Chapter VII: In the New Home

THE winter had given place to spring before John Horbrook returned to Northcliffe.

The death of his son had very much retarded his recovery, and had thrown him back some weeks. It was some time before he could find courage to write and tell his wife that the Tom of her prayers had been found only to be lost again, for there was so little of hope in his son's death—nothing to cling to in his memory. But the news had to be told, and when once the letter was written, John felt as though a great weight had been taken from him, and his health improved from that time.

Poor Mrs. Horbrook felt the blow very keenly, but she knew how necessary it was for her to avoid adding to her husband's grief by dwelling too much upon her own. So for his sake, she wrote quite a cheerfully resigned letter, and no one but God knew how much she suffered. The letter was full of resignation to God's will and faith in His mercy, and gave great relief to her husband, who had dreaded the effect of the bad news upon his wife. And thus they mutually bore each ether's burdens, and in so doing fulfilled the law of Christ.

At length, when the snowdrops were blooming in the hedges, and the primroses clustering in all the sheltered nooks, Mrs. Horbrook received a letter from her husband, telling her he hoped to be home in three days. The time passed quickly in joyful preparation, and when the day arrived, Mrs. Horbrook, George, and Janet were at the station in good time, waiting for the train which was to bring home their long-absent husband and father. Edwin had taken care that Janet should go this time, and had remained at home to nurse the baby.

As the train came up to the platform, Janet felt her mother's hand rest for a moment heavily on her shoulder. Then she hastened forward to welcome her husband, paler and thinner than he was, but able to walk quite well without even the help of a crutch or stick.

"Thank God!" was all she could say.

That evening there was much to be told on both sides. Very good news about George, who had received a prize for a chalk drawing of some ivy berries and leaves, which had been sent to London to compete at the annual exhibition of the works of the different branch schools of art. The prize was a handsome set of drawing instruments.

Four months of steady industry and good conduct on George's part had placed him high in his master's good opinion. And even his fellow-labourers were brought to own that there were, after all, many worse than George Horbrook. So much for perseverance in well-doing.

Dr. Bertram came to see John Horbrook the day after his return. He examined his foot, and talked about the future.

"The foot will never be quite as strong as it was before," he said; "and I think it would be better for you to take up your trade as a shoemaker. Gilbert was telling me yesterday, he can always find constant employment for a steady hand."

"I am sure it would be a good plan," said John; "but before I can do that, I must get into a larger cottage, and that's not an easy matter in Northcliffe, where small houses are so scarce."

"But you haven't seen the new cottages since you came back, Horbrook. They will be ready by Midsummer. You must try for one of them."

"There will be twenty applicants for those cottages, sir. And I dare say Mrs. Clay will give the preference to people better to do than we are, and who have smaller families."

"We must see what can be done," said Dr. Bertram.

George had been for some weeks past working at the new cottages, Mr. Day being the builder of them. Every day George wished more and more that his parents could get one of them when finished. They were so convenient, and had so much room; and behind each was a good piece of garden ground.

"I think I should have nothing left to wish for if mother had only such a house as that," thought George, "now that father is likely to get plenty of work, and that I'm getting on too."

He began to whistle one of his merriest tunes out of the very gladness of his heart, at the mere thought of what a happy home it would be. It was his dinner-hour, and he was amusing himself as usual by drawing. He was no longer obliged to use a piece of rough chalk, as at first, for some pencils and prepared chalks and a drawing-book had accompanied the drawing instruments. And this day he was sketching some primroses and large arum leaves which he had gathered in the copse close by.

He rarely spent more than twenty minutes at his dinner, so that he got a good bit of time every day for drawing.

The sound of wheels made him look up from his work, and he saw a little pony carriage, in which were two ladies, stopping in front of the new buildings. None of the men had yet returned, so George was the only person on the premises. The ladies were Mrs. and Miss Clay. They had been away from Northcliffe for some months, and this was their first visit to the cottages since their return.

Mrs. Clay called to George to mind the pony whilst she and her daughter went in to look at the buildings.

"What are you doing here all alone?" they asked of George.

"I was drawing, ma'am; it is the dinner-hour, and I always try and find time to draw a little."

"I am very fond of drawing," said Miss Clay; "show me what you are doing."

George fetched his book, and both Mrs. and Miss Clay praised his sketches very much.

"What do you wish to be when you grow up?"

"A mason, ma'am. I should like to be able to carve flowers in stone, like they are doing at the new church. And masons like that earn a great deal of money."

"And what would you do with so much money?"

"I'd pay the rent of one of these cottages for father and mother,—that is if you'd let one to them, ma'am."

Mrs. Clay smiled.

"And why do you think I would not do so?"

"Because we are so many in family, ma'am," said George, in a sorrowful voice. "But I believe it would be the making of mother if she could only breathe the pure air up here, instead of living in the damp, crowded place she is obliged to."

"What is your name?" asked Mrs. Clay, who was amused at George's manner.

"George Horbrook, ma'am. And I hope you won't mind my speaking out so bold, for it's all a dream, you know. I am only a boy now, and it will be long before I am a master mason." And the boy sighed.

"It is a very proper ambition, George, and does you credit. Was it your father of whom I heard as having been in the hospital?"

"Yes, ma'am, the very same; he is much better, but Dr. Bertram thinks his foot will never be quite strong again. And as father is as good at shoemaking as he is at mason's work, he is thinking of taking to it for his trade, only he hasn't a place to work in,—our cottage is so small, and there are so many of us."

"How many, George?" asked Mrs. Clay.

"Ten, counting father and mother," said George; "and I am the only one of the children who earns anything."

