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Elsie's Widowhood

<h2>[236] CHAPTER XX.</h2> <div class="block32"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> "A little more than kin and a little less than kind." —Shakespeare. </div> </div></div> Our little party had scarcely seated themselves in the parlor, where a number of the guests of the house were already gathered, when the invalid gentleman was assisted in by his servant and took possession of an easy chair which Mrs. Perkins hastened to offer him. He thanked her courteously as he sank back in it with a slight sigh as of one in pain. Violet, close at his side, regarded him with pitying eyes. "I fear you suffer a great deal, sir," she said, low and feelingly, when Mary, her next neighbor, had introduced them. "Yes, a good deal, but less than when I came." "Then the sea air is doing you good, I hope." "I'm thankful to say I think it is. There's an increase of pain to-night, but that is always to be expected in rainy weather." "You are very patient, Mr. Moses," Mary remarked. "And why shouldn't I be patient?" he returned; "didn't Christ suffer far more than I do?" [237] "And he comforts you in the midst of it all, does he not?" asked Mrs. Perkins. "He does, indeed, ma'am." "I have always found him faithful to his promises," she said. "And I," remarked another lady sitting near; "strength has always been given me according to my day, in the past, and I am glad to leave the future with him." "Humph! it's plain to be seen that you two don't know what trouble is," put in Mrs. Moses, glancing fretfully at her crippled spouse; whereat the poor man burst into tears. Vi's tender heart ached for him, and the countenances of all within hearing of the remark expressed sincere pity and sympathy. A child began drumming on the piano, and Mr. Moses sent a helpless, half despairing glance in that direction that spoke of tortured nerves. Vi saw it, and, as he turned to her with, "Don't you play and sing, my dear? You look like it, and I should be much gratified to hear you," she rose and went at once to the instrument, thinking of nothing but trying to bring help and comfort to the poor sufferer. "Will you let me play a little?" she said to the child, with look and tone of winning sweetness, and the piano-stool was promptly vacated. Seating herself, she touched a few chords, and instantly a hush fell upon the room. [238] She played a short prelude; then, in a voice full, rich and sweet, sang— <div class="block24"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> "'O Jesus! Friend unfailing, How dear art thou to me! And cares or fears assailing, I find my rest in thee! Why should my feet grow weary Of this my pilgrim way; Rough though the path and dreary It ends in perfect day. </div> <div class="stanza"> "'Naught, naught I count as treasure, Compared, O Christ, with thee; Thy sorrow without measure Earned peace and joy for me. I love to own, Lord Jesus, Thy claims o'er me and mine, Bought with thy blood most precious, Whose can I be but thine! </div> <div class="stanza"> "'For every tribulation, For every sore distress. In Christ I've full salvation, Sure help and quiet rest. No fear of foes prevailing, I triumph, Lord, in thee. O Jesus, Friend unfailing! How dear art thou to me!'"* </div> </div></div> * I know not who is the author of these beautiful lines. Edward had made his way to her side as soon as he perceived her purpose. "You have left out half," he whispered, leaning over her, "and the words are all so sweet." [239] "Yes, I know, but I feared it was too long." There were murmurs of admiration as he led her back to her seat. "How well she plays! such an exquisite touch!" "What a sweet voice! highly cultivated, and every word distinct." "Yes, and what a beauty she is!" Some of these remarks reached Violet's ears and deepened the color on her cheek, but she forgot them all in the delight of having given pleasure to the invalid. He thanked her with tears in his eyes. "The words are very sweet and comforting," he said. "Are they your own?" "Oh no, sir!" she answered. "I do not know whose they are, but I have found comfort in them, and hoped that you might also." Edward and Mary were conversing in low, earnest tones. "I am delighted!" Mary said. "With what?" "Words, music, voice, everything." "The music is her own, composed expressly for the words, which she found in a religious newspaper." "Indeed! she is a genius then! the tune is lovely." "Yes, she is thought to have a decided genius for both music and painting; I must show you some of her pictures when you pay us that promised visit." [240] Mr. Moses presently found himself in too much pain to remain where he was, and summoning his servant, retired to his own room. His wife, paying no regard to a wistful, longing look he gave her as he moved painfully away, remained where she was and entertained the other ladies with an account of the family pedigree. "We are lineal descendants of Moses, the Hebrew Lawgiver," she announced. "But don't suppose we are Jews, for we are not at all." "Belong to the lost ten tribes, I suppose," remarked Charles Perrine dryly. The morning's sun shone brightly in a clear sky, and on leaving the breakfast table our little party went down to the beach and sat in the sand, watching the incoming tide, before which they were now and then obliged to retreat, sometimes in scrambling haste that gave occasion for much mirth and laughter. Mrs. Moses came down presently and joined them, an uninvited and not over-welcome companion, but of course the beach was as free to her as to them. "How is your husband this morning?" inquired Mrs. Perkins. "Oh about as usual." "I do believe it would do him good to sit here awhile with us, sunning himself." [241] "Too damp." "No; the dampness here is from the salt water, and will harm nobody." "Where is he?" asked Fred, getting on his feet. "On the porch yonder," the wife answered, in a tone of indifference. "Come, boys, let's