Chapter VI

A PHILOSOPHER AT HOME.--THE HORSE IS STOLEN.

The visit of Mr. de Malassise and Eusèbe only lasted two days. Eusèbe went away very well satisfied with himself, for in those two days he had contrived to alarm his father several times by putting himself in a passion, and had teazed his cousin so ingeniously that he more than once brought tears into his eyes.

The morning after the departure of these unwelcome visitors, Mr. de Roisel and Maurice started off on their expedition to see Mr. Duberger, and to bring back the horse. They were going two days later than was intended, but a letter had been already sent to Mr. Duberger, explaining why they were obliged to postpone their visit from the twelfth of August to the fourteenth. That gentleman did not live habitually at Paris, but at a place called Palaiseau, which was not more than two or three hours' drive from Maurice's home. Mr. de Roisel drove Maurice in a light chaise with one horse; and they started very early, in order to avoid the heat of the day.

Palaiseau is a large straggling village situated in a pleasant valley; and on the hills around are many pretty country houses, one of which was inhabited by Mr. Duberger. Neither Maurice nor his father had been there before, so, on arriving in the village, they had to inquire which was the house. Just in front of the little inn of the village stood three or four men, conversing earnestly, and Mr. de Roisel inquired of them for the house he wanted. One of them replied:--

"It is a good half mile beyond the village, sir; and stands quite alone on the right hand side of the road. We were just talking about a report there is in the village this morning, that Mr. Duberger's house was broken into by thieves last night; but the accounts are so different I hardly know if any of them are true."

Mr. de Roisel touched his horse with the whip and hastened on, feeling very anxious and alarmed. After driving about half a mile along the road, he pulled up again to ask his way of a woman who was standing at the door of a cottage.

"Do you want to see Mr. Duberger?" exclaimed the good woman. "Ah, poor dear man! Only to think there are wretches in the world who would do him an injury! But they do not belong to these parts, I'm certain. He does so much good, that no one here would hurt a hair of his head."

"Good heavens! Has he been murdered?"

"Murdered! No, no: but he was robbed last night of a great many valuable things. That's bad enough, I hope. If you want to see him, sir, that's his house, yonder among the trees. The turning there on the right leads directly up to it." Saying this she pointed to a house, which, seen from a distance, had a good appearance.

They turned up what might once have been a handsome avenue of trees, but many had died or been cut down, and never been replaced. A number of sheep were grazing beneath the trees of the avenue, and there reigned over the place that air of quiet and peace which brings repose both to the eyes and heart.

Reaching the iron gate of the courtyard, Mr. de Roisel got down to ring the bell, but finding that the gate was not fastened he opened it, and the chaise drew up at the stone steps of the entrance door. The house appeared large, but very much out of repair. The walls were crumbling in parts, and broken shutters hung at the windows; but this appearance of decay or disorder seemed rather the effect of negligence than of poverty.

They soon heard the sound of slow footsteps approaching from the inside, and an old woman, having the look of a housekeeper, appeared at the door. Glancing at our travellers, she turned back into the house, and they could hear her call out to some one within:--"It's the gentleman who wrote to you the day before yesterday. I was sure you would not be ready to receive him."

"Well, well, Marianne," replied a man's voice, "I'm making all the haste I can."

"Sir," said the old woman, coming forward again, and addressing Mr. de Roisel, making at the same time a curtsey after the manner of a peasant, "you are welcome. If you will trouble yourself to walk into the drawing-room, my master will join you there in an instant. Michel will take the horse to the stable, sir. See, he's coming as quickly as he can. He doesn't run very fast; his legs are like mine--a little stiff. In truth, he's no longer young. He has been our gardener, sir, for more than fifty years."

Michel was a little withered old man, bent from age, and from the habit of stooping at his work.

"Sir," said he, in a shaking voice, "excuse my slowness; I have no longer the activity of a youth. Besides, I had a good walk this morning to go after the police."

"It is true then, this robbery I have heard of? What has been stolen? Any money?"

"No, unfortunately," replied the old woman; "if it were only money my master would not care so much. He thinks little about money--not enough, indeed. But the thieves have carried away some precious and curious things that never can be replaced. Still we ought to thank Providence that we all remained fast asleep while the robbers were in the house. If we had wakened up, perhaps they would have cut our throats. But come in, I beg, sir."

