CHAPTER XII.

STARS IN THE NIGHT SEASON.

Out on the wide, wide world. Roland could not but feel the loneliness, as at the early dawn, with nothing but a few clothes packed up in an old carpet bag, and a few dollars in his pocket, he turned his face away from what had once been home. It had cost him, youth that he was, many an anxious thought and weary hour of toil, to help to keep it up; but it was the dear spot where a mother smiled and a sister cheered his return.

He had paid his last visit, fastened the cottage windows, locked the door, and turned to leave the little home. But what is that lying on the front porch? it looks like a familiar object. He stoops to pick it up. It is a little book that his mother daily used, "Clark on the Promises." Many a pencil mark is on its pages, and many a finger print pressed there by a hand that lies mouldering in the grave. He lays it away among his treasures, and turns his footsteps towards the sea-shore.

The lonely dashing of the waters at that early hour sounded so drearily, and recalled most forcibly the beautiful lines of Tennyson.

"Break, break, break, On thy cold gray stones, oh sea! And I would that my tongue could utter The thoughts that arise in me.

"O, well for the fisherman's boy That he shouts with his sister at play! O, well for the sailor lad, That he sings in his boat on the bay

"And the stately ships go on, To their haven under the hill, But oh, for the touch of a vanished hand! And the sound of a voice that is still.

"Break, break, break, At the foot of thy crags, oh sea! But the tender grace of a day that is dead, Will never come back to me."

He mounted the rock once more, leaned against the flagstaff, and looked out dreamily upon the wide expanse of ocean, emblem to him of the untried world beyond. Then he turned to look upon the spot where he had first seen Madeline in all her childish grace. It had been a sweet dream with which to commence his young life--a peep into a home of elegance and refinement--a year's communion with a fresh young spirit, so free, so wild, so guileless. Some pleasant thoughts stirred in the soul of the youth, and caused a smile to flit across his face, as he felt that perhaps he might have awakened in that bright child some incipient longings after a better life.

Then his thoughts turned to the reality; the hard, stern reality, the battle of life, so soon to commence.

"These bright things are not for me," sighed Roland; "they might enervate my character. God knows that it will be better schooled in the path which strikes the steel within. What a precious talisman my dear mother has left me, 'Looking aloft!' upward where I see the works of the Creator, the smiles of God; upward, where I see the path trodden by all the good and great of the earth; you shall never be ashamed of your son, mother." The word "mother" was spoken audibly, the holy name stirred up the depths of Roland's soul, and he wept aloud.

It was but a moment of indulgence; for, taking up his carpet-bag, he commenced his journey on foot. And whither? like faithful Abraham, he went out, not knowing whither he went.

He had heard of a neighboring college about one hundred and fifty miles off, where the President, himself a self-made man, had sympathy with struggling aspirants.

"I can but try," thought the youth; "I'll go trusting, and I may succeed."

All day long he journeyed with a springing, elastic step, for hope was strong within him. He stopped to take his meals, and to read a verse or two in his mother's precious book of the promises. When evening approached, Roland began to cast about for a night's lodging. He did not want to spend his money, he had so little; that he must keep for his books. But what to do? He could not sleep out upon the ground, it was too cold.

Not far off, he perceived a neat-looking farm-house. Two or three children were playing about in the front lawn; the mother, a pleasant looking woman, came to the door, and with such a kind, cheerful voice called in her little ones to tea, that Roland felt she will not refuse me a place in her barn. I can but ask. He walked directly up to the front door with a firm, manly step, and knocked. The mistress of the house appeared.

"I called to ask, ma'am, if you will allow me to sleep in your barn to-night; I have walked twenty miles to-day, and have no place where to rest."

Mrs. Romaine was really a kind woman, but here was a stranger, "Would it be safe?"

"Where is thee going, my boy?"

"I am on my road to College, ma'am, and I have yet one hundred and thirty miles to travel."

"Going to College, my son, and no means to pay for a night's lodging; thee must be a brave boy to start on such an errand."

"My mother told me to stop at nothing to get a good education; it was on her death-bed, madam, and I will do any thing to obtain such a blessing."

