CHAPTER XVIII.

A NEW JOY.

I returned to my school, after having enjoyed a very pleasant visit with Miss Simmonds. I thought much of the story she had related to me. I endeavoured to learn a useful lesson from the cheerful resignation which Miss Simmonds evinced by her daily life.

Obadiah still pursued his studies with much zeal; and, upon my return home, each succeeding week, I gave him all the a.s.sistance in my power.

The amount of knowledge he had derived, by devoting his leisure hours to study, was indeed wonderful. Awkward as he at first appeared to me, I found, as he progressed in his studies, that he possessed a powerful intellect, which only required proper culture to enable him to become a talented and useful man.

I now pa.s.s, with a few words, over a period of two years. During all this time I had continued the labors of my school at Mill Town, still considering my uncle's house as my home. Obadiah had, by the advice of my uncle, gone to pursue his studies in Ma.s.sachusetts, having decided to obtain a thorough education. He intended fitting himself for college, and had saved money sufficient to defray his expenses while so doing, Miss Simmonds still resided in her home at Littleton, and the longer I enjoyed her friendship the more did I love and respect her. I had received several letters from Aunt Patience during the past two years.

She had repeatedly urged me to visit her, but, for various reasons, I had been unable to do so; but at this time, I determined to pay her a visit. Accordingly, I prepared for my journey to Woodville a small village in Ma.s.sachusetts, where she resided. She was very much pleased to see me. She was much changed since I had last seen her. Her once vigorous and active form was beginning to bow beneath the weight of years. She seemed to be very comfortably situated with her relatives; for, having but a small family, they were able to give her a quiet home.

I enquired of her if she felt happy in her home?

"I feel quite happy and contented," she replied, "and have no wish to leave my present home, till you marry and possess a home of your own, when I should be very glad to make my home with you."

I replied that I had no intention of marrying at present but that if that event should take place during her lifetime, I should be most happy to receive her into my home.

The village of Woodville was not large; but its location was romantic and pleasant, being bounded on one side by a range of high hills, and on the other by a beautiful river. I was highly pleased with the place, and with the kind family with whom Aunt Patience resided. When I had spent about ten days at Woodville, I received a letter from my uncle, requesting my return home without delay. In a postscript he informed me that I need not be alarmed, as both he and my aunt were in good health; but that he did not wish to a.s.sign a reason for requesting my return. I could not imagine what had caused my uncle to summon me home, as he was aware that I had intended spending several weeks with my aunt; and I made all possible haste to set out on my homeward journey, and left Woodville the next morning after receiving my uncle's letter. When my uncle and aunt met me on my return, I knew by their manner that something unusual had taken place in my absence; but I judged from the countenance of both that, whatever the event might be, it was one of joy rather than sorrow. My uncle soon said,--

"Can you bear good news, Clara?"

I replied that I thought I could.

"Then," continued my uncle, "I have the happiness of informing you that the hopes you had so long cherished of seeing your uncle Charles will be realized, for he has arrived."

'Ere I could frame a reply, the door of the adjoining room opened, and my new-found uncle came hastily forward. He evinced much emotion as he tenderly embraced me, saying,--

"Your face strongly reminds me of the twin brother from whom I parted so many years ago. You know not how happy I am in finding the daughter of my dear brother."

I could trace in the features of my uncle Charles a resemblance to my dear father; but, as my father had died while quite a young man, the resemblance, at my uncle's time of life, was less striking than otherwise it might have been.

My uncle Charles was now sixty-five years old; but travel and exposure caused him to look much older than he really was. He informed me that he had first visited Philadelphia with the hope of finding my father; and, when he learned that my father and mother were both dead, he next enquired if they left any children? He learned that they left one daughter, who had resided for some time in the family of the Leightons, as governess; but had left Philadelphia three years since. He next sought out the Leightons, hoping to learn my residence; but they of course could give him no information upon the subject. They directed him to Mrs. Burnside, who at first was reluctant to give the information he sought; but, when he informed her of the relationship I bore to him, she directed him to my uncle Wayland, in New Hampshire, at whose residence he arrived one week previous to my return from Ma.s.sachusetts. He soon after gave us the following brief account of his life, since he left Philadelphia, when a boy, which I reserve for the succeeding chapter of my story.

