Running To Waste

The little goose dropped the captain’s arm, and fled to the sofa, covered her face with her hands, and sobbed aloud. The captain stared at her. It was evident to him she did love Harry; and his hatred of Miss Alice Parks grew stronger. But it was no time for a scene; and he sat himself down beside Becky, put his arm around her, and penitently promised to be quiet, and not interfere. He gradually succeeded in bringing Becky into a lighter mood; and as the refreshed company from the dining-room drifted that way, the party on the sofa were hugely enjoying a joke the captain had perpetrated for the benefit of his companion.

In due time the dining-room was cleared of the fragments of the feast, the tables rolled against the walls, and, with Harry as master of ceremonies, a succession of familiar in-door pastimes was inaugurated for the younger members of the company. “Fox and Geese,” “Blind Man’s Buff,” and “Hunt the Slipper,” gave pleasant entertainment to the light-hearted revellers.

Nor did the happy occasion end here. Mr. Clairborn, the chorester, had been running about the room, watching Mr. Arnold with a feverish excitement he found hard to control. At last that worthy individual, to set a good example to his parishioners, tucked his good wife under his arm and departed. Then Mr. Clairborn ran to the sofa and from behind it took a long green bag, of peculiar shape, and from the bag he took – a fiddle, to the amazement of certain staid neighbors, who thought the man crazy. Of these people he took not the least notice, but, with his instrument in full view, marched to the head of the dining-room.

Instantly there was a shout, “A dance! a dance!” A dance in Deacon Thompson’s house! He’d soon put a stop to that. Anxious looks were cast in his direction; but he was busy talking to Mrs. York, and took not the least notice of what was going on about him.

“Hull’s Victory; take your partners!” shouted Mr. Clairborn.

The captain did not move; the company did. There was a moment’s bustle, and then Mr. Clairborn’s bow went dancing across his fiddle, and twenty happy couples danced up and down the dining-room. Then came “Virginia Reel.” “Money Musk,” “Fisher’s Hornpipe,” and a regular succession of good old contra dances, with a merry accompaniment of glib tongues and happy laughter. O, captain, you are laying yourself open to a severe reckoning at the next church meeting. Little cared the stubborn captain what might come of his folly. “Eat, drink, and be merry.” The lost son was home again. They might make a bonfire of his old house; but they should never forget this night.

In the height of their merriment, a strange figure dashed into their midst. It was Aunt Hulda.

“Stop, quick! Where’s Becky Sleeper?”

The music ceased, and all gazed at the weird figure which, with glaring eyes and dishevelled hair, stood in their midst.

“Here, Aunt Hulda, what’s the matter?” and Becky stepped from her place among the dancers.

“O, Becky! Becky! home, quick! Your mother’s had another shock!”

Becky screamed, and ran after Aunt Hulda, who immediately turned and left the house. There was no more dancing: the company quietly dispersed. When the last guest had departed, Mrs. Thompson put on her shawl, and with Harry and the captain, started for the house across the bridge. The church clock struck eleven.

At that very moment the train entered the depot at Foxtown, and from it jumped a stout, long-bearded weather-bronzed man.

Aunt Hulda was right. A second stroke of paralysis had fallen upon Delia Sleeper, sealing the lips that had so often of late uttered tender words of love to the heart-broken child, who now lay weeping upon her breast. There was no sign of life upon that pale face, save in the eyes that wandered from face to face, and sought the open door with a wishful look. They were all about her, – Aunt Hulda, Mrs. Thompson, Harry, the captain, Teddy, – all anxiously waiting the verdict of Dr. Allen. Soon the doctor made his appearance, soberly examined his patient, gave a few whispered instructions to Aunt Hulda, and left the room, followed by the captain.

“O, mother, speak to me! only speak to me!” sobbed Becky. “Tell me you forgive me for leaving you. I didn’t know this was coming – indeed I didn’t. Forgive me dear, dear mother!”

No sound from the lips, but the eyes sought the dear face with a troubled look.

“Nay, Becky,” said Mrs. Thompson, “you have done no wrong. It was your mother’s wish that you should go to-night.”

The roving eyes thanked the good woman for her interpretation of their language.

“No, no; it was wrong to leave her. She’ll die, and leave me – I know she will.”

“Hush, Becky,” said Aunt Hulda. “The doctor said she’d rally. Great care is necessary. Another shock would be fatal.”