"Don't thee know it takes money to go through college? But thee must be tired; come, sit down, my son; what is thy name?"

"Roland Bruce."

"How does thee expect to get through, Roland?"

"I can work, madam," said Roland, with a bright smile. "I am very strong, and very willing; and I have my mother's motto to work by."

"What is that, Roland?"

"'Looking aloft,' madam; it is a strong tower."

He was in New England, where sympathy with one thus anxious was sure to meet a response.

"Thee can stay with us, Roland, to-night, but not in a barn; we have a little room where thee can sleep. But come in, thee must be hungry."

And the kind woman led her guest out to the tea-table, where a comfortable repast was already spread.

"What can thee do, Roland, in the way of work?"

"I can make fires, black boots, saw wood, etc.; and, I suppose that there must be plenty of such work in a college."

"But suppose the boys look down upon thee, Roland?"

"I can afford to let them, if I get all the knowledge I want; they won't do it always; I am above getting angry at them, madam."

"Thee is a strange boy, Roland; so humble, and yet so proud, too."

"I am afraid that there is not so much humility as there seems to be about me; for all this stooping down is but to rise at last; I shall be thinking of that all the time."

"When thee is ready, I will show thee thy room, Roland."

They sat and chatted pleasantly for another hour, and, when Roland saw the family making preparations for retiring, he followed his kind hostess to a snug little room, opening out on a front balcony.

Roland was too full of earnest thought for sleep; so, taking a chair, he seated himself alone on the balcony.

The family had all retired; quiet reigned around. It was a clear, cold night, and the bright stars shone out, and spangled the heavens with their radiant constellations Roland looked upward, and listened to their voiceless eloquence.

How long had they continued their silent march of glory?

Centuries had rolled by, and year after year had they travelled the same wondrous circles, with the same marvellous precision. The north star had pointed the mariner on the stormy deep, to his desired haven. Orion, with his glorious belt of stars, on the same day of the month, at the same hour, might ever be seen in the same point of the heavens; the beauteous Pleiades, obedient too, wheeled in their wondrous course. Ursa Major, at all times, might be looked upon as a familiar friend; and amid them all, the grand planets had joined the mysterious dance of the universe. Orbit within orbit, sun beyond sun, each the centre of other solar systems, had wheeled into their wondrous revolutions; obedient to the same laws, without confusion, without noise, (for great works are ever noiseless,) from century to century; and to-night, guided by the same Omnipotent hand, amid the unceasing silent whirl, Roland sits and listens to their eloquent teachings.

"These are material things," thought Roland, "destined at last to be rolled up like a scroll and pass away, but I am an immortal. These transient orbs are the objects of His unceasing care, and shall I, an immortal being, fear to trust my all in His wise and gracious hands? His providence, with its myriad of wheels, is just as surely guided as are these heavenly orbs. I remember the night when my mother showed me these bright constellations, and the very lesson that she taught me. I can look upward to-night, and recall it all. Stars in the night season speak comforting words. It seemed dark night when I left Woodcliff, but the stars are shining around my path, as well as in the heavens; for was it not the good providence of God that led me to this sweet chamber, when all I hoped for was a barn?"

Thus communed Roland with the starry heavens, and, after having committed himself in perfect trust to the care of his Heavenly Father, he laid him down and slept in peace. "So he giveth his beloved sleep."

By the dawn of day he was astir, and after an early breakfast, prepared once more for his journey.

"Thee will have a pleasant day, Roland; it is clear and cold, and bracing to a young frame like thine."

Roland bade his kind hostess good-bye with a grateful heart.

"You have cheered me with your kind words, Mrs. Romaine, and the blessing of the orphan's God will be upon you."

"Farewell, Roland; I hope thee will be successful; many of our great men have started just as thee has."

Roland did not draw upon his provisions again until the middle of the day, when to his surprise he found that a large stock of substantials had been added to his store.

Twice in the course of his journey he slept in a barn; he had met with some rough treatment, but enough of kindness to show that a good Providence was guiding his steps.

At the close of the sixth day, Roland came in sight of the college walls.

