CHAPTER VI.

A SCOTCH MATRON.

Mrs. Bruce had seen many sorrows. She had married Stephen Bruce chiefly to please her father.

Early in life she had been betrothed to Malcolm Graham, a young man of excellent character, who dearly loved sweet Mary Gordon. She had another suitor, Stephen Bruce, the son of her father's most intimate friend; this was the one preferred by her parent.

Malcolm went to sea; the vessel foundered, and his name was among the missing. Mary pined away for two years in sadness and sorrow; at length, to please her father, she accepted the hand of Stephen Bruce, and made him a faithful wife.

When Roland was about one year old, one stormy winter evening, Mary was rocking her child to sleep, singing a sweet cradle hymn, when the door of the manse opened suddenly, and Malcolm Graham, her early lover, stood before her. A scene of agony passed--they parted in sorrow.

Stephen Bruce, on discovering that Malcolm was still alive, became morose, jealous, and at last unkind. After the birth of Effie, he suddenly embarked for America, where he lived with his family for several years. At length, he returned to Scotland on business; the vessel in which he sailed for America was wrecked, and nothing was ever heard of Stephen Bruce.

In Mrs. Bruce's neighborhood lived a strange woman, named Elsie Gibson, a Scotch woman, who had also lived several years in America.

She was a frequent visitor at the widow's cottage, and exhibited a mysterious interest in all their affairs. Soon after the wreck of the vessel in which Stephen had sailed, she presented herself at the cottage.

"I came to ask for the bairns, Mrs. Bruce," said Elsie. "We are baith Scotch people, and I kenned aboot the Gordons in the auld country. Dinna think me officious; are the bairns weel provided for?"

"Stephen had a good support, Elsie, but it will be some time before I can hear from home; then I shall know what is to be done."

Elsie was a strange, solitary woman, associating with no one but Mary Bruce. Sometimes they would miss her from the neighborhood for weeks, then suddenly she would make her appearance, always exhibiting the same interest in the Bruce family.

In about four months after Stephen's disappearance, a package, directed to Mrs. Bruce in an unknown hand, was left at the cottage door by a little boy, who as quickly disappeared. It was found to contain fifty pounds, saying that the same would come quarterly from her husband's estate.

Mrs. Bruce was amazed. How could it have come to her? Why did she not receive letters from Scotland? It was evidently not a foreign letter. She could not fathom the mystery. On the following day Elsie paid her accustomed visit.

"How fare the bairns, Mrs. Bruce? Where is Roland?"

When he stepped forward, Elsie laid her hand upon his head and said, with deep emotion,

"God bless you, my bairn, ye're the vera image o' yer father."

"Did you know my father, Elsie?" asked the boy, surprised.

Elsie seemed to recover herself in a minute, and replied, coldly, "I hae seen him, Roland."

This time her visit was a short one, and, as she left the house, Mrs. Bruce said to her children, "Elsie is a strange woman; I wonder what makes her think so much of us?"

Next evening she called again. They were all seated in the little porch enjoying the cool evening air.

"There, mother!" said Effie, "is the boy that brought the package."

"What package?" asked Elsie.

"A strange thing happened day before yesterday, Elsie. A little boy called towards evening and left a note, in an unknown hand, enclosing a remittance of fifty pounds from my husband's estate."

Roland was by this time running after the boy, calling to him to stop; but he was too quick, and disappeared in the woods close by.

Elsie looked pleased and said,

"I ween that Roland will na catch the lad, he is a swift little hare-foot."

"Why, do you know who he is?" asked Mrs. Bruce.

"I dinna say sae, Mrs. Bruce."

Elsie arose hastily and took her leave.

For several years the same mysterious notes came quarterly, but at last they entirely ceased. Elsie Gibson had been absent for months, and the family were wondering what had become of their old friend, when, one evening, Roland spied the same tartan plaid which Elsie always wore, and which distinguished her from all her neighbors.