As they entered the room, Marianne went on:--"It must be confessed that my master himself is partly to blame for what has happened. He never would have the doors fastened or the windows barred up. He trusts everybody. But won't you sit down, sir?" (Here she put forward some chairs) "You see we might all have been murdered, sir. That would have mattered very little for Michel and me; we are so old; but for him!--I tremble to think of it."

While the old woman chattered away, Mr. de Roisel looked round the room, but he saw nothing there to justify the character which Mr. Duberger bore of being an enlightened collector of curiosities and works of art, as well as a man of science. The furniture was extremely old, and of the fashion of fifty years ago. Some badly executed drawings hung on the walls; and an old-fashioned clock stood on the mantelpiece.

"What!" said Mr. de Roisel, observing it, "can it be past eleven?"

"Oh, no, sir," replied Marianne; "pardon me, it is not yet ten. That clock is an excellent one, only if you do not understand its ways, it is apt to mislead. The thieves did not take anything from this room last night: they seemed to know where the valuable things were to be found. The furniture of this room, sir, my master sometimes says would not sell for fifty francs altogether: still it is of value to him--and to me also,--for it belonged to his grandmother, my first mistress. This old furniture is associated with the recollection of one we loved. These drawings were made by her, and her husband had them framed as you see. My master adored his grandmother, and these old things are precious to him for her sake."

Mr. de Roisel felt a strong sympathy for the man who united such tenderness of heart with the rare intellect which had made him celebrated. Maurice also was touched, and took the withered hand of Marianne in his own.

"You are very good, my little gentleman; you remind me of my master in his childhood." Then she went on: "After the death of my first mistress, I served the mother of Mr. Duberger. She died too young to see the success and honours of her son: I have never quitted my master since."

At this moment Mr. Duberger entered.

"Leave us now, my good Marianne," said he. Then embracing Maurice, he exclaimed: "Why, how you have grown! I think the good God watches over children that have kind hearts. You have been growing up in happiness and health, as a flower blossoms in the spring-time." Then turning to Mr. de Roisel, he added: "I received your letter, sir, and regret very much indeed that the day of your coming was postponed."

"I fear we have come at a very inconvenient time."

"Oh, it is not that; but you are one day too late." Then taking Maurice on his knee, he went on: "You are a brave boy, and no doubt have deprived yourself of a good deal in collecting these hundred francs; but they are useless after all. When we met in the Luxembourg gardens, I thought it better for you that your charity to the poor woman should cost you some real sacrifice; but I was wrong to take your horse in pledge for the money. Now I am your debtor, and a debtor who cannot pay."

"I understand," said Maurice, as he burst into tears; "the thieves carried off Cressida last night. But it is not your fault."

"Yes, yes, it is my fault. I was wanting in prudence; I kept neither doors nor windows fastened. I am much to blame."

"Not so, indeed, sir," said Mr. de Roisel; "it has been a chance which nobody could foresee. But do you not think the thieves may yet be discovered?"

"Probably. I think they will betray themselves in trying to sell the things they have stolen."

"Let us hope so," rejoined Mr. de Roisel.

With this hope, and the chance it afforded of the recovery of the horse, Maurice tried to console himself.

BABY'S RIDE.

Baby, do you like your ride?
Baby on the baa-lamb!
Baby's mother is beside
Baby riding baa-lamb.

Sisters too are dancing near
Baby,--near her baa-lamb;
On the ground is brother dear,
Almost touching baa-lamb.

Little birdies even stop,
Perching close to baa-lamb,
Now they chirp, and now they hop,--
They have no fear of baa-lamb.

Yet another sister there,
Comes to look at baa-lamb:
Her clothes and shoes are left,--oh, where?
Through haste to see poor baa-lamb.

The summer's day too soon is past
For children and for baa-lamb;
You see our pleasure cannot last--
Not even rides on baa-lamb.

THE GIANT HANDS.

Scene I.

Little Willie sits by the fire thinking. He lives in this cottage alone with his mother, who is out just now, and I will tell you what Willie is thinking about so earnestly. He is a clever good boy, and is making up his mind that he ought to go out into the world and seek for work, and try to earn his own living, instead of being dependent on his mother, who is very poor. He determines he will tell her so directly she comes in, and ask her leave to go.