A number of the students were strolling on the lawn in front of the building. Several scrutinized him closely, but Roland walked steadily forward, with head erect, and firm step.

"Here, I say, Charley, what do you think of the new arrival?" said George Stanley to a companion; "extensive trunks, hey!"

Roland turned a moment; there was something in his eye that Charley did not relish, and he moved away.

At length he reached the President's room, and was directed to be seated.

After a short time, a small man, with rather an uninviting aspect, appeared.

"What is your business, my boy?" asked the President.

"I am seeking an education, sir," replied Roland, in a direct, straight-forward manner.

"Who is your father, sir?"

"I have none, sir."

"Your mother?"

"I am an orphan, sir."

"Your friends? I mean responsible persons, sir."

"I have none, sir."

"Your means?"

"None at all, but these hands, feet, and head, sir."

"I am afraid that we cannot take you."

"I will do anything, sir; I will saw wood, make fires, black shoes, anything but cheat, sir. I won't say that I can pay you, as some might promise, for I never can."

Dr. Kingsley was an eccentric, but a really noble-hearted man; he had taken one glance at Roland which had interested him, and his questions had been put to try him.

He had marked the fine dark eye, the expansive brow, and the sweet, but firm-set mouth; he had listened to the straight-forward appeal of the youth; it brought back his own early struggles, and he felt as if such a boy had a right to an education of the highest order.

"Are you aware, my young friend, how trying is the position which you propose? If you are mentally and morally superior, are you willing to be treated as an inferior, and perhaps sometimes scorned?"

"I can brush away gnats, sir," replied Roland, with an expressive toss of his hand; "for I am a Scotch boy, with Scotch pride enough to sustain me. If they scorn me for doing right, what care I?"

"What is your name, sir?"

"Roland Gordon Bruce, sir."

"A fine name--the Gordons were distinguished among Scottish martyrs, if I mistake not."

"They were, sir; and I trust that I shall never dishonor the name I bear."

"You can come, Roland," said Dr. Kingsley, in a softer tone of voice.

Roland had endured the hard tone of scrutiny with calmness; but the free consent was more than he could bear. He rose suddenly to his feet, seized Dr. Kingsley's hand, and with a glowing cheek, and eye suffused with feeling, exclaimed--

"Thank you, dear sir; I have no words to express all that I feel."

Dr. Kingsley turned his head away, for he did not care that Roland should see his emotion, but continued--

"Where is your baggage, sir?"

"It is there, Dr. Kingsley," said the boy, smiling, and pointing to his carpet-bag; "that contains all my worldly goods."

"And where are your books, Roland? that is an expensive item," continued the President.

"I have none, sir. I have about five dollars, sir; will that suffice?"

"We shall see, Roland."

Dr. Kingsley had a sudden call for his handkerchief. Blowing his nose violently, he recovered his equanimity.

He sent for the Janitor--"Show this boy to the small attic room, No. 70, and see that he is well attended to, Mr. James. Remain here one moment, Roland;" and the good man hurried Mr. James out into the hall--"Be kind to this boy; he is made of noble stuff--don't let the fellows impose upon him; he is poor as a church mouse; but he is proud, and brave as a lion."

Mr. James conducted Roland to his little attic, where he soon deposited his worldly goods; and at the ringing of the supper-bell, made his first appearance among the world of students. He took a seat appointed at the foot of the room, at a side-table, among the younger boys, and glanced around him. His clothes were mean and shabby, compared with any by whom he was surrounded; but there was a quiet manly air of independence, as he sat with head thrown back, one arm leaning upon the table, and a calm straight-forward look in his eagle eye, that repelled insolence; and Roland was allowed to sit among them in silence, but without any welcome from the boys.

After supper, as it was yet the time of freedom, many of the students strolled out upon the lawn. Roland took his seat under a large oak tree, alone in the great crowd.

A handsome boy, dressed in the height of fashion, advanced towards our novice.

"You look lonely, sir; may I ask your name?"

"Roland Bruce--and yours?"

"Edmund Norris. Now come and take a stroll with me."

Roland joined his young companion. Several of the boys tittered at the patronage.