go and bring him!" said Fred, and at the word the other two rose with alacrity, and all three hurried to the house. They found the poor old gentleman sitting alone, save for the presence of the uncouth servant standing in silence at the back of his chair, and watching with wistful, longing eyes the merry groups moving hither and thither, to and fro, between the houses and the ocean, some going down to bathe, others coming dripping from the water, some sporting among the waves, and others still, like our own party, sunning themselves on the beach. "We have come to ask you to join us, sir," Fred said in respectful but hearty tones. "Won't you let us help you down to the beach? the ladies are anxious to have you there." The poor man's face lighted up with pleased surprise, then clouded slightly. "I should like to go indeed," he said, "if I could do so without troubling others; but that is impossible." "We should not feel it any trouble, sir." the lads returned, "but a pleasure rather, if you will let us help you there." [242] "I ought not to ask it of you: Jacob here can give me an arm." "No," said Edward, "let Jacob take this opportunity for a bath, and we will fill his place in waiting upon you." The invalid yielded, and found himself moved with far more ease and comfort than he had believed possible. The ladies—his wife, perhaps, excepted, greeted him with smiles and pleasant words of welcome. They had arranged a couch with their waterproofs and shawls, far enough from the water's edge to be secure from the waves, and here the lads laid him down with gentle carefulness. Mrs. Perkins seated herself at his head and shaded his face from the sun with her umbrella, while the others grouped themselves about, near enough to carry on a somewhat disjointed conversation in spite of the noise of the waters. "I think a sunbath will really be good for you, Mr. Moses," said Miss Keith. "It's worth trying anyhow," he answered, with a patient smile. "And it's a real treat to do so in such pleasant company. But don't any of you lose your bath for me. I've seen a number go in, and I suppose this is about the best time." "Just as the ladies say," was the gallant rejoinder of the young men. [243] "I do not care to bathe to-day," Violet said with decision. "The rest of you may go, and I will stay and take are of Mr. Moses." "Well, I'll go then. He'll not be wanting anything." said his wife. "Ain't the rest of you coming, ladies and gentlemen?" After some discussion, all went but Mrs. Perkins and Violet, and they were left alone with the invalid. Vi had conceived a great pity for him, great disgust for the selfish, unsympathizing wife. "How different from mamma!" she said to herself. "She never would have wearied of waiting upon papa if he had been so afflicted; she would have wanted to be beside him, comforting him every moment. And how sweetly it would have been done." "Little lady," the old man said, with a longing look into the sweet girlish face, "will you sing me that song again? It was the most delightful, consoling thing I've heard for many a day." "Yes, indeed, sir; I would do anything in my power to help you to forget your pain," she said, coloring with pleasure. She sang the whole of the one he had asked for, then perceiving how greatly he enjoyed it, several others of like character. He listened intently, sometimes with tears in his eyes, and thanking her warmly again and again. [244] Finding that the old gentleman felt brighter and more free from pain during the rest of the day, and thought he had received <ins title="Original has enefit">benefit</ins> from his visit to the beach, the lads helped him there again the next day. They set him down, then wandered away, leaving him in the care of the same group of ladies who had gathered round him the day before. Each one was anxious to do something for his relief or entertainment, and he seemed both pleased with their society and grateful for their attentions. Mrs. Perkins suggested that the lame hand might be benefited by burying it in the sand while he sat there. "No harm in trying it, anyhow," he said. "Just turn me round a little, Maria, if you please." His wife complied promptly with the request, but in a way which the other ladies thought rough and unfeeling, seizing him by the collar of his coat and jerking him round to the desired position. But he made no complaint. "I think it does ease the pain," he said after a little. "I'm only sorry I can't try it every day for a while." "What is there to hinder?" asked Mrs. Perkins. [245] "Why, we're going to-morrow," replied Mrs. Moses, shortly. "Oh, why not stay longer? You have been here but a week, and Mr. Moses has improved quite a good deal in that time." "Well, he can stay as long as he chooses, but I'm going to New York to-morrow to visit my sister." The ladies urged her to stay for her poor husband's sake, but she was not to be persuaded, and he was unwilling to remain without her. "Take some sand with you, then, to bury his hand in, won't you?" said Mrs. Perkins. "I haven't anything to carry it in," was the ungracious reply. "Those newspapers." "I want to read them." "Well, if we find something to put it in, and get it all ready for you, will you take it in your trunk?" "Yes, I'll do that." "I have a good sized paper box which will answer the purpose, I think," said Mary Keith. "I'll get it." She hastened to the house, returned again in a few moments with the box, and they proceeded to fill it, sifting the sand carefully through their fingers to remove every pebble. "You are taking a great deal of trouble for me, ladies," the old gentleman remarked. [246] "No trouble at all, sir," said Mary; "it's a real pleasure to do anything we can for you: especially remembering the Master's words, 'Inasmuch as you have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, you have done it unto me.'" <hr /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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