Chapter VI: The Return of the Prodigal

IN a small lonely cottage, halfway between Hazelbrook and "The Hollow," lived old Granny Hale. She was not so very old; but her infirm health, her blindness, and her solitary life in that lone cottage by the woodside had caused the children of Hazelbrook to call her by the name of "Granny." It was a sort of pet name, denoting the life of dependence she lived on the assistance and kindness of others. Her husband died in a decline, nearly twenty years before, at the early age of thirty-five. His family inherited his delicacy of constitution; all except the youngest boy, Tom, who was a strong, hearty lad, who never ailed anything.

When Mrs. Hale lost her husband, and afterwards all her children, one by one, except Tom, she seemed to cling to him with double affection. To a certain extent, this was natural. But the excess of her love for her only child led her to be blind to his faults, which were increased by her own indulgence.

Tom Hale became a selfish, idle boy, allowing his mother to work early and late to support herself and him. For he never stayed more than a week or so in any place, preferring to idle away his time at home, instead of earning his own living, and assisting his mother.

At last, Sir Herbert Tracy and Mr. Graham both spoke seriously to Mrs. Hale on the subject, and pointed out to her the sin she was committing in allowing Tom to continue in his present idle way of living. They so far convinced her that she consented to their speaking to Tom, and telling him that they would once more find him employment on a neighbouring farm. But that if he did not do his duty and behave industriously, he was to look for no further help from his mother, whose health had been for some time giving way.

In a sulky humour, Tom went to his new situation. He did not try to please his master, and at the first word of reproof which he received for an act of gross negligence and idleness, he ran away to a seaport town some miles off, and got taken as one of the boys on board a large ship, bound for a distant part of the world. It was some time after his departure before even this much was learned of what had become of him, for the heartless boy had left without a word to his poor mother.

The loss of her son struck the final blow to Mrs. Hale's already declining health, and a severe attack of fever, which for some time threatened her life, left her totally blind. She arose from her bed of sickness, a sadder but a wiser woman, confessing the folly and weakness of which she had been guilty in her treatment of Tom.

She was no longer able to work for herself, and her friends advised her to go into the workhouse. But the poor woman clung so fondly to her old home, every corner of which was familiar to her, and into every room of which she could soon grope her way by means of a stick, that Sir Herbert, to whom the cottage belonged, consented to her staying in it as long as she liked. A small allowance from the parish, a little help from her brother, who was one of the gardeners at Hazelbrook Hollow, and what money she could earn by knitting stockings, sufficed to bring in enough for her simple wants. Little Mary Wood, her brother's child, used to go every morning to light Granny's fire, and get her her breakfast; and some of the Hazelbrook children were frequently dropping in during the day to get her anything she might want.

Granny Hale was a great favourite with children. She was always cheerful, notwithstanding her affliction, and there was scarcely a child in Hazelbrook but would willingly give up an hour's play to gather up sticks to boil Granny's kettle, or read a chapter to her out of her large old family Bible. This Bible had many pictures in it, and Mrs. Hale knew them so well that when any of her young readers came to one of the pictures, she could explain it to them nearly as well as if she had had the use of her eyes.

Ben Lawrence frequently went over to the widow's cottage for half an hour on a summer's evening, and he would dig up the bit of ground in front of her cottage, and had planted it with nice healthy cabbage plants of his own raising.

Mr. Graham used frequently to say that Granny Hale was a blessing to the juvenile folk of Hazelbrook, as her helplessness called forth so many little acts of self-denial on their part.

Six years had passed away since Tom Hale ran off to sea; and every one had long since numbered him among the dead—every one but his mother. She prayed for him night and morning, just the same as if he had been constantly with her.

"He will come back, I am sure he will come back; it may be many years hence, but I feel certain he'll come."

She would talk thus confidently of her son's return to Mabel, who rarely let a day pass without a visit to Granny. And Mabel almost learned to share in the mother's feelings of certainty, for she had been abroad at the time of Tom's departure, and was, besides, too young to have known many of the circumstances of the case.

At last, on a certain Thursday, as we have already heard, Granny Hale took to her bed. She had taken cold, and had a severe rheumatic attack in her limbs. Sunday morning came, and the boy who brought the bag of letters to Hazelbrook Hollow, brought also one directed to Mrs. Hale at Woodside Cottage. The postmaster had sent the letter to the "Hollow," knowing that there would be sure to be some one going thence to Mrs. Hale's in the course of the day.