As George spoke, Mr. Day came up, and Mrs. and Miss Clay went with him over the cottages, leaving George minding the pony. He could not help fancying that Mrs. Clay was talking about him to Mr. Day, for he saw them look towards where he was standing and watching, and they always smiled as they did so.

"Who knows," thought George, "what may happen?"

Mrs. Clay gave him sixpence for minding the pony, wished him good-bye with a kind smile, but said not one word about the cottage.

"I knew we should be too many for her," said poor George to himself as he went to his work.

Several weeks passed away, and John Horbrook had found plenty of work. Moreover a kind neighbour had given him the loan of a sort of outhouse, in which he was able to work. But this could only be during the summer months, and it became indispensable that he should find a larger cottage before the next winter.

The new cottages were in the meantime fast approaching completion, and the applications for them were very numerous. George knew all this, and his heart sank within him as he thought of his cherished dream. With this one exception, everything was prospering with him. He knew that Mr. Day was satisfied with him, and his readiness to do a good turn for anybody had overcome the ill-feeling which many of the men had at first cherished towards him. It really was next to impossible for them to continue harbouring ill feelings towards so thoroughly good-natured a boy as George.

Since the affair of the paint, too, Larkins had been George's firm friend. And although it might be thought that the friendship of such a boy was not much worth having, still he had great influence with the other boys, and had become a very different character since the day when George had given him the paint. He was now a regular attendant, not only at the night school, but also at the Sunday school, and very often during the course of a long and useful life, Jem Larkins would speak of his becoming acquainted with George Horbrook as being the turning-point in his life.

At length the cottages were finished, and a day was fixed upon for deciding who were to be the tenants. There were nearly thirty applications for the twelve cottages, and it was quite clear that many must be disappointed.

Mrs. Clay found it quite difficult to make a selection, and she consulted Mr. Day on the subject.

"I want to get tenants whose character and prospects render it likely that they will be able to pay their rent regularly, and I should certainly like to avoid overcrowding the cottages. By-the-bye, Mr. Day, one of your boys was speaking to me about a cottage for his parents. What sort of people are the Horbrooks?"

"There is not a better lad in Northcliffe than George," replied the builder, "and there is not a more deserving family than his. But they are but struggling as yet, although I think the father is in a fair way to get on. They are a very large family though," he concluded, with a smile.

"That shall not be an obstacle, if I find a party truly deserving," said Mrs. Clay. "I confess I was quite taken with the boy's earnest way of pleading for his parents. I am sure he is a good son; and good children are generally found to have good parents."

"All I can say is," replied Mr. Day, "that if I had a cottage to let, I would as soon take John Horbrook for a tenant as any man in Northcliffe, not because he is a well-to-do man, for he is very poor, but because he bears a good name, and has brought up his children well. His boy George will be a first-rate mason some of these days."

That same evening, George was preparing his lessons for the night school, and Mrs. Horbrook was busy ironing, when Mrs. Clay's pony carriage stopped at the door.

"Oh, mother!" cried George, and he said afterwards that he felt his heart jump up into his mouth, and that he hardly knew how he opened the door.

Mrs. Clay beckoned him to come and speak to her.

"You remember what we were talking about the last time we met?" she said.

"I couldn't forget it, ma'am; it was about your cottages."

"And you have still the same wish to get one for your parents?"

"Yes, ma'am!" cried George, with sparkling eyes.

"Would your father like to be my tenant?"

"Here comes father himself, ma'am, and I know what he'll say if you only just ask him."

"I am come to offer you one of my new cottages, Horbrook," said Mrs. Clay, as John came forward with a bow. "You bear an excellent character in Northcliffe, and so does your son George; and I shall have much pleasure in taking you for a tenant."

John Horbrook made a still lower bow, to give him time to think what he should say. It so took him by surprise, it seemed all too good to be true, there must be some mistake, and he must tell the lady the whole truth.

"I cannot thank you enough for your kind offer, ma'am," he said at last; "but I've heard say you object to large families, and there are ten of us, ma'am. And we are not very well-to-do in the world, although if God gives me health and strength, I hope to better myself before long."

"I know all, Horbrook," said Mrs. Clay, "and I know also that you are a thoroughly honest man, and merit all that your neighbours say of you. I repeat the offer I just made to you of one of the new cottages, and I hope God may grant many years of happiness in it. You have brought up your son George in the right way too; his master speaks most highly of him."

John Horbrook's face beamed with honest pride. "He has always been a good lad, and he was his mother's principal comfort whilst I was away. It has always been his wish that we should have one of your new cottages, ma'am."

"It was he who first spoke to me about it," said Mrs. Clay. "And now you may look upon the matter as settled, and you can take your wife and choose which cottage you would prefer. You shall have the first choice," saying which Mrs. Clay drove away, leaving John and his son in a state of the most perfect happiness.

In less than a fortnight, the Horbrooks were comfortably settled in their new home, where there was ample room for John to carry on his trade of shoemaker, and he soon had as much work as he could do.

He was never once behindhand with his rent. And the rent-book, regularly paid up, was one of the ornaments of the little round table in the window of their sitting-room. Both he and his wife lived to see George grow up and become a master mason. And so skilful did he become, that some of the most beautiful stone carvings in a church recently built at Northcliffe were executed by him. The other dream of his boyhood has also been realized, and for some time past the Horbrooks have lived rent free, their rent being paid for them by their good son.

Jem Larkins became a steady workman, and never ceased to feel grateful to his friend George, who had been, under Providence, the means of turning him from his evil ways.

May we not learn from this little history of George Horbrook that God is nigh unto all that call upon Him; and that in all our trials, if we ask Him for strength to bear them like Christians, they will in the end prove to have been helps to us in our homeward course?