CHAPTER XIX.

UNCLE CHARLES.

My uncle began his story as follows:--

"When I left Philadelphia, I had no definite object in view. I left without seeing my brother, to avoid the pain of parting, for we tenderly loved each other. His disposition and mine were widely different; he was quiet, industrious, and very persevering in whatever he undertook; while I, on the other hand, was rash, impulsive, and very impatient of restraint. My adopted father apprenticed me to learn the art of printing, without in the least consulting my wishes in the matter. It seemed to me that he might have granted me the privilege of choosing my employment; and, his failing to do so roused my indignation and doubled the dislike I already felt to the occupation of a printer. It was very hard for me to leave without seeing my brother; but I decided that, as he was very well contented in his situation, I had best go away quietly, so that, whatever might befall me, I should not be the means of bringing trouble to him. I had decided to leave my master the first opportunity that should offer for so doing. He one day gave me a sharp and, as I thought, unmerited rebuke, and ended by striking me a blow. That blow caused me to form the decision of leaving him at once, and that very night I left Philadelphia. I made my way to the city of New York, where I managed to live for a time by selling newspapers; but my profits were so small that I soon became disgusted with the employment, and I obtained the situation of waiter in a large hotel, where I remained for some time. I often thought of writing to my brother; but I was aware that the knowledge of my employment would be painful to him, for he was of a proud and sensitive nature. Time pa.s.sed on, and I at length sailed as cabin-boy in a vessel bound for Liverpool, in England. I followed the sea for many years; and, in the bustle and turmoil of a sailor's life, I almost forgot my brother, from whom I had been so long separated. Yet sometimes, in the lonely hours of my night-watch on deck, when out in mid-ocean, would my thoughts turn to that once-loved brother, and tears would dim my eyes as memory recalled the days of our early childhood.

"I rose in my profession till I arrived at the position of second mate.

It was at this time that, during a stay of some weeks duration in an English port, I met with one who won my affections; and, one year after, we were married. My wife resided with her friends in England, while I continued to follow the sea. My wife was to me an object of almost idolatrous attachment. Each time I visited England, I found it the harder to bid farewell to my wife, and again embark on the ocean. We had one child, a beautiful boy. I named him Henry, after my brother. When we had been two years married, I made a voyage to the Indies, and was absent nearly two years. When I returned, I learned that my wife and child had both been for some time dead. When I learned the sad truth I was like one bereft of reason. I could not reconcile myself to the thought that, in this world, I could never again behold my beloved wife and child. The very darkness of despair settled on my mind. I had not then, as I have since done, looked heavenward for consolation amid the sorrows of life.

"I can dwell no longer upon this dark period of my life, but hasten onward to the close of my story. I continued to follow the life of a sailor for some years after my bereavement. The hurry and bustle attendant upon my calling served in some measure to drive away thoughts of the past; but, after a time I even grew weary of the sea; and when I heard of the famous gold regions discovered in Australia, I felt a strong desire to visit the place. The desire of making money had less to do with my decision of going there than had the wish for change and excitement of some kind. Accordingly, I abandoned my sailor life, and made my way among the hundreds who were crowding to the gold regions of Australia.

"At that time I was poor, for I had never possessed the faculty for saving money. I was unaccustomed to the labors of mining, and in many instances, the knowing ones took me in, and for a long time I realized but little from my labors. But, as I persevered, against many discouragements, year after year, I at length began to be successful. I finally bought a claim, which, quite unexpectedly to me, yielded a golden harvest, and I soon found myself rich beyond my most sanguine expectations.

"Year after year I determined to re-visit Philadelphia; but, by this time my mind had become much engrossed by money-making, and each succeeding year brought fresh claims upon my time and attention.

