CHAPTER VI.

A RAY OF SUNSHINE.

AS I have before said, Mr. Allen was naturally mirthful; and the change in his temperament would have cast a gloom over all the family, had it not been for Lizzie, whose merry face and sunny smiles chased away many an hour of despondence.

Aunt Mercy was a shrewd observer of character. As she had before talked in the plainest terms to her nephew of the sin of pursuing a course which was not only ruining his own soul, but the peace of his family, so, now that she saw he was striving to amend, in her own frank way she strove to encourage him. Entirely ignoring his silence on all such occasions, she persevered in consulting him regarding the children. Lizzie, she said, as soon as times were a little more prosperous with them, must be sent to a Normal school, and prepared for a teacher.

"There is a vacancy now," she added, hopefully, "in our district. I wish she were ready, for she would be good company for me."

Joseph would not glance toward the bright eyes he was sure were asking his consent, but answered, in a hard tone,—

"Wife couldn't spare Lizzie; and money wouldn't tempt me to let her go back to N—, where she would be pointed at as the drunkard's daughter."

"That would not be true now, husband," murmured his wife, softly laying her hand on his shoulder.

"I have a plan for John too," the old lady went on, "but it is a secret as yet. There is no need of haste; he must get a better education first."

"Bread and butter is the first object with us," was the bitter retort. "You forget that we are poor."

"I know as well as you do that your money has all run away," she answered, smiling, "but I know, also, that you are all taking hold in earnest to stop the leak. And, as I have a little money lying idle in the bank, I suppose there is no one to forbid me the pleasure of helping those who are trying to help themselves."

Mr. Allen's chin quivered. "Wife and Lizzie will thank you," he said, in a subdued tone, "but my feeling is all gone."

"Not quite, father!" exclaimed Bell, throwing her arms around his neck. "For I heard you telling Mr. Grey last night that you would bear your own lot without a murmur, if your family need not suffer, and the tears glistened in your eyes."

Mrs. Lovell often noticed that Mary, when her husband entered the room, glanced shyly at him, to see whether the boisterous mirth of the children was likely to annoy him. They kept steadily at their task of seating chairs until near the hour in which he returned from his work, when they bounded out of doors, chasing each other all over their small enclosure, and making the air ring with their laughter.

She well remembered the time when, in the earlier years of their married life, Lizzie, John, and Bell used to run down the road as soon as they heard their father's carriage-wheels, when he good-naturedly stopped the horse and took them all in. Now for many years he had been so fretful and capricious under the influence of liquor that they had avoided him as much as possible, quietly stealing from the room when he was in it, so that Jamie and Fred., the younger boys, were almost strangers to him.

Aunt Mercy took occasion one day to call up the old reminiscences, and afterwards told her niece that she was quite sure it would please Joseph to be welcomed by the children as of old.

Lizzie, who was old enough and wise enough to be taken into the family counsels, entered into this proposal with her usual enthusiasm. Jamie, Fred., and even Baby Nelly, after this, each had his or her lesson, and the next afternoon, when the unsuspicious father came walking gloomily down the road, they all set out to meet him.

"See, pa!" cried Fred., reaching up, and pulling his father's coat to attract attention. "See what I've got for you!" And he held out a prettily-arranged bunch of wild wood flowers.

"Nelly, too!" lisped the baby, reaching her arms out toward him.

Jamie presented his offering with a quiet smile. He was the image of his mother in her happier days, and his upturned face reminded the husband so forcibly of her that, when he tried to speak, the words choked him.

"What does it mean?" he asked, presently, turning to Lizzie, whose kindling eye expressed volumes.

"Only that we have been telling the little ones how we used to run out and meet you, and they want to welcome you too."

He leaned forward and kissed her, saying, softly,—

"If I ever do become a good man, Lizzie, you will be the means of it."

"That is because I pray 'for Christ's sake,'" she answered, in the same tone.

Mrs. Allen was greatly delighted to see her husband come across the potato-patch with baby sitting on his shoulder. She stood in the doorway, with a smiling countenance, to receive him, Aunt Mercy and John pressing up behind her.

The meal which followed was the most cheerful one they had enjoyed since they came to G—, Mr. Allen exerting himself to talk, and telling them more about his business than they had ever known before.

[Illustration: BRIGHTER DAYS.]

The next morning at breakfast, Aunt Mercy said, "I wish you had a barn, Joseph; for I think I could find you a cow. The little ones would grow fatter if they had plenty of milk."

"I like milk!" exclaimed Jamie, warmly.

"And we could make our own butter," said the practical John.

"I know Mr. Burrel, where I work, would be glad to let us pasture a cow with his, if one of the boys would drive both of them," added the father, "but we have no barn; so it is of no use to talk about it."

"I'll build one with the first money I earn teaching school!" exclaimed Lizzie, laughing, and there the subject was dropped.

But Mr. Allen thought of it again, as he walked back to his work. He thought, also, of a remark he had that very morning overheard his employer make to a neighbor in regard to himself, and this was,—

"He's the most faithful, energetic man I ever knew. If he only had more enthusiasm in his nature, I'd advance him at once to be head gardener; for I see he's well informed."

The neighbor answered, "He owned a fine piece of property once, I've heard, but was unfortunate, and lost everything."

For the first time, a feeling that there might be hope for him in the future quickened his steps, and almost brought a smile to his lips.

"If I could get that situation," he soliloquized, "I should have the pretty cottage on the grounds, and Mary could have the cow at once. A dozen quarts of milk in a day does make a vast difference in the expense of living."

Mrs. Lovell lengthened her visit from week to week, because she saw she could be a help to her niece. A few dollars well expended made a sensible improvement in the comfort of the family, and a few more bought cloth, which Aunt Mercy's own hands made into garments greatly needed.

Then the thoughtful old lady had begged a number of articles from Lawrence, which she had foreseen would help replenish the wardrobe of Mr. Allen against the coming winter, and enable him to accompany his wife to church; for it was her earnest desire that the whole family should be under the influence of faithful religious teaching. But at last, the alterations necessary in these were completed, and Mrs. Allen could find no excuse for urging her aunt to prolong her visit. Mrs. Lovell's trunk was packed, and she only waited for a letter she expected that morning from Lawrence before she started for home.

At last Jamie, the news-carrier, as he called himself, came in sight, holding up an envelope, and shouting,—

"It's for you, Aunt Mercy; the letters are always for you!"

Though the old lady did not read it to the eager lookers-on, but mysteriously folded and placed it in her pocket, we will take the liberty to peruse it.

"DEAR AUNT,—If the boy is what you describe, I will give him a start, as you call it, but he must be very honest, active, and go-ahead, in order to succeed here, where there are so many competitors for fortune. He ought to be well grounded in arithmetic, and have a general idea of bookkeeping, though he may never advance beyond a runner, or errand-boy. I think well of your keeping him with you for the winter.

"As to our own affairs, I suspect I made a mistake when I gave the reins so completely into the hands of our kitchen functionaries. To speak within bounds, they are four times as extravagant as when you left. Indeed, the way they manage to treat their own guests, and cheat ours of everything that is eatable, would furnish abundant material for a modern novel-writer to publish a book entitled 'High Life below Stairs.' Where all this tends, I am beginning seriously to inquire. In the mean time, Lady-bird is just as sweet and beguiling as ever, singing and smiling in the most delightful unconsciousness that everything is not proceeding in the most approved manner. It is barely possible that I may be obliged to go to France for a month or two in the winter. If I do,—but I will write you further at another time.

"Yours most gratefully,

"LAWRENCE EVERETT."