Scene II.

Here is Willie, with his little bundle at his back, on his first day's journey to seek his fortune. As he walks along he is startled to observe a white cloud resting on the ground, directly in his path. From this cloud come forth two enormous hands, and a voice from the cloud says:--"Don't be afraid, Willie; I come to be your friend. No eyes but yours will be able to see me, but only persevere in your wish to work, and I will be ever near to help you."

Willie, somehow, does not feel frightened, but says:--"Thank you, good hands." And then they vanish.

Scene III.

The help promised to Willie by the hands makes him so happy that he runs and leaps with joy; but as evening draws on he feels very tired. He lies down under some trees, and eats some bread and cheese brought with him in his wallet. He is in a forest now, and thinks he hears the howling of wolves in the distance; still he is so tired that he must go to sleep. Presently he sees the giant hands spread themselves over him, forming a sort of tent. His heart is full of gratitude as he says his prayers, and falls asleep, feeling how safe he is beneath those giant hands.

Scene IV.

The next day Willie obtains employment in the service of a farmer. Here we see him in the corn-field reaping, and doing as much work as two strong men could do. But under the shelter of the high corn are the giant hands at work helping him. Willie whistles and cuts away: his sickle glistens as the corn falls under its long sweeps.

In the evening the farmer comes into the field, and stares to see the long rows of well-tied sheaves. He looks at Willie with astonishment, and promises himself that he will do his best to keep so good a servant.

Scene V.

"If he can reap so well, perhaps he can plough," says the farmer to himself, as he leaves the cornfield; and the next morning sees Willie employed as a ploughman. The giant hands guide the plough, unseen by any but Willie; and the land is ploughed in furrows as straight as the flight of an arrow. The farmer watches from his window, and again blesses his good fortune. As time goes on, he feels grateful to the industrious lad, who seems to take pleasure in working for him; and gradually Willie is placed over the other labourers and trusted with everything.

Scene VI.

One day, while the sheep are out on the hills, a heavy storm comes on, and the low ground between the hills is quickly flooded. Willie goes out to bring in his master's sheep, but by the time he has collected them, the water is pouring on like a river in a narrow valley which separates them from the farm. "How I wish the hands would help me now!" thinks Willie. In a moment the giant hands spread themselves over the turbid water, forming a bridge. He drives the sheep across, and reaches the farm in safety, to the joy of all, for they have given him up for lost.

Scene VII.

One night Willie is wakened up by a cry of "Fire! Fire!" He dresses in a moment, and rushes out into the farmyard. Here he finds his master and the farm-servants running about, frantic with terror; pigs are squealing, geese cackling, everybody is shouting, but there is no water handy. The flames are making their way from room to room, and now reach the chamber of the farmer's pretty daughter. She is still there; what is to be done? The staircase is burnt; no ladder will reach the window; and there stands the girl, in the midst of the smoke, screaming, and stretching out her arms for help. Willie looks on in despair. Suddenly the giant hands appear to him, and placing themselves against the side of the house, form a ladder with their fingers, up which he quickly springs. He catches the girl in his arms, and in a moment brings her down, safe and sound, to her weeping father.

Now I daresay my little readers have been sufficiently interested in these seven scenes in the life of Willie to wish to know what became of him. Well then, Willie had such good wages that he was able to send money to his mother, and as soon as he grew to be quite a man, he married the farmer's pretty daughter, whose life he had saved. Everybody liked him, and he soon took the entire management of the farm.

But now do you know the meaning of these giant hands? They signify the strength and power arising from industry, talent, and perseverance. The giant hands will come to help all those who, in the right way, try to help themselves.

When Willie was a rich farmer and had a large family, he used to say to his children: "Be honest, kind, industrious, and persevering; then the giant hands will come to help you."

Multiplication is vexation,
Division is as bad,
The Rule of Three doth puzzle me,
And Practice drives me mad.

OLD TOM.

I am sure you would like to hear about an old horse that belonged to my papa when I was a little girl.

Tom had been so handsome when he was young, and thought so much of, that my father kept him long after he was past work. Tom used to lead a very happy life of it in a nice large field, where he had plenty to eat all the summer-day, and no work to do. But there was no pond in this field, only a pump, with a large tub to hold the water; and one of the men used to fill it every day for old Tom.