The letter was given to Mabel, who ran with it to her mother.

"Mamma, there is a letter for Granny Hale; I am sure it is from her son."

Lady Tracy smiled at her daughter's enthusiasm. But when she examined the letter, and saw the words "Ship letter" stamped on the outside, she owned that Mabel might, after all, be right in her conjecture. With the natural eagerness of youth, Mabel was for setting off at once to take the letter to Woodside Cottage. But her mamma told her that in Granny Hale's weak state, the shock, even though a pleasant one, might be too much for her. The doctor was expected at the "Hollow" early that morning, to see one of the servants who had met with a slight accident, and Lady Tracy advised her daughter to wait and consult him before she took any steps about the letter.

Dr. Allen came soon after breakfast, and was soon informed of the arrival of the letter, and requested to advise what was best to be done. He had passed the widow's cottage on his way, and had just looked in to see how she was. He found her no worse; he almost thought she was slightly better than on the preceding day, but said that very much would depend on the nature of the letter, and that he could scarcely give an opinion until he knew the contents. At length, it was decided that the letter should be opened, and they would then be able to see how far it would be advisable to tell Mrs. Hale.

Mabel watched her father's face as he read the letter, and could scarcely contain herself until he had finished it.

"I know I am right, by papa's look," said she, in a whisper to her mother.

She was right, and Widow Hale's prayers had been heard. Tom Hale had led a life of great trouble since the day on which he had so wickedly deserted his mother. The vessel in which he had sailed had been attacked by pirates off the coast of Borneo, and he had been taken prisoner with several others. He had been very cruelly treated; and when, after two or three years, he managed to escape, and reach a European settlement, a violent fever, the result of so much hardship and privation, brought him almost to the grave.

He was in a hospital for many, many months, utterly unable to move. And when at last he was partially restored to health, he succeeded with difficulty in getting employment on board a ship going to Calcutta.

The cholera was raging violently in Calcutta, and Tom Hale was one of the first of the crew to be attacked by it. But even now God's righteous judgments were tempered with mercy, and Tom would afterwards look back on that period of suffering as the turning-point of his whole life. Until then, his troubles had only still more hardened his heart. But whilst in the cholera hospital at Calcutta, he was visited by a pious missionary, who was made God's chosen instrument to bend Tom's proud and stubborn will, and to lead him to Christ.

Tom had confided the history of his past life to this kind minister, and it was he who had now written to Mrs. Hale, to tell her of her son's existence, and of the merciful change which God's Holy Spirit had worked in his heart. Tom's health had been so weakened by the severe illness that the medical men decided it would be utterly useless for him to attempt any longer to follow a sailor's life. But they promised to interest themselves to procure him a passage home as soon as he was strong enough to undertake the voyage; and they gave him hopes that his health would become better when once again in his native air.

Such were the contents of the letter; and from the time it had been reaching England, Sir Herbert thought it probable that Tom might be expected home in a fortnight, at the utmost. Dr. Allen did not seem to think that the news would have an injurious effect on Granny Hale—that is, if told gently; and Mabel begged so hard to be allowed to be the bearer of the good tidings, that her parents at length consented.

There was not then time for Mabel to go to Woodside Cottage before church, so her visit was postponed until the afternoon.

When she arrived at the cottage, Granny Hale was sitting up in bed, and seemed much better than she had done the day before; and little Mary Wood was reading to her out of the old family Bible. Every Sunday Mrs. Hale made a point of having read to her the chapter containing the account of the prodigal son. There seemed some connection in her mind between the prodigal's return and her lost son; at all events, she never missed asking for it to be read to her, and the tears would flow from her poor sightless eyes. And with clasped hands, she would say, when the parable was finished,—

"HE will be found again some day. I know he will; God is so merciful."

It was generally Mabel who read that chapter to her; but on the Sunday in question she was unable, as we said before, to go to see Granny in the morning, and accordingly, when she entered the widow's bedroom in the afternoon, little Mary had just read the parable, and Granny Hale was sitting up with clasped hands and the tears rolling down her cheeks.