"Ned can do as he pleases," said George Stanley; "but I am a little more cautious about my acquaintances; I dare say he is only a charity boy; I saw the poor, mean carpetbag that he brought."

Edmund Norris was a petted child of wealthy parents, but he had a warm, noble heart; and remembered the day when he came as a stranger among so many. His great fault of character was want of firmness, easily led, and generous to a fault; consequently, he was a great favorite--a dangerous distinction for a college boy, with plenty of money.

"You'll soon get acquainted with the boys that are worth knowing," said Edmund.

"I came only to study," answered Roland; "so that I can have my books and a quiet corner, I care not for the roughness of outward circumstances."

"You'll find Dr. Kingsley a fine old fellow; he's hard upon us lazy ones, keen-eyed as a fox, none need try to deceive him."

"I like his few words, and kind deeds," answered Roland.

"Don't get home-sick--that is a horrid feeling, and all have it at first. I dare say when you go to your room, you will go to sleep with moistened cheek, thinking of mother and home."

"I have neither home nor mother; I am almost alone in this wide, wide world--none but a sister can I claim in America--good night, Mr. Norris."

Roland returned to his room with a grateful heart. Another star had arisen upon his night-season, and, as he looked out upon the spangled heavens, they seemed to smile upon the bright young aspirant, as he sank to sleep.

Next morning, his examination took place, his studies were appointed, and his duties in the house defined.

When he took the boots the first time from the students' doors, many of them were in the passage.

"I told you that he was only a charity student," said George Stanley; "he's to be our boot-black, I see--it's a capital joke, by jingo! with his princely airs."

But though performing these menial offices, his deportment in the class-rooms, and his superior recitations, commanded respect, in spite of the slurs cast upon him by mean spirits.

He had marked out his course, notwithstanding all that might be done, steadily to perform his duties, to avoid the students generally, and, above all things, to employ all his leisure time in preparing for his recitations.

It was a hard lot that Roland Bruce had chosen--it took him several hours at night to clean the boots, although he was aided by a little fellow in the employ of the institution; before the dawn of day, he was busy carrying up wood and making the fires, aided by the same little fellow.

He allowed himself but six hours' sleep, and husbanded his time so carefully, that, with all his hard labor, he really accomplished more than half the students in the college.

Added to his industry, Roland's talents were of no common order, and the faculty soon perceived that the humble boot-black of the college, would carry off most of its honors.

"Holloa, Boots!" exclaimed George Stanley one morning, as Roland was passing through the halls with wood for the rooms.

He passed on without noticing the insolence. As he returned, Stanley was at the door.

"Here, Boots! I want to see you."

"When you speak to me as you ought, I am ready to listen," answered Roland, with quiet dignity.

"Well, Mr. Bruce, I want to say to you, that you don't polish my boots well."

"Complain to the authorities, Mr. Stanley," and Roland passed on.

"Proud as Lucifer! I wish I could humble him, with his grand airs of superiority," said Stanley, as he banged the door of his room.

"You humble him!" answered Edmund Norris; "a pigmy might as well try to reach the sun."

"Why, what is he, Norris? but a mere boot-black for the college. I won't stand his pride."

"Go to the recitation room, if you want to see what Roland Bruce is--there is not a fellow in the college that can compete with him, notwithstanding all his hard labor."

"I suppose that he is a prince in disguise, Norris, from the airs which he puts on."

"He has done nothing to offend you, Stanley, and yet you take every opportunity to insult him. I tell you, sir, that I know Roland Bruce--neither you nor I could have the independence which he exhibits; and, so far from humbling him, in my estimation, it exalts him; though I know that I never could reach it--I could not saw wood and black shoes for my education."

When the students met again in the dining-hall, Norris stepped up to Roland, and said,

"Your seat is by me henceforth at the table."

"How is this?" inquired Roland, surprised.

"I made the request, that's all; you shall be treated properly."

Several of the students frowned on finding themselves so near to "Boots," as they termed him; when speaking _of_, not _to_ Roland Bruce.

"How long since you were knighted, Sir Edmund?" asked Stanley; "I find that you have taken your place among the sons of chivalry."