However, one day, when hay-making was going on, there was a great deal to do for all hands about the place, and Bob the odd man, whose work it was to give old Tom water, was busy helping cart the hay. So when the old horse felt thirsty, and went to his tub for water, he found it empty. He gave a great neigh, and a stamp with his foot; but finding that nobody came, he thought he would help himself, and fell to pumping water into the tub for himself, as you see him in the picture.

IDLE WORDS.

I walked by the side of a tranquil stream,
That the sun had tinged with its parting beam;
The water was still, and so crystal clear
That every spray had its image there.

And every reed that o'er it bowed,
And the crimson streak and the silvery cloud,
And all that was bright, and all that was fair,
And all that was gay was reflected there.

But I took a stone that lay beside,
And I cast it far on the glassy tide;
And gone was the charm of the pictured scene,
And the sky so bright and the landscape green.

And I bade them mark how an idle word,
Too lightly said, or too deeply heard,
Or a harsh reproof, or a look unkind,
May spoil the peace of a heavenly mind.

Though sweet be the peace, and holy the calm,
And the heavenly beam be bright and warm,
The heart that it gilds is all as weak
As the wave that reflects the crimson streak.

You cannot impede the celestial ray
That gilds the dawn of eternal day,
But you may so trouble the bosom it cheers,
'Twill cease to be true to the image it bears.

MAMMA'S SUNDAY TALK.
MIRACLES OF OUR SAVIOUR:

RAISING OF THE DAUGHTER OF JAIRUS.

The next miracle I have to tell you of, my dear children, is one which shows particularly our Lord's divine quality of mercy. It is called "the raising of the daughter of Jairus," which means--restoring her to life.

Our Saviour was one day at the house of His disciple Matthew at Capernaum, when a man of importance in the city, a ruler in the synagogue, named Jairus, came to Him. This man had an only child, a daughter about twelve years old, who was lying at the point of death; and he came to Jesus in the hope that He would cure her.

Generally, the poor and lowly were the first to believe in our Saviour. The rich were slow to accept the self-denying doctrines which He taught; the learned were too wise in their own esteem to listen to His instruction. But when they were in affliction both the rich and the learned sometimes came to Jesus to seek His aid. So it was in this instance.

We may imagine what the unhappy father suffered at the prospect of losing his darling child,--at the thought of her fading away from him, and sinking into the grave. As he was rich, we may suppose that all had been done by the doctors that could be done; so now in an agony of despair he turned to seek our Saviour. No doubt he thought of all the miraculous cures Jesus had effected, as he went towards Matthew's house, where he found our Saviour at the door teaching a crowd of people. Jairus immediately fell at His feet, and with heart-felt earnestness "besought him greatly" that He would come and see his child.

Jesus rose, and went forth, followed by a number of people, while Jairus led the way to his own house. The poor father would have walked quickly, every moment seeming an age till he reached his sick child's bedside, but the crowd pressing round, interfered with their speed, and soon there arose another cause of delay.

In the crowd was a poor woman who had been very ill for a long time. She had consulted many doctors, but none could cure her; and at last she had spent all her money in trying to regain her health. Hearing that Jesus was near, she approached Him in great fear and trembling. She was almost crushed by the crowd, as she struggled to come near Him; but at length succeeded so far as to be able to stretch forth her hand, and touch the border of His mantle. In a moment she felt that she was recovering from her illness. Our Saviour stopped, and turned towards her, when she cast herself at His feet, fearing for her presumption. But He looked graciously upon her, for He knew why she had touched His garment; then speaking to her, He said:--"Daughter, be of good comfort; thy faith hath made thee whole." And from that hour she was cured.

After this incident, Jairus was again hurrying on, leading the way to his house, when messengers met him with the agonizing intelligence that the child was already dead--gone beyond the reach of human help. Thereupon Christ turned to Jairus, saying:--"Be not afraid; only believe, and she shall be made whole." For it was as easy to Him to bring back the dead, as to restore the living.

He went into the house with three of His disciples and the parents of the child. Then He addressed words of comfort to the father and mother, saying,--"The damsel is not dead but sleepeth;"--meaning that her death would only be like a short sleep, because He was going to bring her back to life.

