CHAPTER XVI.

THE RESTORED HOME.

EARLY the following morning, Mr. Allen walked up the winding avenue which his successor had laid out in front of the house, and gazed with delight at the clusters of shade trees which adorned the smoothly-shaven lawn. This had formerly been an enclosed field for mowing. But by a new arrangement, the whole had been thrown open as far as the public street, leaving an elegant lawn in front, through which two side avenues wound their way to the front entrance. The man had an eye to the beautiful, and could thoroughly appreciate the good taste which marked every arrangement.

Mr. Greenough met him at the door and asked, with a smile, how he liked the grounds.

"I could scarcely have believed they were capable of so much improvement. That rock, where my children used to play with their dolls, under the shade of the friendly butternut is vastly prettier with its rustic seats. Indeed, it looks quite ornamental, and makes me blush that I ever thought of drilling and blasting it out."

"I must go over the farm with you after a while, but come in now. Here is my son Willie waiting to be introduced to the father of his teacher. He was absent yesterday."

"I am glad, Willie," said the stranger, "to have an opportunity to thank you for your defence of my daughter. She wrote me about it."

The lad laughed merrily, exhibiting a row of beautifully white teeth. "I liked her," he said, archly, "because she wasn't afraid of the big boys."

"And you'll be happy to own her as a sister," added his father.

"Wont I, though? But it will seem queer to call her Lizzie, as she says I must then."

Turning to the table, Mr. Greenough said,—

"I have prepared a schedule of expenses incurred by me since I bought the farm, copied from my books, setting aside the land I have added to the original deed. It amounts in all to four thousand two hundred and fifty dollars, including expense for cranberry-plants. From one year's experience in this last, I am sure that in a short time I could realize a fortune more than sufficient to pay me back every cent I have spent here. It seems reasonable that I should have some return for all I have done here; and yet I can't expect you to pay for improvements you did not authorize."

"Mr. Greenough," exclaimed Mr. Allen, warmly, "I profess to be governed by Christian principles. I prayed last night that I might be enabled to do right in this whole business,—to obey the Golden Rule, and do to you as I should wish you to do by me, were our circumstances reversed. I am aware, as you say, that I might claim the farm at once, but I have come to the conclusion to make you two propositions, with either of which I shall be satisfied.

"First, that you continue on the place, rent free, for five years, on the sole condition of keeping the farm up to its present condition of productiveness, and at the end of that time leave all to me.

"Or, that you remain here until next June, which will give you time to build a new house on your own land and adjoining mine, and have the profits of the meadow lot for eight years."

Mr. Greenough considered for a moment, and then answered, promptly, "There is scarcely a doubt that I shall accept the latter proposition, which I consider a very generous one. I like the locality, and am so confident of success that I am willing to give my whole attention to raising cranberries for the market. As I am making provision for flooding the meadow in case of sudden frost, I can hardly fail to make it very profitable."

"I shall be most happy to have you for a neighbor," was the pleased reply.

"Till June, then, I continue here, as if nothing had occurred?"

"Of course, it would be better for me to take the farm earlier, but I reckoned on giving you time enough."

"Just so. I agree, then, to plough and plant as if I expected to get in a harvest."

"Yes, sir. I may, perhaps, suggest some slight changes in the crops, or I may not. If you can vacate in April or May, so much the better for me."

"That is scarcely possible. I must be busy after this. I little expected to build a house this year. Now we will take a walk around the farm. I will draw the paper, after you leave, and send them to you for signing."

The last year's experience had enabled Mr. Allen to judge of good farming as he had never done before. He was delighted with everything, and did not hesitate to express his approval in the warmest terms. As he went through one field after another, his heart swelled with gratitude to his heavenly Father, who had ordered his path in so much mercy. He left for home in the noon train, after having made arrangements with one of the executors of Mr. Fish's will, to send him a check for money due the estate.

When he reached G—, and came in sight of the pretty cottage, where the last year or two had been so happily passed, his emotions almost overpowered him.

"I can ask Mary to forgive me then for all the trials I have brought on her," he said to himself, "when I can take her to that beautiful home."

The children had just returned from school, and at the sound of his voice came flocking around him, eager to hear the news.

Trying to speak calmly, he called the whole family to his side and gave them a brief detail of the facts as I have related them, Mary's face growing whiter and whiter with the excitement of the story, until her head sunk on her husband's shoulder, and she faintly whispered,—

"How good God is! I felt sure it was not for evil that you were called so suddenly away."

"Lizzie wanted to come home with me, to help you bear the joy," the father said, "but she couldn't leave her school, and Matilda can scarcely bear her out of sight."

"Oh, husband! Did you find out what Matilda was crying for?"

"Yes; and we owe the poor girl a great debt, but I must tell you.

"Matilda, who is an only child, slept in the next room to her father. He has no wife, you know, and he often used to call out to her to come in and drive out the devils that were dancing about the chamber. This was the effect of his drinking, and is one of the terrible evils resulting from it. She told Lizzie one morning that she used often to hear my name, like this:—

"'Joseph Allen, go away! I wont have you here tormenting me before the time!'

"At last, one night he raved so, she did not sleep a minute. The wretched man thought I was there upbraiding him, and kept shrieking out,—

"'You shall have it back! I know I ruined you! Go away; you'll have it when I die!'

"Lizzie consulted the doctor who was his physician, and he bade her tell Matilda to ask him if he would confess what he had done to injure me.

"'No,' he screamed, 'I never, never will.'

"But she continually urged him, saying,—

"'He will forgive you; and then you will not have these dreadful visions.'

"Dr. Greenough told her one day that her father could live but a short time, when she again urged him to confess, from which moment he never ceased calling,—

"'Joseph Allen! Come quick, or it will be too late!'