"Time pa.s.sed on, till I found myself fast growing old. I felt an intense longing to return to the land of my birth, and spend the few years which might remain to me of life in my native city. During my residence in Australia I met with a man who informed me that he was in Philadelphia at the time of my brother's marriage; and it was a severe trial when I found, upon my return, that my brother, and his wife had both been many years dead. During my homeward journey, I had formed the decision of spending my remaining days in the home of my brother, as I wished for quiet and repose. When I learned that they were both dead, all the affection of my worn and world-weary heart turned toward their orphan daughter."

Turning to me my uncle said,--

"Will you go, my dear child, and make bright the home of your aged uncle?"

I was about to give a joyful a.s.sent, when the thought of the kind uncle and aunt I must leave, caused me to hesitate. It seemed to me that they possessed a claim upon my affections superior to any other, and I was at a loss to decide as to what was my duty. I therefore remained silent, not knowing what reply to make. Observing my hesitation, my uncle Wayland said,--

"Lonely as we shall be without you, my dear Clara, I yet think it your duty to go with your uncle Charles, who is still more lonely than we. We must not be selfish; and I think we should feel willing to give you up."

I was much relieved to know that my uncle and aunt Wayland were willing that I should go, although I well knew their willingness was caused by what they considered my duty to my aged relative.

Till I prepared to leave my uncle and aunt, I knew not how tenderly I had learned to love them. I resigned my school at Mill Town, with much sorrow, for I had become strongly attached to my pupils. As my uncle and aunt tenderly embraced me at parting, my uncle said, while the tears coursed down his furrowed cheeks,--

"Remember, dear Clara, there will ever be for you a daughter's welcome, both in our hearts and home."

CHAPTER XX.

LIGHTS AND SHADOWS.

I was agitated by many contending emotions as I alighted from the train which had borne me to Philadelphia; but, along with many sad thoughts, came the consoling one, that I had not returned to my native city the friendless being I had left it.

We stayed for a short time with my old friends, the Burnsides, while my uncle attended to the business of buying and furnishing a suitable residence. Before removing to our home, my uncle engaged Mrs. Burnside to find a person suitable to occupy the position of housekeeper in his dwelling. It immediately occurred to Mrs. Burnside that my old friend, Mrs. O'Flaherty, would be well qualified for that position. She had remained in the service of Mrs. Wallingford since the time when I first introduced her to the reader; but, fortunately for us, Mr. Wallingford was about removing his family to a distant State, and they would no longer require her services. Mrs. O'Flaherty was overjoyed when she learned that she was to reside with me. When I, in company with Mrs.

Burnside, called to make the necessary arrangements for her removal to her new home, I could hardly believe that the tidy, well dressed matron I saw could be the same poor woman to whom I had given food when hungry and dest.i.tute.

"Indade," exclaimed Mrs. O'Flaherty, "an' I niver expected to see the happy day whin I would live wid you in a home av yer own."

The matter was soon arranged, and an early day appointed for her to commence her duties as housekeeper in the dwelling of my uncle.

It was quite a change for me to find myself so suddenly removed from my position as teacher in a small school and installed as mistress in my uncle's elegant home in Walnut Street, Philadelphia. We found Mrs.

O'Flaherty very trustworthy, and well qualified in every way for her position.

Soon after our return to Philadelphia, my uncle accompanied me to the graves of my parents. I cannot describe my feelings when I found myself, after so long an absence, again standing by the spot where reposed the dust of my loved father and mother. I seemed almost to feel their presence, and the tears I shed were gentle and refreshing. Seated by those graves, I, for the first time, spoke to my uncle of the circ.u.mstances which had caused me to leave Mrs. Leighton, and remove from Philadelphia. He expressed much sympathy for me and said,--

"You should endeavor to banish these circ.u.mstances from your mind. You are young, and, I trust, have yet many years of happy life before you."

I learned from Mrs. Burnside that Mr. Leighton had lately met with several heavy losses in business. William was still in England. He had written two or three letters to Birdie, but had corresponded with no other member of the family. Laura and Georgania had both married, and removed to a distant city. Birdie had finished her studies, and returned home. Lewis was attending school some two hundred miles from the city.