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Fern's Hollow

<h2>CHAPTER XXIII.</h2> <h3>THE HOME RESTORED.</h3> Three months later in the year, when the new house at Fern's Hollow was quite finished, with its dairy and coal-shed, and a stable put up at Mr. Lockwood's desire, a large party assembled within the walls. Martha had been diligently occupied all the week in a grand cleaning down; and Tim and Stephen had been equally busy in clearing away the litter left by the builders, and in restoring the garden to some order. They had been obliged to contrive some temporary seats for their visitors, for the old furniture had not yet been brought up from the cinder-hill cabin; and the only painful thoughts Martha had were the misgiving of its extreme scantiness in their house with six rooms. The pasture before the cottage was now securely enclosed, and the wild ponies neighed over the hedge in vain at the sight of the clear, cool pool where they had been used to quench their thirst; and behind the house there was a plantation of tiny fir-trees bending to and fro in the wind, which they were to resist as they grew larger. Every place was in perfect order; and the front room, which was almost grand enough for a parlour, was beautifully decorated with flowers in honour of the expected guests, who had sent word that they should visit Fern's Hollow that afternoon. They could be seen far away from the window of the upper storey, which, rising above the brow of the hill behind, commanded a wide view of the mountain plains. They were coming on horseback across the almost pathless uplands; dear Miss Anne, with Mr. Lockwood riding beside her; and a little way behind them the lord of the manor and his young wife, who was no other than Miss Lockwood herself. They greeted Stephen and Martha with many smiles and words of congratulation; and when they were seated in the decorated room, with the door and window opened upon the beautiful landscape, Mr. Lockwood bade them come and sit down with them; while Tim helped the groom to put up the horses in the stable. 'My boy,' said Mr. Lockwood, 'our business is finished at last. Mr. Thomas Wyley will not try his right to Fern's Hollow by law; but we have agreed to give him the £15 paid to your grandfather, and also to pay to him all the actual cost of the work done here. Miss Anne and I have had a quarrel on the subject, but she consents that I shall pay that as a mark of my esteem for you, and my old servant your mother. Mr. Danesford intends to make a gift to you of the pasture and plantation, which were an encroachment upon the manor. And now I want you to take my advice into the bargain. Jackson wants to come here, and offers a rent of £20 a year for the place. Will you let him have it till you are old enough to manage it properly yourself, Stephen?' 'Yes, if you please, sir,' replied Stephen, in some perplexity; for he and Martha had quite concluded that, they should come and live there again themselves. 'Jackson will make a tidy little farm of it for you,' continued Mr. Lockwood. 'My daughter proposes taking Martha into her service, and putting her into the way of learning dairy-work, and many other things of which she is now ignorant. Are you willing, Martha?' 'Oh yes, sir!' said Martha, with a look of admiration at young Mrs. Danesford. 'In this case, Stephen,' Mr. Lockwood went on, 'you will have a yearly income of £20, and we would like to hear what you will do with it?' 'There's grandfather,' said Stephen diffidently. 'Right, my boy!' cried Mr. Lockwood, with a smile of satisfaction; 'well, Miss Anne thinks he would be very comfortable with Mrs. Thompson, and she would be glad of a little money with him. But he cannot live much longer, Stephen; he is very aged, and the doctor thinks he will hardly get over the autumn. So we had better settle what shall be done after grandfather is gone.' 'Sir,' said Stephen, 'I think Martha should have some good of grandmother's work, if she is only a girl. So hadn't the rent better be saved up for her till I'm old enough to come and manage the farm myself?' Every face in the room glowed with approbation of Stephen's suggestion; and Martha flushed crimson at the very thought of possessing so much money; and visions of future greatness, more than her grandmother had foreseen, passed before her mind. 'Why, Martha will be quite an heiress!' said Mr. Lockwood. 'So she is provided for, and grandfather. And what do you intend to do with yourself, Stephen, till you come back here?' 'I'm strong enough to go back to the pit,' replied Stephen bravely, though inwardly he shrank from it; but how else could the rent of Fern's Hollow be laid by for Martha? 'Now Miss Anne has raised the wages, I should get eight shillings a week, and more as I grow older. I shall do for myself very nicely, thank you, sir; and maybe I could lodge with grandfather at Mrs. Thompson's.' 'No,' said Miss Anne, in her gentle voice, the sweetest voice in the world to Stephen, now little Nan's was silent; 'Stephen is my dear friend, and he must let me act the part of a friend towards him. I wish to send him to live with a good man whom I know, the manager of one of the great works at Netley, where he may learn everything that will be necessary to become my bailiff. I shall want a true, trustworthy agent to look after my interests here, and in a few years Stephen will be old enough to do this for me. He shall attend a good school for a few hours daily, to gain a fitting education; and then what servant could I find more faithful, more true, and more loving than my dear friend Stephen? He can come back here then, if he chooses, and perhaps have Martha for his housekeeper, in their old home at Fern's Hollow.' 'Oh, Miss Anne!' cried Stephen, 'I cannot bear it! May I really be your servant all my life?' and the boy's voice was lost in sobs. 