"Mother, I do believe that Elsie Gibson is coming up the lane," exclaimed Roland, and in a few minutes she opened the door and walked in.

Elsie looked sad and careworn. "I maun sit me doon, Mrs. Bruce, for I'm a weary body this cauld night," and she took her seat near the fire.

"Where have you been so long, Elsie?" asked Mrs. Bruce.

"I hae been far awa', tending on a sick friend; but he's better now--that is, better in body, but sore stricken in mind."

"I have had trouble too, Elsie, since we parted. My quarterly allowance has all stopped, and I must look around for means of support."

Elsie looked concerned; a deeper shade passed over her pale features as she replied,

"Great changes hae come owre me, Mary, that is, Mrs. Bruce. I too hae lost the wee bit o' money that I had, and I maun gang out to service."

"I am sorry, Elsie, but I hope you know the blessedness of looking up in the midst of all the sorrows of this life; if we have a home above, we need not mind the trials of the way, they will be very short compared to the rest beyond."

"Sometimes, Mrs. Bruce, I lose sight of the promises, and gang doon into the 'Slough of Despair;' then the burden is a heavy load to carry. But there is a storm brewing, and I maun hurry awa'."

Mrs. Bruce helped her on with her tartan, shook her hand warmly, and bade her look up in the midst of darkness.

"Guid-night, Mrs. Bruce; may the guid Lord guide and keep us a', and prosper his poor servant in her new home; it will na tak meikle to find my claithes, and the rest shall go to ane I luve weel; that is blessed wark, Mrs. Bruce, a' my puir life is spent for that."

Roland walked with Elsie to the turn of the lane, and as she bade him "guid night," she added, "I shall always luve ye weel, Roland, for the sake o' ane that's awa'."

Roland returned wondering how it was that they seemed to constantly connected with Elsie Gibson--some mysterious links which he could not trace, certainly bound them together.

In a short time Elsie obtained a good place, but with the condition that once a month she was allowed to be absent for one day, returning the next; and thus she had continued for several years, until we bring Madeline acquainted with the Bruce family.

* * * * * *

"Good morning, Mrs. Bruce; you are always so busy; don't you get tired of working all the time?" asked Madeline, as she entered the humble cottage.

"It is better, Miss Madeline, to have too much to do, than too little. I am never so happy as when I am fully occupied; and then I am working for my children, and that is always cheerful work."

Madeline looked around the humble room, and thought how neat everything looked. True, there was a rag-carpet on the floor, but the simple furniture was well kept; the tins, bright as silver, hung upon the wall, the family work was all done, and Mrs. Bruce and Effie were busy with their needles.

Effie was a mild, gentle girl, with a pale complexion, light hair, and very soft blue eyes, resembling her mother, only not so lovely as Mrs. Bruce had been in her youthful days. It was her delight to lessen her mother's cares, for she had a heavy burden to carry; but the devotion and love of her children was a sweet cordial to an aching heart.

Madeline sat down on a low chair by the side of Mrs. Bruce, and throwing off her flat, opened a little basket which she had brought with her.

"I hope you will not be offended, Mrs. Bruce, but I've brought you some very nice tea and coffee that papa has just received from Boston; there is some white sugar, and some rice, too. I hardly knew how to bring it, for you are not like the other people that live in the cottages round here; but I hope that you will not be hurt at me; we have so much, and I know that you have so little."

Mrs. Bruce dropped her head lower down to hide the tears that would start as she replied, "We Scotch people have a great horror, my dear, of receiving anything but what we work for; but I'll take the little gift to please you, Miss Madeline."

"I am so glad, for I was so afraid that I was not doing exactly what would please you, that I really trembled when I got to the door. I don't know how it is, but from the first day that I saw Roland on the shore, I knew that he was not a common boy."

Hanging between the windows was a small portrait of a venerable man.

"Whose likeness is that, Mrs. Bruce?" asked the child.