"If I am entitled to the name for righting the oppressed, very well, I _am_ Sir Edmund Norris."

Roland, with his quiet dignity of demeanor, really did not look very much in need of patronage; although truly grateful to the generous young soul, who was always his champion.

Our young student had secured the universal respect of the faculty--Dr. Kingsley was his firm, tried friend; he furnished him with all his necessary text-books, so that the five dollars were yet untouched. Mrs. Jennings, the matron, was extremely kind, looking after his little stock of clothes, keeping them as neat as possible, and not unfrequently adding a collar or two, a handkerchief, or a pair of stockings to his scanty wardrobe.

"Can't you stop in my room a minute, Roland?" said the good lady.

"I thank you, my dear madam, but I really have no time to day."

"Always busy, my son; may you be rewarded for your patient industry."

"Thank you, my good, kind friend;" and Roland's heart swelled with emotion, for he had heard but one kind womanly voice since he had lost his dear mother, and that was good Mrs. Romaine's.

"There is a box for you, Roland," said the janitor; and, much to his surprise, he found quite a large box in his little attic, accompanied by a letter from sister Effie; so full of love and tender recollection, that, for a moment, it quite unmanned him.

"You will find many useful things, dear Roland; don't ask how I got them; my own hands made the shirts and hemmed the handkerchiefs; they come to you from a very dear friend. The suit of clothes comes from Mr. Hamilton, who has heard of your course at college, and who was quite chagrined that you should go without seeing him; but the shirts and handkerchiefs are a secret."

Roland opened the box, and there he found a suit of clothes, half a dozen shirts, stockings, and handkerchiefs, with other valuable and necessary things.

He bowed his knee before his Father in Heaven, and blessed him for the gift, for really his old clothes were completely worn out.

Stars in the night season shining still around him--why should he ever doubt?

Edmund met him with a beaming countenance in the dining hall, not that he cared any more for Roland in his neat mourning suit, but it did please him to see his friend taking his seat among his fellows, in the garb of a gentleman.

Who could have sent the shirts and handkerchiefs? but one kind friend could he think of, and that was Madeline Hamilton. He knew that whatever she desired, was granted to her by her indulgent father. It was pleasant to be thus remembered--but how humbling to Roland's pride, who longed to work for all his needs!

Roland really loved his warm-hearted friend, Edmund Norris, but he saw that he was wasting both time and money. Night after night would he sit up until a late hour, indulging in card-playing and champagne. He was constantly resolving to change his course, but he had no power to put his resolutions into practice. The term was rapidly passing away, the time for examination drawing nigh, and Roland feared that his friend would utterly fail.

Edmund was often late at chapel and recitation, and yawning and listless all day.

Roland's mind was soon resolved as to duty.

"Shall I see you this evening, Edmund, after supper, on the lawn?" said the faithful friend.

"I will be there," was the reply.

True to his promise, Roland awaited his coming.

"I am aware what you have to say, Roland," said the young man; "you want to read me a lecture upon my evil ways; is it not so?"

"I have no right to lecture you, Edmund; but I cannot see you ruining all your prospects, and throwing away every advantage, without remonstrance."

"I know it is all true, Roland; but what is a fellow to do? Just as soon as I go to my room for study, three or four of my chums follow me, and there is no rest until I open my door, and then come the champagne and the cards, and night after night is spent in this way. I am always resolving, but can bring nothing good to pass."

"Are you happy, Edmund? Does conscience acquit you? What would your father say! Can you bear to be disgraced at the close of the term?"

Edmund bowed his head, and replied, "I am a miserable fellow! None of these things really satisfy me; but what can I do? I have too much money, Roland; I want to turn over a new leaf. I have a thought," and, taking his pocket-book out of his pocket, he continued, "take it, Roland; keep it for me; when I really need money, I will ask for it, and give a strict account."

"Really, Edmund! that seems very much like a child."

"Well, Roland, that is just what I am; a weak, spoiled child, and I must be treated as one; if I am to study, I must put it out of my power to waste my time."

Roland took the trust smiling, and said, "You will not complain, Edmund, if I sometimes refuse your demands."

"That is the bargain, Roland; I think that I can keep my promise."