'Come, Stephen,' said the lord of the manor, 'I want you to show us some of your old haunts on the hills. If Miss Anne had not formed a better plan, I should have proposed making you my gamekeeper; for Jones has been telling me about the grouse last year. By the way, if I had thought it would be any pleasure to you, I should have dismissed him from my service for his share in this business; but I knew you would be for begging him in again, so I only told him pretty strongly what a sneak I thought him.' They went out then across the uplands, a sunny ramble, to all Stephen's favourite places. And it happened that when they reached the solitary yew-tree near which Snip was buried, all the rest strolled on, and left Stephen and Miss Anne alone. Before them, down at the foot of the mountains, there stretched a wide plain many miles across, beautiful with woods and streams; and on the far horizon there hung a light cloud that was always to be seen there, the index of those great works where Stephen was to dwell for some years. Near to them they could discern, in the clear atmosphere, the spires and towers of the county town, where Black Thompson, who had tempted him on these hills, was now imprisoned for many years; and below, though hidden from their sight, was Botfield and the cinder-hill cabin. A band of bilberry-gatherers was coming down the hill with songs and shouts of laughter; and the frightened flocks of sheep stood motionless on the hillocks, ready to flee away in a moment at their approach. Both Miss Anne and Stephen felt a crowd of thoughts, sorrowful and happy, come thronging to their minds. 'Stephen,' said Miss Anne solemnly, 'our Lord says, "When ye shall have done all those things which are commanded you, say, We are unprofitable servants: we have done that which was our duty to do."' 'Yes, Miss Anne,' said Stephen, looking up inquiringly into his teacher's face. 'My dear boy,' she continued, 'are you taking care to say to yourself, "I am an unprofitable servant"?' 'I have not done all those things which are commanded me,' he said simply and earnestly; 'I've done nothing of myself yet. It's you that have taught me, Miss Anne; and God has helped me to learn. I'm afeared partly of going away to Netley; but if you're not there to keep me right, God is everywhere.' 'Stephen,' Miss Anne said, 'you have forgiven all your enemies: Tim, who is now your friend, and the gamekeeper, Black Thompson, and my poor uncle; when you are saying the Lord's Prayer, do you feel as if you should be satisfied for our Father to forgive you your trespasses in the same measure and in the same manner as you have forgiven their trespasses against you?' 'Oh no!' cried Stephen, in a tone of some alarm. 'Tell me why not.' 'It was a rather hard thing for me,' he said; 'it was very hard at first, and I had to be persuaded to it; and every now and then I felt as if I'd take the forgiveness back. I shouldn't like to feel as if our Father found it a hard thing, or repented of it afterwards.' 'No,' answered Miss Anne. 'He is a God "ready to pardon;" and when He has bestowed forgiveness, His "gifts and calling are without repentance." But there is something more, Stephen. Do you not seem in your own mind to know them, and remember them most, by their unkindness and sins towards you? When you think of Black Thompson, is it not more as one who has been your enemy than one whom you love without any remembrance of his faults? And you recollect my uncle as him who drove you away from your own home, and was the cause of little Nan's death. Their offences are forgiven fully, but not forgotten.' 'Can I forget?' murmured Stephen. 'No,' she replied; 'but do you not see that we clothe our enemies with their faults against us? Should our Father do so, should we stand before Him bearing in His sight all our sins, would that forgiveness content us, Stephen?' 'Oh no!' he cried again. 'Tell me, Miss Anne, what will He do for me besides forgiving me?' 'Look, Stephen,' she replied, pointing to the distant sky where the sun was going down amid purple clouds, and bidding him turn to the grey horizon where the sun had risen in the morning; 'listen: "As far as the east is from the west, so far hath He removed our transgressions from us." And again: "He will turn again, He will have compassion upon us; He will subdue our iniquities; and Thou wilt cast all their sins into the depths of the sea." And again: "For I will be merciful to their unrighteousness, and their sins and their iniquities will I remember no more." This is the forgiveness of our Father, Stephen.' 'Oh, how different to mine!' cried Stephen, hiding his face in his hands. 'Yet,' said Miss Anne, 'you may claim the promise made to us by our Lord: "If ye forgive men their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you," in a far richer measure, with infinite long-suffering, and a multitude of tender mercies.' 'Lord, forgive me, for Jesus Christ's sake!' murmured Stephen. But the dusk was gathering, and the others were returning to them under the old yew-tree, for there was the long ride over the hills to Danesford, and the time for parting was come. The day was done; and on the morrow new work must be entered upon. The path of the commandments had yet to be trodden, step by step, through temptation and conflict, and weakness and weariness, until the end was reached. Stephen felt something of this as he walked home for the last time to the cinder-hill cabin; and, taking down the old Bible covered with green baize, read aloud to his grandfather and Martha the chapter his father had taught him on his death-bed; bending his head in deep and humble prayer after he had read the last verse: 'Be ye therefore perfect, even as your Father in heaven is perfect.' THE END. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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