left alone with his thoughts.

"That child is as a piece of my heart, dearer than my life!" reflected the parent. "Helpless and weak as she is, able to do little more than lisp my name, that very helplessness and weakness only serve to make her more dear! She can, at least, cling to me—and love. How gracious is God to compare His own tenderness to that of a parent! 'Like as a father pitieth his children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear Him.' And all that God requires of us is just what a parent requires of a child, faith, love, and obedience."

There was a proof of love and obedience which Martin knew it to be his bounden duty to give; but he, like many other fathers of families, especially those who are married to worldly wives, felt it to be a duty very difficult to perform. For some little time before going to the hospital, Martin had found the comfort of private prayer, but he had never yet ventured to propose family prayer to his wife. Martin knew that it would be well to begin the custom on that night; delay would not only be wrong, but would increase the difficulties before him.

Laver reproached himself for the repugnance which he felt to entering upon the subject to Ann. Were they not one in the sight of God and of man? Should they not be one in their hopes and their actions? But Martin knew too well that, in all that regarded religion, he and his wife were not one, but severed by a great gulf.

For several minutes he stood irresolute beside the little crib in which Annie lay asleep, before he could summon up resolution to say to her mother, "Wife, let us thank God for His mercies, and ask for His blessing, together."

Without waiting for a reply, Martin instantly knelt down, and though Ann remained standing, she was perfectly quiet while her husband offered up a short but very earnest prayer for herself, himself, and their child.

To speak was at first an effort, but courage and joy came with prayer, and Martin rose from his knees like one who has had a burden rolled from his heart.

"Thank God, I have made a beginning!" thought the husband.

"Where will this end?" thought the wife.