Chapter IX: ,

HOME AGAIN.

And so they drove off. Arrived at Woodcliff, Maddy returned to her old pursuits and pleasures. It was a happy little group that gathered that evening at the widow's cottage. Madeline, anxious to take the promised picture, invited her cousins to accompany her.

"Not I," answered Lavinia; "you must really excuse me; Lucy can do as she pleases, but I have no taste for such plebeian associates."

"Every one to her taste," replied Maddy. "Come, Lucy, let us go."

It was a warm welcome that was extended to them, and when Madeline handed her picture to Mrs. Bruce,

"Thank you, my dear child," was the quick answer; "you could have brought me nothing which I shall so much value; it is such a perfect likeness."

"I am glad that you are pleased, Mrs. Bruce; and I am so happy to be at home again."

"Have you had a pleasant visit, Madeline?"

"Yes, indeed, I have learned such sweet lessons from my precious Aunt Clara; she is so good, and so happy. She lives religion, Mrs. Bruce; she does not talk it as some people do; but pray excuse me, and here is my cousin Lucy who has come down to stay with me."

"I am glad to see her for your sake, Madeline; but here come Roland and Effie; how glad they will be!"

"I'll just hide behind the door, don't tell;" and in a minute she had concealed herself, until the children were fully in the house.

Suddenly springing out from her concealment, Effie could not restrain her joy, and folded Maddy in a heart-warm embrace, while Roland, with beaming eyes, extended both hands, and said, with deep emotion, "You are welcome, Maddy, back among us. Woodcliff is nothing without you."

Madeline kept her young friends constantly busy going from place to place, and showing them all the amusements around the Hall.

Lucy was enchanted; for, being simple-hearted, nothing pleased her so much as the charming scenes of nature; but Lavinia's tastes were so much perverted, that green trees, shady lanes, quiet skies, and even the grand and glorious ocean, had no charms for her.

One afternoon, the three girls, accompanied by Hector, took their accustomed walk to the sea-shore. Madeline was in high spirits, and mounted the highest rock, leading her cousins after her; she skipped about from point to point, and at last clambered down the sides of the little cove, which was easily crossed at low tide. In the excitement of their play, running races with Hector, they had rambled far up the beach, forgetting entirely the rising tide. Maddy, in her wild frolic, had taken off her shoes and stockings, and had amused herself by wading in the water. Evening was approaching, and when they returned, they found it impossible to cross; the tide had risen so high, that the cove was entirely impassable. Madeline was now alarmed, for there was no other way of return but by the cove; fortunately, she had left her hat tied to the flag-staff, and with the quickness of thought she called Hector, and throwing a stick across the cove, sent him in search; he dashed through the water, and stood barking loud upon the other side, for he seemed to understand their danger--up and down he ran, then up to the top of the rock as if to search for some one; at last, he came bounding back, as if to tell good news; his bark was no longer one of alarm, it was one of joy.

"Hector has found some one," said Madeline; "I know his ways, he does everything but talk."

Lavinia began to wring her hands. "What shall we do? we can't stay here all night."

"I should not like it much, Lavinia," replied Maddy; "but I think that somebody is coming."

In another minute, Roland appeared on the top of the rock.

"Don't be alarmed; I'll bring help soon;" and, dashing through the water, he took Madeline in his arms, saying,

"Don't be afraid, I can carry you; it is not far across, and nothing else can be done."

The water by this time had reached his armpits, but as Madeline kept quiet, he succeeded in landing her in safety on the other side. It was not so easy to carry the others. Lucy was older and larger, but willing to be directed by Roland, she also crossed in safety; and Hector manifested his joy at each landing, by barking loudly and licking the hands of the young ladies, especially his pet Madeline.

But Lavinia's folly had nearly cost her life; first by her ridiculous airs while the water was rising, then her fears about her delicate dress, then her squeamishness about allowing Roland to carry her. At last, he had to say,

"There is not another minute to lose," and, seizing Lavinia without her consent, he commenced the crossing. The water was now above his shoulders; Lavinia writhed, and struggled, and screamed; Roland tried to pacify her, but in vain.

"I cannot hold you, miss, unless you are quiet."

But it was all in vain--and in the struggle, Roland tripped in the water, and Lavinia fell from his arms; for a moment, she disappeared; Roland, too, in his efforts to reach her, was struggling under the water. Hector sprang into the water, and in another minute, was carrying the silly girl to the shore.

Madeline was in agony, her cheek pale as death, for Roland had not yet risen; in another second, her fears were relieved; he regained his feet, and soon reached the shore in safety.

Lavinia was dreadfully frightened; her mouth filled with sea-water, and her clothes drenched with the bath.

"How did you find us, Roland?" asked Maddy.

"Hector's bark alarmed me; I traced you by your shoes on the rock, and your hat upon the flag-staff."

"How can we thank you, Roland?" continued the child; "what should we have done without you?"

Lucy too, returned her thanks; but Lavinia, in whose behalf he had incurred the most risk, coldly replied:

"How could you let me drop, sir? I have spoiled my handsome dress, and my new shoes."

Roland did not answer; but Madeline replied with a flashing eye,

"Aren't you ashamed of yourself, Lavinia Raymond? when Roland really risked his life to save yours. Have you no thanks?"

"Thanks for what? spoiling my beautiful dress?"

"Lavinia Raymond, you are a fool! I have no patience with you!"

