Chapter III: The Cottage in the Dell

THE sun had scarcely shown his red globe over the hill when Ned Franks, whistling as he went, walked down the path into the little wooded dell where Persis Meade resided. The January air was keen and sharp, the snow felt crisp under the sailor's tread. Every branch in the trees, every twig in the hedges, was cased in silvery frost; the prickly leaves of the holly, the withered fern by the path, every blade of grass was edged, as if by fairy art, with glittering crystals. Franks looked around with admiring eyes, doubting whether winter, in such a garb, were not as fair as the spring.

"How strange it is to look back on one year," reflected Ned, "when we're just stepping on board another, and the old hulk, with all the hopes and fears that freighted it, is sinking down into the ocean of the past! Last New-year's day I spent on the blue waters, amongst my jovial messmates, little dreaming then what a twelvemonth's cruise was before me. 'Twould not have mended my mirth to have known that I should have a terrible fall, smash my arm, have it taken off by the surgeon, lie for weeks in my hammock, and then leave the service maimed and disabled, come to a comfortless home, and find Bessy—well, I won't be hard on her, but she was not just what I had expected her to be. Here was a cargo of troubles indeed. And yet at the end of that year's cruise I can say, 'surely goodness and mercy have followed me all the days of my life!' God has given me a home of my own, pleasant work in the school, kind friends to help me on; He has restored my health, and made me again able to enjoy the blessings of life. And better things are behind. What are earthly comforts compared to 'the means of grace and the hope of glory'?"

"Ay," said the sailor half aloud, as he gazed on the red rising sun, "as we look for each day now to be longer and brighter, till we bask in the full beams of summer, so is it with the Christian! With him the best is ever to come; he has heavenly hope to crown every earthly joy. This is the 'helmet, the hope of salvation,'* which the Christian soldier is to wear. A glittering helmet it is," pursued Franks, whose fancy delighted in following out the Scriptural image, "and the crest upon it is joy! In life's hard struggle that plume may be reft away, even the faithful in this world cannot always rejoice; but the helmet of hope remains, never to be parted with but with life, and only put off in death to make way for the conqueror's crown! Hope, glorious hope, will be changed for happiness then!"

* I Thess. v. 8.

Such thoughts as these made the heart of Ned Franks bound with a sense of enjoyment such as monarchs might have envied. And yet he was a poor man, a maimed man, one who had been cut off in his prime from a profession that he loved! Save his niece, little Norah, of whom he was very fond, there was not one of his family living who sympathised with Ned Franks, or gave him any real pleasure. Many would have said that the teacher at Colme had not much to render him happy; and yet no stranger could have looked on that buoyant step and beaming eye without seeing that something within was throwing a charm over life, like the hoar frost encrusting with beauty the dull twig and the leafless tree!

The cottage of Persis Meade looked very pretty, with its gable-end overhung with frosted ivy, and sparkling icicles drooping from the eaves. It was so retired in its little dell, that to the sailor it suggested the idea of a bird's nest hidden in a bush. The door stood open, for Persis had just been fetching water from the well, so Franks could see into the cottage as he strode up the narrow path. An old man, very feeble and almost bent double, clad in a thick white flannel wrapper, was tottering towards an arm-chair placed for him by the fire, tenderly supported by a young woman of very pleasing appearance. Persis was so intent on her dutiful office, that she did not hear Ned's tap at the door, and was a little surprised at seeing him enter. The teacher was no stranger to her, however, as Franks' name and character were known through the village; and though somewhat wondering at so early a visit, Persis received the maimed sailor kindly.

"Who's he? What has he done with his hand?" said the old man in a feeble, quavering voice, pointing with his trembling finger to the book which appeared from under the sailor's almost empty sleeve.

"It is Mr. Franks, the teacher at the school, dear grandfather," said Persis, raising her voice and bending towards the deaf man's ear.

"What has he done with his hand?" repeated old Meade.

"I lost it in a lubberly way—had a tumble in the dark," replied Ned, who never liked the question, both because it reminded him of what he was tempted to think a provoking accident, and because he knew that slander had reported that he must have been drunk at the time.

"Will you not take a seat, Sir?" said Persis.

Franks had taken off his hat on coming in, with the same respect that he would have shown on entering a lady's drawing-room. Before he sat down he assisted Persis in arranging pillows behind her grandfather's head, and in changing the position of his chair, for old Meade was fidgety and restless, and it did not seem easy to please him.

"What have you done with your hand?" he asked again, as Ned Franks at last took a seat.

The sailor glanced at Persis, and her gentle eye seemed to ask indulgence for the infirmities of age, the failing memory which could retain no new thing for two minutes. Ned replied in a loud, cheerful tone to the question, and then without further delay drew out the two notes, and told in few words the errand on which he had come. He was encouraged by watching the sympathizing expression on the face of Persis as she read.

"Dear Norah! I should so much like to go with her to-morrow!" said Persis.

"I'm afraid, though, that you could not be spared," observed Franks, glancing at the old man, who, restless at having been silent for nearly five minutes, broke out again with his tiresome question, this time addressed to his grand-daughter.

"Mr. Franks had a sad fall," she replied, without giving the slightest sign of impatience; and then, turning to Ned, she said, speaking fast, because certain to be soon interrupted, "I think that I could manage to go, indeed I'm certain that I could. We have at present two quiet lodgers, Mr. Isaacs, a working jeweller, and Benoni, his dear little boy; one or both of them, I am sure, would kindly watch my grandfather during the few hours of—"

"What have you done with your hand?" asked the poor old man, who would have interrupted the conversation had it been one of life-or-death importance.

Taking example by Persis, Ned answered at once, without suffering either a smile to rise to his lips, or a frown of impatience to his brow. Persis felt obliged by the sailor's forbearance, and seeing his eyes rest for a moment on an old-fashioned drawing hung over the fire-place, representing a tall young farmer in top-boots, she said, "that is a likeness of my grandfather."

Nothing could have presented a greater contrast to the shrivelled, wrinkled old man in the arm-chair, than the picture of the jovial rosy-cheeked swain. It seemed to preach this lesson to youth, "show indulgence to imbecile age; for if you are now strong and hearty as he was once, as he is now you may be." Such at least was the thought which arose in the mind of Ned Franks; but he had to pay for his lesson. Old Meade, seeing them looking at the picture, began at once a mumbled story which promised to be endless, of something that had happened at the time that picture was taken, rambling into an account of all that he had done or could have done when he was a gay young fellow, till Franks was obliged to rise, fearing to be late for the opening of school. The sailor could scarcely manage to get in a few hurried words of arrangements for the following day, and had scarcely time to thank Persis for her ready compliance with Norah's wish.

"Well," thought Franks, as he rapidly strode up the dell, "the life that maiden has chosen for herself is one that requires the patience of a saint! Chosen for herself! Is it not rather that which she deems appointed for her by God? What she does, she does unto Him, and this doubtless makes her able to bear and forbear, and watch with such tender care over one who, as Bessy said, had never shown her particular kindness. It does seem to me that it would be easier to be martyred at once, than to have for ever to take in tow such a water-logged old barge as that! I do believe that God counts as martyrs those who, for His sake, lead a life of quiet, patient self-denial, seeking not to do their own will, but the will of their Heavenly Master. Persis Meade looks like one who has God's sunshine around her!"

Ned Franks often repeated his visits to the ivy-covered cottage in the dell; but for weeks he never saw old Meade, without having to shout out an answer to the question, "What have you done with your hand?"