Then taking hold of the little girl's hand, as though He were about to waken her from a pleasant sleep, He said: "Talitha cumi!"--that is, "Damsel, arise!" The words were no sooner spoken, than the colour returned to her cheeks, her eyes opened, and she arose as if just awakened from a refreshing sleep.

We are told that "the parents and all present were astonished with a great astonishment." We may also suppose how great was their delight, and how unbounded was their gratitude to our blessed Lord.

SOME OF MY LITTLE FRIENDS:

ALEC AND ELFIE.

In giving you an account of Alec, one of my little boy friends, I must give you at the same time an account of Elfie, one of my little dog friends, for the two are inseparable. Both these friends of mine are Scotch; and I met them first when the little boy was yet in petticoats, and the doggie a tiny little puppy that had just left its mother.

The two young things grew up together, Elfie, the dog, becoming every day more of a companion for Alec, the boy. But the dog grew old the fastest, and when the event I am going to tell you of occurred, Alec was about nine years old and Elfie about seven; which is in fact quite old for a dog, and an age at which he is likely to be as wise as ever he will be.

Alec had no brother, but he had a cousin at whose house he used to spend a good deal of his time. Little Arthur was about four years younger than Alec, and would follow him about like his shadow, looking up to his big cousin as an authority on all matters. He learnt from Alec to consider Elfie the most wonderful dog in the world, with more sense than most people. He thought Elfie understood everything that was said to him, and could do almost everything he was told to do. Many an hour the three would spend together; and Alec and Arthur never appeared tired of seeing Elfie go through the common dog's trick with a piece of sugar on his nose. When the word "Trust" was said to him, he let the sugar remain on the tip of his nose, while he only squinted at it with all his might. Directly he heard the words "Paid for" he would jerk it into the air, and snap it up as it fell. This is how the three are amusing themselves, you see, in the picture.

One morning when it was very hot, Arthur's mamma and I were sitting under the shade of some trees in the garden, working and reading. We knew that little Arthur was about somewhere in the garden or the grounds with his cousin Alec, who, we thought, was old enough to keep the little one out of harm's way. Suddenly we heard a sound of panting and puffing, and saw Elfie tearing across the garden towards us. With his short legs and long hair he appeared as if he was rolling over the ground: his little red tongue was hanging out of his mouth, and we could see his bright eyes gleaming with excitement through the overhanging locks of hair.

"What can be the matter with the dog?" exclaimed Arthur's mamma, jumping up. "Has he gone mad?"

As she spoke, Elfie began barking furiously, and seizing her dress in his mouth, tried to drag her away. A thought struck me, and I cried out,--"Something is wrong with the boys, and Elfie has come to let us know!"

In the direction Elfie had come from, but hidden from our view by trees, was a large piece of water: towards this we hastened. Fortunately Arthur's papa was sitting in the library, of which the window was open: we called to him as we ran, and he followed as fast as he could. Coming in sight of the water, our worst fears were realized. Only a few yards from the bank, but in quite deep water, we beheld the canoe floating bottom upwards, and the two boys clinging to it; or rather, Alec clinging to the canoe with one arm, and with the other supporting Arthur, who had fainted.

The father plunged in instantly, and in a moment brought Arthur to shore, and placed him in his mother's arms. Alec, left alone, easily supported himself by the canoe till his uncle returned, and brought him also on to the bank. The fault was Alec's, who had taken out the canoe from the boat-house without permission; but what praise could be too great for Elfie, who had probably saved two lives by his intelligence? We all agreed he was the most wonderful doggie in the world.

MORNING.

1.
Wake up, little Maud, 'tis a sunshiny day,
The kitten is up, and already at play;
And Maud like the merriest kitten can run,
And scamper, and frolic, and laugh at the fun.

2.
Wake up, little Maud, for on thicket and tree
The birdies are singing as gay as can be.
As sweet and as clear can my little Maud sing
As ever the merriest bird on the wing.

3.
Wake up, little Maud, for the flowers are awake,
The sweet breezes are blowing on mountain and lake;
The world is all beauty and brightness to-day,
Then wake, little Maud, with the roses to play.

A STORY OF A WOODEN HORSE.