"Oh, Maddy! don't talk so; think of dear Aunt Clara," said Lucy.

"She makes me so mad, I can't help it."

Roland, by this time, had disappeared, having gone to one of the cottages on the beach, and found that Lavinia could get dry clothes there.

There was no time to be lost; the party hurried to the hut; Lavinia had to endure the mortification of being dressed in the clothes of the fisherman's daughter, and all the party to ride home in an old cart. There was nothing else to be done, and by this time, our changing, impulsive Maddy had forgotten all her indignation towards Lavinia, and was in a perfect gale of merriment at the ludicrous figure which they made in the old ricketty cart.

"Really, Miss Raymond, no one would know you in this queer dress. We would make a fine tableau, would we not, Lucy?"

It was some time before Madeline escaped again to the shore, for her father was really alarmed at the result of this dangerous excursion.

Maddy began to long for her harp lessons. Having confided her secret to Aunt Matilda, they began to wonder how they should continue to go on without Mr. Hamilton's knowledge. Most unexpectedly, an opportunity offered.

"What says my little daughter about parting with papa for a few months?" said Mr. Hamilton.

"Why, papa; where are you going?" replied the child.

"I am called, suddenly, to Europe, and will be gone four or five months."

"How can we do without you, papa?"

"The time will pass very rapidly, Maddy; you will still continue at school, and Mademoiselle will go on with the French lessons at home."

The next week Mr. Hamilton departed. Aunt Matilda hired a harp from Boston, and engaged the same teacher to come twice a week to give lessons, as there was a railroad sufficiently near to make this practicable. Madeline devoted herself most assiduously to her music lessons, for she was determined to surprise her father on his return. Her talent was remarkable, and progress accordingly rapid.

She was so much occupied, that she saw but little of the Bruces, for during the stay of her cousins, her father had given her permission to stay from school. Roland missed his little friend, and wondered what was keeping her so long away. Still, occasionally he met her on her accustomed walks and rides, but always in company with her young friends, and a passing bow or smile was all that he received.

One autumn evening, however, in his rambles, Madeline suddenly stood before him.

"How do you do, Roland?" said the child, extending her hand, "it seems so long since we have had one of our pleasant chats."

"How long will your friends stay, Maddy?"

"Some weeks longer, Roland, and I am so busy; do you know that I am taking harp lessons to surprise papa? He will be gone some months yet, and when he returns I shall be able to play. Would you like to hear me, Roland?"

"Yes, Madeline, if it were possible."

"How did you spend your time when I was in Boston, Roland?"

"I went regularly to Woodcliff every Saturday, and took advantage of Mr. Hamilton's permission to use his library, and all the leisure moments I had, I employed in reading; it was not much, but I used to sit up one hour later, and thus read a great deal."

"What books did you choose, Roland?"

"The lives of wise and good men, Maddy, especially such as had to endure hardships in their youth; and I found that most of these great men had to struggle in their early years; and I found too, Maddy, that those who left the brightest mark in the world were believers in the blessed Bible; others made impressions while they lived, but they are almost forgotten now; but Christian philosophers and statesmen are those whom God honors."

"How is it, Roland, that all your thoughts and words seem filled with the Bible? Other boys are not like you."

"Because it was my daily food; rising up, and lying down, in the house, and by the wayside, it is, Maddy, our household book; and you need not wonder that all my life has been so constantly under the power of its heavenly truths."

"I wish that I loved the Bible as you do, Roland; I have seen so much of its power at dear Aunt Clara's--she is such a lovely Christian; but I love to read other books so much better--will you come up next Saturday, Roland?"

"Yes, Maddy, I have a book to bring home--will you not let me hear some of your music then?"

"Certainly--I know two or three pretty pieces which I think you will like so much."

"I must go now, Maddy, for my mother will want me; good-bye, get ready to come to school soon;" and with these words, Roland turned towards his home.

Saturday came, and Madeline was tuning her harp at an early hour, in expectation of her young friend.

When Roland arrived, she was practising one of her sweetest pieces, and calling him into the parlor, she played all that she knew, while Roland stood enchanted with the music that he had never heard before.

"I have learned one hymn, Roland, for you, because I knew that you like sacred music;" and she sang with touching sweetness an evening hymn.

Lavinia Raymond was watching outside of the piazza the performance in the parlor, and as Roland passed out on his way home, the sneer with which she greeted him, was but a repetition of the insolence of other meetings.

"Madeline, are you really such a dunce as to let yourself down to that beggar boy?" asked Lavinia, as she entered the house.

"Listen to me, Lavinia; the Bruces are my friends, poor as they are; I honor and love them all, and you shall not sneer at them when I am near--you are not worthy to mention even the name of a Bruce."

"Quite theatrical, Madeline!--you would make an excellent actress; the flashing eye, the glowing cheek, the lofty head, and the proud step would very well suit a queen."

"Be silent, Lavinia, I will not submit to your insolence;" and Madeline haughtily left the room.

In a few minutes she entered, and extending her hand, said,

"Lavinia, forgive me; I was very rude to a guest, but you provoked me."

"You may enjoy your friends for me, Madeline; but I must say that I am sorry to see you throwing your attentions away upon plebeians."

"I am not doing so, Lavinia; it makes me happy to do anything for people so good as they are, for I do believe that they are the real children of God. I would that I were half so good."