"That is my father's picture. He was the minister of the parish where we lived. He was a good man, Miss Madeline, but he is now among the spirits of the just made perfect."

"How is it, Mrs. Bruce, that you and Roland seem to think so much of the world to come? I never used to hear anybody talk about it until I met you."

"Why, my dear child, what should I do with all my cares and sorrows, if I had no hope of a better life than this?"

"I don't want any better world, Mrs. Bruce. I have everything that I wish, and more too. This world is very beautiful to me; I should not like to leave it and go down into the dark grave."

"That is the natural feeling of a young heart, Miss Madeline, but the day will come when you cannot live without such a hope."

"I don't have many cares, Mrs. Bruce," said Maddy, with a mischievous twinkle of her eye. "I am puzzled a little about the pattern of my doll's bonnet, but the greatest trouble just now is, that papa has brought down a French governess to teach me French and music. That is not very pleasant, for it takes so much of my time out of school that I get tired to death."

"You ought to be very thankful, Miss Madeline, to your father for all his kindness and care. I hope that you will improve your time diligently."

"You ought just to see Mademoiselle Fouladoux; she is such a queer little person. I tell you that I have fun with her; she speaks broken English, and makes such odd faces when she talks. She has a little lap-dog named Fanfan; she makes as much fuss with her as if she were a child--nasty, cross little thing it is! She must have sponge-cake and cream twice a day. I tell you, Mrs. Bruce, our cook gets mad enough. I wish the little cur was in the ocean. What do you think? she sleeps in the bed with Mademoiselle! Just think of that! a dog in the same bed with a lady!" and Madeline threw herself back, and laughed heartily at the thought.

"I hope you do not tease Mademoiselle, Miss Madeline?" answered Mrs. Bruce.

"Tease Mademoiselle! Not much!" answered the child, with a roguish smile upon her dimpled face. "Only when she gives me a hard lesson, I give her a hard one back by pulling Fanfan's tail, or boxing her ears slily; and then Mademoiselle rolls up her eyes, and cries out, 'Oh! ma petite mignon, ma pauvre petite Fanfan!' and then she takes up the horrid thing, with its sore eyes, and kisses it. Just think of kissing a lap-dog."

"Try to be a good girl, Miss Madeline; it is a hard task for a young lady that has a good home to go out to teach. If you'll only think of that, I am sure that you will be kind to Mademoiselle!"

"I'm not a good girl, Mrs. Bruce. I'm not used to thinking whether a thing is right or wrong; nobody ever said much to me about it but Roland. I am sorry to be bad when it grieves Roland, for he is such a good boy. I do believe that he is a Christian. Where is he to-day, Mrs. Bruce?"

"He has gone to market with the vegetables; he always goes on Saturday, for he saves his mother all the labor that he can."

"How does he go? Has he a little cart?" asked Madeline.

"One of the neighbors lends him an old cart and horse, that is too old to be used by the family; but it makes Roland feel badly, because he is afraid that the poor horse is too old to work."

"Is that all you have to live on, Mrs. Bruce?"

"No, my dear, I sew and knit for several of the neighbors."

"I think we can send you some work. Aunt Matilda often wants some one to do plain sewing."

Mrs. Bruce loved the warm-hearted little girl, and pitied her motherless condition. She saw countless weeds springing up in the heart of the child, and resolved to try to scatter seeds of truth around her.

"What are you making, Effie?" inquired Madeline.

"I am making a shirt for George Belton, Miss Madeline. I made two last week."

"Why, how in the world did you do that, Effie? go to school every day, learn your lessons, and make two shirts!"

"I rise very early in the morning, and sew two hours before school; I study as much as I can in school; and I sew all my leisure time."

"That's what makes you look so pale, Effie; what a pity that you have to work so hard!"

"I don't feel it, Miss Madeline; my mother has been so good and kind to me, that I am only too glad to help her now." And Effie's blue eyes were turned upon her mother's face, with a look full of filial love.

