Part 20 (1/2)
Ashton was touched by the thoughtful kindness of his long-suffering wife, and he went over to where she was sitting and tenderly kissed er. ”You have been a true, good wife to me,” he said; ”G.o.d never blessed a man with a better one. So sinned against, and yet so forgiving; so faithful, so loving.” Tears were in his eyes as he spoke, and then he gently kissed her again; but Ruth never uttered a word.
He sat down on a chair which was near the table, and, leaning his head upon the latter, wept bitterly.
Little Mamie, who had grown considerably during the last year, had lost her baby manner, and possessed a mind much too mature for one of her age. She now spoke quite plainly, and seemed to understand the circ.u.mstances in which they were placed nearly as well as her elder brother and sister. She had of late always waited until she discovered what was her father's condition before she made any advances. If he was intoxicated she would sit, mute as a mouse, in the corner, with a look of thoughtful sorrow upon her face; but if he were not, she would steal gently up to him, climb upon his knee, and then, leaning her head upon his breast, kiss and fondle him, and coax him to tell her a story, or sing her one of his numerous hymns or songs.
And he always seemed happy to be the slave of this his youngest and frailest child, who, by her gentle witcheries, had so wiled herself into his affections as to have a power over him that no one else possessed.
He had not been sitting at the table long ere she gently crept up to him, and, climbing on to his knee, lifted his arm, and then nestled her cheeks to his until her streamlets of gold mingled with his grizzled locks.
”Oh, papa!” she said, ”don't cry--please, don't cry. I pray to G.o.d every morning and every night that He may keep the naughty men from giving you drink, and I am sure G.o.d will hear me; then you will be as you used to be, and mamma will not cry as she sometimes does now.”
Mamie little thought how her words went home to her father's heart--what feelings of shame and remorse they awakened.
”Oh, papa!” she said, ”I had such a wonderful dream last night. I dreamt I was in heaven, and it seemed such a beautiful place.
There were flowers far more lovely than any I ever saw on earth, and the trees were filled with birds of all colors; and they sang so sweetly--more sweetly than any I ever heard. And there were thousands and thousands of bright angels, and they had harps in their hands s.h.i.+ning like gold. And there were thousands of men, women, and children there, all dressed in white, with something bright and beautiful in their hands. And there seemed to be a great high throne, and some one sitting upon it--just such a throne as mamma showed me the other day in a book, only far more beautiful. And the face of the One who sat on the throne shone more brightly than the sun, and lit up all the place. Oh, papa! I was so happy--more than when I have been playing with Allie among the flowers on a bright summer's day. And the angels struck their golden harps; and as the people and children sang, the music was more delightful than I can tell. I felt I was selfish to listen all alone, and that I must run and tell you all, that you might hear it also. But, just as I was about to start, I looked up, and you were standing by my side, looking down at me. And, pa, you did not look like you do now, but as you used to look when I first knew you--as my own dear papa--only there was no gray in your hair. Then you smiled so sweetly upon me, that I knew you were happy; and your face was bright and s.h.i.+ning. I asked you where was mamma, Eddie, and Allie, that I might tell them what we were enjoying, and you said they were not here yet, but would be by-and-bye.
”Then it seemed as if we all left the throne and wandered by the beautiful river and picked the beautiful flowers that were so fragrant. Then I said, 'Oh, papa, I wish my mamma was here!' and just at that time I awoke, and mamma was standing by my bedside, smiling; for, it being morning, the sun was filling my room with light, and little d.i.c.kie was singing. I told mamma my dream, and she said she thought it was because of what she was reading to me, and the stories she told me before I went to bed; for, papa, she read that chapter which speaks of the 'great mult.i.tude which no man can number, who washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb.' And she read me of the walls so high and beautiful, and of the streets of gold. She said no earthly home could equal it. And she thinks this, with d.i.c.kie's singing and the sun's s.h.i.+ning, was what caused me to dream such a lovely dream. Do you think it was this that caused it, papa?”
Ashton looked down upon his fair, fragile young child, and, as he did so, he thought how far he had fallen from such purity as she possessed.
”No doubt, my dear,” he said, ”but your mamma's reading and the stories she told had something to do with your dream. But I think even the angels would come from heaven to whisper in the ears of one so good and beautiful as papa's little daughter.”
”Oh, papa!” she said, ”I wish we were all in heaven, and then we would be so happy. You would never drink again, because there would be no wicked men to give you whiskey; for mamma said, 'None that are wicked shall enter there,' and then mamma would not cry like she sometimes does now; because there shall be 'no sorrow there, and G.o.d shall wipe all tears from the eye.' Do you not wish we were there, papa?”
The tears were trickling down the cheeks not only of the father but also of Mrs. Ashton and Allie. She seemed to them too pure for earth, and fit for the a.s.sociation of those bright spirits of which she had been dreaming.
As her father did not speak--in fact he dare not make the attempt, for if he had he could not have controlled his emotion--her mother said:
”Mamie better not ask any more such questions. Papa, mamma, and all hope to be there some day; but we want to remain to work for and love each other until G.o.d sees fit to call us home. Now, my dear, do not say anything more about it to-night, because you make papa and mamma feel bad.”
Mamie was subdued into silence, for a request from her mother always exerted a great power over her. She nestled so closely to her father's breast that she could hear the beatings of his heart, which, though he had fallen so utterly, beat only for his dear ones at home.
It would certainly have been a subject worthy of a great painter to depict that pure, beautiful child, sitting upon the lap of her sinful, erring father. Her face so smooth and radiant, his so seamed and gloomy. Her eyes large, full, and deep, with the light of a pure soul finding expression through them; his, blood-red and bleared from the effects of his recent and frequent debauches, and with the despair which was eating, like a canker, deep down in the heart, manifesting its intensity in those exponents of its happiness or misery.
”Papa, your supper is waiting for you,” said Allie cheerfully.
”Come, mamma and Mamie, your chairs are ready.”
But we will leave this family scene to take our readers back to Porter's hotel.
CHAPTER x.x.xII.
A BAR-ROOM SETTLEMENT OF A MISUNDERSTANDING.
After Porter had been lifted to his feet, and had completely regained consciousness, he poured out a volley of oaths and foul expletives, and swore dire vengeance against Ashton and the unknown stranger who had championed his cause.
”I'll meet that fellow again,” he said; ”and when I do, I'll pay him with interest--you'll see if I don't; and if that drunken fool, Ashton ever enters this place again, I'll pitch him out quicker than he comes in. I have it in for him for giving me away to Old Service, and then swearing against me at the trial. Before long I'll get even with him for both.”
”If you were to throw him out, Porter, it might be worse for you and better for him,” said Stewart. ”If Ashton had all the money he has left with you, I guess he would be willing to be put out--and stay out, too. I know it would have been a good thing for me if you, and others like you, had turned me out long ago, and never let me in again.”
”I guess, Porter,” said Morris, banteringly, ”you'll not be in a hurry to meet that young chap again, for, as Tremaine said, 'his blow was like the kick of a horse.' Why, man, he knocked you as clean off your pins as if you had been a skittle! and I'll lay you any amount that he would use you up in five minutes. Don't you think he would, boys?”