Thus admonished, Becky grew very quiet, but knelt at the side of the bed, with her eyes fastened upon her mother’s. Mrs. Thompson tried to take her from the room, but she waved her off. Notwithstanding the doctor’s whispered hope, dread forebodings filled the hearts of all the watchers of that pale face, with its gleaming eyes. For an hour that room was as quiet as if beneath a spell. No one there could be of the least assistance; yet not one departed. So quiet, that the far-off noise of wheels at that late hour startled them; and a sudden light dilated the watchful eyes upon the bed. They fastened upon the door, full of expectancy and hope.

The wheels drew nearer, nearer yet; they stopped before the house. A moment after there came a hurried tread; the door was thrown open, and in the room stood the long-expected husband, – Cyrus Sleeper.

“Delia, wife! home, home at last!”

Those wishful eyes fastened upon his face an instant, gleamed brighter still, and then closed – closed forever. Their work was done.

Faithful eyes; let them be covered. They have watched and waited for the ship; it has come, freighted with treasure; but not to enrich that loving heart. The ship has come, to meet another leaving an earthly port – God’s invisible bark, bearing one more purified soul out into the sea of eternity, unto the haven of heavenly bliss. Speedy shall be thy voyage, gentle mother. Behind thee are tears and lamentations, and the memory of thy patient endurance of adversity’s long trial; before thee lies the new life. Freed from earthly bonds, eager to do thy Maker’s work in the great hereafter, loving spirits, with glad hosannas, shall welcome thy coming to the port of peace.

CHAPTER XIV.
TWO YEARS AFTER

The little brown house on the hill vanished; in its place stands a modern mansion, broad and high, attractively arrayed in white and green, with commodious out-buildings, broad walks and flower-beds about it; a wide and well-cultivated vegetable patch stretching to the water, with a young orchard, handsome and vigorous, away to the right. There are evidences of abundant means in its laying out, and of rare taste in its nurture. It is still the Sleeper place, and Captain Cyrus Sleeper is the head of its household. When the earthly remains of Delia Sleeper had been laid away in the quiet churchyard, and the serious faces of the gossips of Cleverly had resumed their wonted aspect, eager was the desire of these curious people to know the cause of the long absence of the captain; and the stricken household were not long left to the solitude they coveted.

The captain’s story was very brief. Generally a man of voluble tongue, the sad scene which had greeted his return home seemed to have so shocked him, that his communications were abrupt, often rude, and entirely unsatisfactory to the news-seekers.

He had been to California, among the first adventurers to the Golden State, had struck gold with the earliest, and at the end of a year’s absence from home, returned to San Francisco well laden with treasure. Here a thirst for speculation took hold of him; and, without experience, he became the gull of a set of sharpers, and in less than three months was penniless. Back to the mines again, but with a sterner experience. The mines were overcrowded, gold was harder to find, and still harder to keep. Yet he worked away for eighteen months, recovered all he had lost, and came back to San Francisco, determined to start for home. But this time he had a partner; and before the division of the hard-won nuggets was made, his partner, thinking a whole loaf better than half a loaf, vanished with the joint stock, leaving Sleeper with barely enough to reach home.

At this time news of the gold discoveries in Australia reached California, and thirsty Sleeper started for the new fount, to fill his empty pitcher. His good luck returned to him, and, after long and patient delving, the coveted treasure was in his grasp. Taught wisdom by experience, he banked his gold as fast as gained, and when he reached Boston was worth at least three hundred thousand dollars.

He reached home, a wealthy man, to find his wife dying of neglect; to find she had not heard from him for years. He could not understand it. Had he written? Certainly, often. But no letters had ever reached her. Yet when closely questioned, it appeared he had only written twice, being a man with whom penmanship was a most unmanageable craft, and had entrusted his epistles to the care of others. He was a fair type of too many sailors; the bonds of affection held strong at home; but away, the driving winds and tossing waves snapped them, and they were useless to guide the giddy rover.

Cyrus Sleeper mourned his wife deeply for a while, and then his bustling spirit set itself to work. He was proud of his daughter; gazed upon her with admiration; watched her quick steps and ready tact in household affairs, and swore a big sailor oath to himself that she should have the best home in Cleverly. He kept his word. He went to Captain Thompson, and asked him to take his child until he could build. The captain took them all – his friend, Becky, Teddy, even Aunt Hulda; and for a year they were the inhabitants of his house.

Then the old house came down, and the new structure went up. With ready money and a pushing spirit, Cyrus Sleeper found men and materials ready at his command; and after a year’s absence the family returned to the old spot, to find it entirely metamorphosed, as if by the hands of an enchanter.