"Well, I must go now. I learn good lessons here, Mrs. Bruce; you'll let me come and see you often--may I?"

"You are always welcome, Miss Madeline, for I love you for your goodness to my dear children."

"Good-bye, ma'am;" and Madeline Hamilton touched the hand of Mrs. Bruce with more real respect, than she felt for most of the circle of rich friends who visited at Woodcliff.

"Aunt Matilda, don't you want some plain sewing done?" said Maddy, as soon as she entered the house, for her little brain was teeming with plans of how she might do good to the Bruce family.

"I think we do," was the answer. "I want some bed linen made up; our stock is getting low, and I was wondering whom I would get to do the work."

"Mrs. Bruce will do it, aunty; she is such a nice woman, and such a good sewer; and then she is so good, and so poor."

"You may tell her, Madeline, to come up to-morrow, or next day; the work is all cut out; I should like her to have it."

Maddy hurried off early in the morning on her errand of love, tripped in so merrily, regardless of the dew upon the grass, so eager was she to carry good news. Roland was at home, and met Madeline with a respectful manner that seemed very cold to our little girl. Handing her the best chair, he bade her sit down, for this was the first time that he had ever welcomed her to his bumble home.

"Aunt Matilda wants you, Mrs. Bruce, to send for the work to-day; she has it all cut out, and wants you to do it all."

"I'll come up for it, Miss Madeline," answered Roland; "we are so much obliged to you for your goodness."

Maddy began to laugh. "I thought, Roland, that we made a bargain a little while ago; have you forgotten that you were to call me Madeline?"

"I don't think that it would be very proper for one who comes to your house to get work for his mother, to take such a liberty with the heiress of Woodcliff."

"Good-bye, Mrs. Bruce," said the child, and away she ran.

"Mother, I cannot bear to see you work so hard," said Roland; "and then dear Effie looks so pale, her step is so languid. Try, mother, to look up to Heaven, hoping and trusting; but everything looks so dark around us."

"You must not say so, my son; the promises of God are 'yea and amen in Christ Jesus;' we believe that we are his children;' 'all things shall work together for good to those who love God;' let us keep our eyes upward, my dear boy; God is there, Roland--Jesus is there--our home is there."

"There is not much for us here, dear mother."

"Don't forget, my son, the blood that flows in your veins, the blood of Christian heroes; do not be unworthy of them, Roland. I gave you to God as soon as you were born, my child; I have trained you for Him; He has work for you, my son--I am certain of that. Just trust Him; look upward, Roland, and you will see everything that is noble and holy. Don't keep your eyes upon the earth; that will draw your soul downward. There is a great deal to live for, Roland; God will lead you to some high and holy destiny, if you will only trust Him."

"Judge not the Lord by feeble sense, But trust him for his grace; Behind a frowning Providence, He hides a smiling face."

"You have cheered me, dear mother; what should I do without you?" answered the boy.

The next morning, Roland went to Woodcliff for the work. Madeline was not at home, and Roland was not sorry; for he felt that it was humbling to be there on such an errand. The feeling was a wrong one, but Roland was a proud boy, though a poor one. There was no little confusion in his soul on that day. He was performing a filial duty, that he knew; he was doing nothing that he ought to be ashamed of, and yet the pride of his heart did rise up against the humiliation of menial service, in the sight of Madeline.

Not far from Roland's home lay the village church-yard, whither the inhabitants of the country around often resorted. It was a charming spot, beautifully kept, and adorned with shrubbery, fine trees, and a variety of exquisite flowers. Many of Mrs. Bruce's lessons to her children were taught in that rural cemetery on Sunday evening, after the services of the day were over.

On the following Sunday, Roland strayed thither alone. He had not been there long, before Madeline entered, with Hector for her only companion. Roland joined the child.

"This is a beautiful place, Miss Madeline," remarked the boy.