"Lizzie was at his side through his last night, and sent for Mr. Greenough and Squire Harwood to come and receive his deposition, as the doctor feared his patient would not be alive when I reached G—."

"I shall always love Matilda," said Bell, earnestly. "I wouldn't speak to her when I lived in our dear old home."

"Who will take care of the poor girl?" inquired Mrs. Allen.

"Lizzie is with her now, and will do all she can."

"Tell about the house, father," cried Bell, pressing closer to him. "What is it like?"

"There is not a place in town to compare with it."

"What, pa, not the great house where Mr. Burrel lives?" asked Jamie.

"No; it is handsomer and more modern than that."

"Oh, goody, goody!" screamed the child, dancing and clapping his hands with delight.

"Can't I learn to play on the piano, father, when we get there?" asked Carrie, coaxingly.

"Yes, child; you and all the rest shall have every advantage of education. That was one of my first thoughts. What do you think John and Aunt Mercy will say?"

"Or Mr. Burrel and all the folks here? Mayn't I go and tell them, father?"

"No, my child, not at present. I shall tell Mr. Burrel myself soon that he may look out for another gardener. For the present we shall go on exactly as we have before."

"Isn't it splendid, Carrie?" exclaimed Bell, when, at her request, her father had described the parlors, front hall, and dining-room, the only apartments he had entered. "I can hardly wait till spring."

"I'm not sure that I wouldn't have preferred our home as it was," faltered Mary, her eyes glistening. "I'm afraid it will all seem strange."

"Yes, it did to me at first, but when I went into the fields, by the big elm-trees, and the willow hedge near the creek, there was a rush of old memories. I'll tell you what, wife, I seem to be living in a dream,—a pleasant one, indeed. We must be careful that prosperity does not turn our hearts from God."

"I'm sure, father," faltered Bell, laughing, "I never felt half so much like loving him."

"It is well, my daughter, when the goodness of God leads us to penitence. I remember with deep sorrow that I needed adversity and trial before my heart acknowledged him as my ruler. Now, children, to your work. I shall never regret anything but the sins which caused our poverty since it has led you all to form habits of industry."

"We sha'n't have to work when we get to that handsome house; shall we, father?" eagerly asked Jamie.

"To be sure we shall; I give you leave to be idle, though, when you see your mother sit down and fold her hands. If you were all to stop working, you'd soon be in mischief. Don't you remember your mother's favorite hymn?—

"'For Satan finds some mischief still For idle hands to do.'

"And pretty soon there'll be another leak in our fortunes. Now we will have supper, and then I will go and see Mr. Burrel about the work."

"Shall you tell him to-night, father?"

"No, Carrie, I think not, unless he asks me what detained me from home. We must all remember that, although we have a fine house and extensive barns, we have little furniture and only one cow to put in them. My father used to keep two yoke of oxen. I see Mr. Greenough uses both oxen and mules."

"But you have lots of money, father, that you have earned here," cried Ned.

"My boy," said the father, sorrowfully, "I am mortified to be obliged to tell you that the money we have all earned with so much labor and pains-taking must go to pay a bill I ought not to have run up, otherwise the house would not be ours."

"No matter, pa; we'll all help you earn more. Boll and Carrie can get in apples when school is done, and Ned and I will dig potatoes and pull turnips as fast as we can. Before June we can have time to earn ever so many dollars."

At breakfast the next morning, Mr. Allen said,—

"I have a plan to propose. It is this: that each of you girls should try to earn, between this and June, a set of furniture, such as you would wish in your own chambers. John shall furnish a room, too, which he shall occupy when he visits us, while the boys may club together and buy a horse."

"Goody, goody! I'll do it!" shouted Jamie. "We'll buy a black one, and call him Bucephalus, like Alexander's horse we read about at school."

"And what will ma do with her money? She earns more than any of us, with her butter and cheese."

"She may furnish one of the parlors if she pleases, Bell. I have a secret use for the north parlor and the chamber over it, which you will all know in due time."

Later in the day Mr. Allen sought his employer, who was absent the previous evening, and informed him of the change in his prospects.

Mr. Burrel listened with profound attention, and when he had done, said,—

"I congratulate you most heartily; and yet there is a feeling,—a selfish one, I fear,—that I shall be obliged to give up a gardener who suits me in every particular."

"It was about that I wish to speak to you, sir. I feel an interest here, where I and my family have been so kindly treated. I know a man whom I can recommend as honest and faithful, who has a taste for nursery business. A few months' experience, with the teaching I can give him, would, I think, insure you a good hand."

"What is his name?"

"Robert Carter."

"Carter! Why, he is a surly, snappish fellow, whom I always dread to speak to, whose children have been a torment,—a man I kept more out of charity to him than from any other motive."

"That was formerly his character, sir. But I think you will agree with me that there has been a great change in all of them. His wife has grown neat and ambitious, and the children are as anxious to work as they were formerly to rob hen-roosts."

"All your influence, Allen. When you and your wife are gone, he'll relapse into his old way."

"Don't you think he showed a good deal of character when he left off using tobacco and beer?"

"Yes, I acknowledge that I thought then he was more of a man than I'd imagined."

"He has a surly way of speaking, but it's more in manner than feeling. I've had him in the nursery when I was pressed for time, and found he had a native aptness for the business. I should like to have you try him, sir."

Mr. Burrel paused, and then said,—

"There is another objection. Betsey knows nothing about dairy work."

"I pledge my word that Mary will teach her to make good butter and cheese."

The gentleman smiled. "Since you are so determined," he said, "I suppose I must consent, but I dread to tell my wife of the change."