During this year Becky had not been idle. Though the necessity for work had passed away, the spirit of independence still hovered about her. She had made a contract with Mr. Woodfern, and she determined to fulfil it. She found drawing on wood no easy matter; but she resolutely persevered, and in a fortnight sent her three blocks to Mr. Woodfern. Two were accepted; the third was returned, with the concise message, “Try again,” and matter for three new illustrations. Emboldened by her success, she worked at her drawing through the winter, with a constantly growing love for her task, and ever increasing show of improvement, until no blocks were returned, and the engraver clamored for more.

Nor did her usefulness end here. Eager to relieve Mrs. Thompson of a part of the burden which her large family entailed upon her, she dashed into domestic affairs with alacrity, and proved an able assistant, and a ready solver of the mysteries of housekeeping. Another loving and holy task – the care of her mother’s grave – was never neglected. Daily the grave, which bore a white slab at its head, on which the name “Mother” was carved, was visited by her on whose heart that dear name was so indelibly engraved; and twining vines and fresh white flowers gave token of the fond affection of the motherless child.

Poor Aunt Hulda having thus unexpectedly become an inmate of Captain Thompson’s house, where she was treated with the utmost respect, had a return of her old grumbling programme, to the dismay of Becky. Having no active employment to keep her mind off herself, it was no wonder that the appetite she had so long supplied should grow restive. But not until the spinster spoke of going over to “help” Parson Arnold’s wife, did Becky hit upon a cure for her nervousness. Then it suddenly occurred to her that there were others who needed real “help,” and so, taking Aunt Hulda to her chamber, she spread out a neat little campaign of charity, in which Aunt Hulda, furnished with a well-filled purse, and unlimited freedom to call upon her for supplies, was to enact the role of an angel of mercy, because Becky was “so busy.” This dispelled the vapors at once. The homely angel took up her mission with alacrity; and many a poor creature in Cleverly blessed the dear old maid for her ministrations, with tears of gratitude.

When the new house was finished, and they had moved in, Cyrus Sleeper walked over to settle with Captain Thompson. He found this no easy matter. Captain Thompson would not listen to it. He had induced Delia Sleeper to embark with him in speculation; she had lost all, and it was his duty to care for her and her children. As for the living during the year, they had taken them as visitors; were glad to have them, and would take them again willingly.

Captain Sleeper was determined, and Captain Thompson obstinate; and they came to pretty high words, and parted, vowing they would never speak to each other again. Becky tried to reconcile them, and at last made them agree to leave the matter to a referee for settlement, she to name the party. To their surprise, she named Aunt Hulda. That distinguished character immediately locked herself in her room, – for she had an apartment in the new house.

For a week she worked at accounts, partly drawn from her wise old head. At the end of that time she called the two captains before her, and placed in their hands a long bill. “Captain Sleeper debtor to Captain Thompson,” in which every item of provisions and clothing, that Captain Thompson had paid for, figured, and the sum total of which amounted to seven hundred dollars, which Captain Sleeper must pay. Captain Sleeper wrote a check, payable to the order of Captain Thompson, for one thousand dollars – he wouldn’t pay a cent less. Captain Thompson took the check, without a word, wrote across the back of it, “Pay to Hulda Prime,” and handed it to the astonished woman.

“That’s the fee for your work. Now don’t let’s hear any more about a settlement.”

The two captains shook hands; Becky hugged Aunt Hulda, and told her they had served her just right. The spinster tried to speak, but couldn’t, for her tears. The matter was satisfactorily settled forever, and the hitherto penniless referee found herself no penniless bride, when the new mill being in successful operation, Mark Small took her to a home of her own, and the romantic episode in the life of an old maid became one of the chronicles of Cleverly.

Teddy Sleeper, by mutual consent of the two captains, was regularly apprenticed to the trade of ship carpentering – an occupation which soon reduced his weight, enlarged his muscles, and increased his appetite. Hard work dissipated his once sluggish disposition; a love for his trade aroused ambition; and Captain Thompson had the satisfaction of knowing his protege would in time become a successful ship-builder.

Harry Thompson entered the office of Squire Alden, to study law, to the delight of his father, and took to work so earnestly that the scheming captain could not find it in his heart to risk another rupture by opening his batteries for the purpose of defeating the alliance which he had many reasons for believing was at some future time to be completed between his son and Alice Parks.

Two years after the death of her mother found Becky Sleeper mistress of her father’s home, with unlimited means at her command, yet careful and prudent in its management, relying upon her tried friends – Aunt Hulda and Mrs. Thompson – for advice; always cheerful, yet ever earnest, doing her best for the comfort of all about her, moving easily in her exalted sphere, with all the roughness of her tomboy days quite worn away, and the graces of gentle, cultivated womanhood shining all about her.