Maddy put her fingers on her lips with rather an arch expression, as she said:

"I will not talk to you, if you call me Miss."

Roland smiled, and continued, "Very well then, I suppose that it must be Madeline."

"Come with me, Roland; I want to show you my mother's grave," and Madeline led her companion to a secluded corner of the cemetery, where stood a splendid monument, on which was inscribed, "Sacred to the memory of Julia, the beloved wife of Lewis Hamilton, who departed this life June 16th, 1837." The enclosure was beautifully laid out and adorned with choice flowers, and over the monument bent the branches of a noble tree.

"Was your mother a Christian, Madeline?" asked the boy.

"I do not know, Roland; I was too young to remember anything; I hope that she was."

"Do you ever think of dying, Madeline?" asked her friend.

"Not often, Roland; it is too dreadful to think of the dark and gloomy grave. I would rather think of living, Roland, in this bright world."

"Mother never lets me call it gloomy, Maddy; she says that it is only the gate which opens into heaven; and since Jesus hath lain there himself, she says that none who believe in him need be afraid."

"Do you believe in him, Roland?" asked the child.

"Yes, Maddy, I do with all my heart, and love him, too; and all I want is to serve him here on earth, and live with him forever."

"How long, Roland, is it since you have thought about these good things?" asked the little girl.

"Ever since I was a very little boy, Maddy. I remember when I was so small that I could scarcely talk plain, that my mother used to lay her hand upon my head, and ask the dear Saviour to bless her boy. Then, when I was older, she used to take me every night to bed, and that was the time when she led my young heart up to Heaven. She has had many trials, Maddy; but she is always happy, for she is always looking up, and she tries to make me just as hopeful."

"I wish that I had such a mother, Roland; nobody ever talks so to me. Aunt Matilda taught me the catechism and the creed, but it was just like saying parrot words; I do not know what they mean. I believe in Jesus, but not the way you do. I believe more in Roland, I think!" and the child smiled.

"Why; what do you mean, Maddy?"

"Why when I want to do something wrong, I don't ask, how would Jesus like it; but I often ask, how would Roland like it?"

"Just pray, Maddy, every night, 'Open thou mine eyes,' and 'Lead me to the rock that is higher than I.'"

"What is that rock, Roland?"

"That rock is Christ, Maddy; if we keep our hearts fixed on him, we shall walk in the blessed way safely."

While talking thus, Elsie Gibson joined them.

"What are ye talking aboot, children?" asked the woman.

"Roland was showing me how to find the blessed way, Elsie."

"He can lead you, Miss Madeline; he has a holy mother, he is a chiel o' prayer; and his ancestors were maist o' them holy men. In the bloody days that tried men's souls, Roland's race was foremost in bearing their testimony to gospel truth."

"You like Roland, Elsie, don't you?"

"Yes, my little bairn, I luve him for his ain, and for his father's sake. I kenned his father, Miss Madeline, when I wore the snood o' a Scottish maiden."

"Wasn't his father a relation of the great Bruce, Elsie? I have often thought so, but Roland laughs at me."

"I dinna ken, Miss Madeline, for ye ken that was mony years syne, and we canna find kinship back so far awa'."

"Elsie, is Roland's father really dead? sometimes I think that he may be alive yet;" asked the child suddenly, fixing an earnest look upon Elsie Gibson's face.

The question was evidently unexpected, but after a moment's silence, Elsie replied:

"The vessel was lost, Madeline, and it has aye been said that ilka soul went doon."

The shadows of the setting sun were deepening, and Maddy, Roland, and Elsie walked together to the widow's cottage.

Mrs. Bruce invited Maddy in.

"Will you take a seat among us this evening, Madeline? It is the time of our family worship."

Maddy sat down on a low chair by the side of Mrs. Bruce, much sobered by the conversation in the cemetery.