The young man really did close his doors upon all his idle friends, and commenced a new course.

"Shall I come to your little attic, Roland, to study? No one will follow me there."

"Certainly, my friend;" and Edmund found the quiet of the distant room, and the presence of his studious friend, a great help to his new resolutions.

"Boots" was making rapid progress in his studies. Many were jealous of his talents, and feared him as a rival; but with the one great end in view, he was turned aside by nothing.

Roland's manly Christianity was overcoming all enmity excepting with mean grovelling spirits. Stanley still delighted to make thrusts at him, for he could not but acknowledge his superiority.

One morning, he stopped at Stanley's door for his boots; they were not outside; he knocked--a faint voice answered, "Come in."

Roland entered, and poor Stanley lay on the bed, burning with fever, and tossing from side to side in agony.

"What is the matter, Stanley?" asked Roland.

"I have suffered agony all night; my head aches and burns, and my whole frame is shaking with chills."

"I am sorry for you, Stanley; it is bad to be sick without a woman's care and kindness; shall I bathe your head?"

Roland brought a basin of cool water, washed the poor fellow's face, combed his hair, and laid cloths wet with cool water on his burning head.

"I will send the doctor, Stanley; you need advice."

Going immediately to the matron, he informed her of the case, sent for the physician, and returned to Stanley's room, where he stayed cooling his head until the doctor arrived. It was a serious case, and needed great care, the physician said.

All others avoided the sick room for fear of a contagious disease, and poor Stanley would have suffered greatly, perhaps have lost his life, had it not been for Roland's care.

He received the doctor's orders, saw that his medicines were given at the proper time, and spent as much of his time as possible by Stanley's bed-side; that, however, could not be long with all his other duties; but Stanley was never left alone, for the Janitor's boy stayed with him; and by Roland's minute directions, he was properly attended to.

Stanley was very ill for three weeks; when convalescent, he called Roland to his bed-side, and said,

"How could you do so much for me? I have never said a kind word to you since you came here."

"'When thine enemy hunger, feed him; when he thirsts, give him drink; for in so doing, thou shalt heap coals of fire on his head.'"

"Whose words are these, Roland?"

"The words of Jesus, Stanley."

"Are you one of his disciples? I thought you were too manly for that, Roland. I have always thought that that will do for old women and children; not for men."

"You are mistaken, Stanley; a Christian is the highest order of a man."

"Will you forgive me, Roland? I have been a mean puppy to you."

"Forgive, Stanley! Certainly. You have been thoughtless, but I hope not unfeeling."

"You have conquered George Stanley, Roland, and woe to the fellow that dares speak against you."

"I am so happy, Stanley, to see you getting better; but do not thank me; thank your Father in Heaven; he is the giver of life and health."

"Another star in the night season," thought Roland. "If I can only do some good to poor Stanley, I shall be satisfied."

Edmund kept his resolution--to be sure one evening he stayed rather longer than usual in Roland's room, as though having something to say.

"Roland, I want some money," said the youth.

Roland smiled. "For what, may I ask?"

"Oh, never mind this time, Roland; I want it; it's mine, and that is enough."

"But where is your promise, Edmund? You remember that you agreed to tell me what you meant to do with it."

"There's a new arrival, Roland, an old friend of ours, and I want to give a treat."

Roland smiled again. "I cannot consent, Edmund; it breaks the contract."

"Well, I've made myself a little boy, indeed; can't have my own--I must have five dollars."

"You can't to-night, Edmund; come to me to-morrow morning, and we will talk about it then; it was your own proposition, and you must abide by it; it has been a great benefit thus far; you have not missed a recitation for three weeks; I am not going to see all your good resolutions thrown to the winds."

Edmund retired not very well pleased, but could not gainsay one word that Roland had uttered.

Next morning, he came with a bright face.

"You were right, Roland, and I wrong; you know how to manage me, I see that."

The close of the year arrived--Roland occupied the highest place in the college, and Edmund passed a respectable examination, thanks to his faithful friend.

"There has been partiality shown to 'Boots,'" said Robert Thornton; "I don't believe that he deserves all the honors."