"Dear Miss Mabel," said she as Mabel entered the room, "I'm so glad to see you. I was half afraid you were not coming to-day."

Granny Hale always talked of "seeing" people, and still called Mabel her little "sunbeam."

"I am sorry I could not come before, Granny, and still more sorry that I was not here to read your favourite chapter to you."

"Mary has read it very nicely," said Mrs. Hale; "she's a dear good child, I don't know what I should do without her."

Mary blushed with pleasure at being praised before "Miss Mabel."

"But I had such a particular reason for wishing to read that chapter to you myself to-day," said Mabel.

"Well, then, suppose we read it again," suggested Mrs. Hale; "I am sure I should never be tired of hearing it, that I shouldn't."

So Mabel read the beautiful and touching history of the prodigal, in her own simple, earnest manner. Perhaps there was a shade more of earnestness in her tone this day than usual, for her heart was full, and every word seemed so suited to the present occasion.

"I'm sure he will be found," murmured Granny Hale, as Mabel paused.

"I think so too, Granny."

"Do you, Miss Mabel? I'm glad to hear you say that; you didn't always think so."

"Perhaps I have better reason for thinking so now than formerly, Granny."

Mabel spoke very calmly and gently, but the mother's ear detected something different in the tone of her voice. She stretched out her hand to grasp that of Mabel.

"Better reason, better reason—you've not heard anything of him, have you? Oh, tell me if you have, dear Miss Mabel, and do not keep me in suspense."

And Mabel told her all, and read her the letter over and over again, and then left her, overpowered with joy and gratitude, and repeating to herself,—

"My son, my dear son! 'He was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found.'"

Granny Hale got better rapidly. That blessed letter, she said, had done her more good than all the medicine in the world. Before the end of the week, she was able to be downstairs again, and as the probable time for her son's arrival drew nearer, she would sit at her cottage door for hours together, listening to catch the sound of strange footsteps.

It was about three weeks after the receipt of the letter from Calcutta, that, one afternoon, a sunburnt man, carrying over his shoulder a bundle tied to a stick, sat resting himself on a stile not very far from Hazelbrook Hollow. He was about twenty years of age, and appeared to be in delicate health, for he put down his bundle with a weary look. We need not tell the reader that it was Tom Hale.

Many mingled thoughts, some of them very sad ones too, seemed to crowd his mind as he sat on the stile. His wasted youth, his broken-down health, his forsaken parent,—yes, they were bitter thoughts; and for a time the wanderer seemed almost overpowered by them. Then a ray of hope dawned upon his troubled soul. It might not yet be too late to make up, in some slight degree, to his poor mother for all the sorrow he had caused her.

If she were still alive, he—but the doubt itself was terrible; and falling on his knees, he prayed that God would, in His mercy, spare him this last great grief, and would bless his efforts, and give him grace to be a good son for the future. He arose from his knees comforted; but unable to bear the uncertainty as to whether his mother were alive or dead, he called to some labouring men who were going along the road at some little distance, and asked them if he was far from Hazelbrook Hollow.

"You're only a short distance, master," said they; "keep straight across the fields yonder; you can't miss your way. You'll pass a cottage close to a wood."

Tom Hale knew that cottage well.

"I know my way then, if I am to pass that cottage. Can you tell me who lives there now?"

"Old Granny Hale."

What joy it was to Tom to hear his mother's name! She was alive, then.

"She still lives there, then?"

"Yes; Sir Herbert wouldn't turn her away, poor thing, when she became blind."

"Blind! Is Mrs. Hale blind?"

"You must be a stranger in these parts not to know that. She has been blind ever since the fever she had when that good-for-nothing son of hers ran away, years ago."

The men passed on, and Tom Hale lifted his bundle, and took the well-known path across the fields. When he reached the last field before he came to his mother's cottage, his agitation became so great that he quickened his pace almost to a run.

Granny Hale was sitting at her door in the warm afternoon sunshine. Her knitting was on her lap, but her thoughts were far away, and her work had been forgotten.

Suddenly a hasty step was heard approaching.

Her cheeks became very pale, as half rising from her chair, she leaned forward to catch the sound more distinctly.

The garden gate opened, and the same step, now subdued, came gently up the path. In another instant, a pair of manly arms were thrown around her, and the fond mother and her repentant son had met to part no more on earth.