Reverently the mother read the sacred volume, and after singing a Sabbath evening hymn, in the words of solemn prayer, she addressed the throne of grace, commending all her dear ones to the care of the Good Shepherd, not forgetting the little girl who knelt with the humble family around that altar of domestic piety. It was the first time that Madeline had ever joined in such an exercise, and she was deeply impressed by the sweet and soothing worship.

It was so different from her own domestic circle, that Madeline could not but muse deeply on her way home; and, unconsciously to herself, from this moment really commenced the germ of that life which, though smothered for awhile, still the seed, perhaps smaller than the grain of mustard seed, was planted, which would hereafter lead the warm young soul upward, heavenward. Ever looking aloft was the load-star at the widow's cottage, around which revolved all their plans, all their hopes. Perhaps wild little Mad-cap, attracted by the same power, may also learn to look aloft from even the dangerous heights of Woodcliff.

Effie's feeble health called for many little comforts which Mrs. Bruce could not afford; but ever and anon the tripping feet of Madeline Hamilton, or a basket of delicacies brought by Nanny, made large demands upon the gratitude of the widow's family.

"Don't thank me, Mrs. Bruce," Maddy would often say; "Roland is so good to me, is so kind at school, and teaches me so much, that I cannot feel that I ever do enough in return for you."

It was, indeed, a strange sight to behold this little girl, usually so ungovernable, yielding to the slightest check from Roland; for she really respected the boy, who carried out his principles.

Occasionally her wild spirits would burst forth, and an innate love of teasing led her to play jokes, even upon her friend Roland. Fear of ridicule was his weakness; he could not bear to be laughed at; he was almost ashamed to own it, but it was really a fact. Brave in other respects, he was really a coward here, and Maddy discovered it.

Woe to Roland, when her mischievous fits were upon her!

"Who is there, Nanny?" asked the child, perceiving that some one was in the hall.

"A boy wants to see you, Miss Madeline; he has something for you."

"Oh, Roland, is it you? come into the parlor."

Nanny looked surprised, but Roland stepped in, and, taking off his cap, seated himself respectfully. He looked as if he really belonged to the parlor of Woodcliff; his whole bearing was so manly and self-possessed.

"Madeline, I have something for you. You know how often we have admired the sea-weed together; for a long time I have been gathering the most beautiful specimens that I could find, and mother has been drying it, and together we have arranged it in a book."

Roland opened the pages, and Madeline's joy was unbounded.

"Oh, how beautiful! How did you ever do it, Roland? They look like the most lovely flowers. Stop, Roland! I'll get our microscope," and away she flew.

"Look! Roland, look! I never saw anything so sweet. It is the most charming present I ever had in all my life."

"I have some shells too, Madeline, but they are not very rare; but such as I could gather I have brought. I am so glad that you are pleased."

"I have nothing that I shall think so much of as these. Your dear, kind mother, with all her cares, could remember little Mad-cap; and, Roland, it was so sweet to bring me just what I admire so much. I shall keep them all the days of my life, to remember Roland and his mother."

It was really an exquisite little book, arranged with the most delicate taste, and when Aunt Matilda was called in to see the gift, she was quite struck with the evidences of refinement visible in every page of these beautiful sea-weeds.

"I have something else, Madeline," and Roland brought out a tasty little moss basket, the gift of dear Effie.

That evening found Madeline running down to the widow's cottage to thank her for the gift.

"Thank you, dear, darling Mrs. Bruce, for your beautiful present," exclaimed the impulsive child, throwing her arms around her, and showering kisses upon her pale face. "I shall keep it as long as I live, for I have nothing that I shall value like these beautiful weeds."

"I am glad that you are pleased, Madeline; it made us so happy to arrange them for you."

"How could you find time to think of little Mad-cap, with all your cares and troubles, dear Mrs. Bruce?"

"How could you, Miss Madeline, surrounded by all the elegance of Woodcliff, find time to think of us in our humble cottage?"