Cleverly folks were prouder of the young housekeeper than they had been of the brave girl. Captain Sleeper was a social man, and would have a lively house, and many and brilliant were the gatherings over which Becky presided. Yet she liked the neighborly company of Captain Thompson, or Aunt Rebecca, or Harry best of all. The latter made himself quite at home there, and of course Cleverly people talked about it, and made a match at once.

Yet the young people spoken of hardly acted like lovers. They were not in the habit of secreting themselves among the window curtains, or wandering down the walks hand in hand, or conversing in that mysterious language of the eyes so tender and significant. And so at last the good people believed themselves mistaken, and the wife-seeking young fellows of the neighborhood took courage, and laid siege to the richly-endowered heart of Miss Becky Sleeper.

One of the number – Herbert Arnold, son of the pastor, a slim, delicate young man – became a frequent visitor, and threw longing glances through the glasses of his gold-rimmed spectacles, and paid much attention to Aunt Hulda, whose pies were his exceeding delight, and listened to the captain’s long yarns without a yawn, and went away firmly convinced he was making an impression upon the heart of Becky. But the young lady shut the door after him, with a smile, and turned away, to dream of somebody else.

The last rays of an October sun were decking the broad piazza of the house with a golden glow. It had been a busy day with Becky, and, a little weary, she threw open the door, to breathe the air, after her long season of labor. Sitting on the steps, tracing in the sand before him with a cane, was Harry Thompson, evidently busy with some problem. With a smile, she cautiously slipped behind him, and looked at his work. No difficult problem tasked his cane; only a name written in the sand – “Becky Sleeper.” She started back, and a flush deeper than the sun could paint overspread her face.

“Why, Harry! you here?”

The name quickly disappeared from the sands, and a flushed face turned towards her.

“Yes – O, yes – how do you do? Nice evening – isn’t it?” answered Harry, hurriedly.

“Why, what in the world are you doing there? Why don’t you come in?”

“Thank you; not just now. I’m very busy thinking.”

“Indeed! Then perhaps I’d better retire. I wouldn’t for the world interrupt your new occupation,” said Becky; and a merry laugh rippled on her lips.

“That’s right; laugh, Becky. It’s an old occupation, that, very becoming to you,” returned Harry. “It reminds me of the days when we were both so young and innocent. Ah, those good old days! We were great friends then, Becky.”

“I hope we are good friends now, Harry.”

“Of course we are. But now you are quite a woman, full of cares; yet a brave, good, noble little woman, rich and courted.”

“Thanks to those who trained the vine once running to waste, flatterer. What I am I owe to those who loved me; what I might have been without their aid, not all the riches in the world could have prevented.”

“True, Becky. By the by, I have a letter from an old friend will interest you. Oh such startling news?”

Becky colored, yet compressed her lips resolutely. Always that old friend.

“From Alice Parks?” she said.

“Yes, from Alice Parks. You know what an interest I take in that young lady’s welfare, and you shall share in my delight. Look at that.”

He handed her a letter; she took it with a pang of uneasiness; mechanically unfolded it. There dropped from it two cards, fastened with white ribbon. Harry picked up the cards and handed them to her. She glanced at them.

“O, Harry! she’s married!”

“Certainly. Mr. George Woodfern and Miss Alice Parks, after a long and patient courtship, have united their destinies. The designing young woman having engraved herself upon the heart of the young engraver, the new firm is ready for business.”

“O, Harry, I’m so sorry!” faltered Becky.

“Sorry? for what, pray? They’ll be very happy.”

“Sorry for you, Harry. They will be happy; but you – you – you loved her so dearly – didn’t you?”

“Sorry for me? Well, I like that!” And Harry indorsed his liking with a hearty laugh. “Loved her? Why, Becky, what put that into your head?”

Becky was confused. She thought of the uneasiness she had caused Captain Thompson by her suspicions, to say nothing of the uneasiness she had caused herself.

“Why, Harry, you wrote to her, and she wrote to you; and I told your father that I thought you were engaged.”

“Indeed! that accounts for the old gentleman’s fidgets when I received a letter. No, Becky, I admired, and do admire, that young lady; but love her! make her my wife! I never had the least idea of it. My heart is engaged elsewhere.”

“Indeed! I never heard of it.”

“That’s my misfortune, then. I have always loved a dear old playmate, one whom I have watched grow into a strong and beautiful woman; whom I would not wrong with the offer of my hand until I had fully proved my power to win my way in the world. Do you know her, Becky?”

He still sat there, looking up into her face, with eyes so full of strong and tender love, that Becky was almost sure she saw her own image mirrored there; and her heart beat wildly.

“Becky, must I say more?”

He looked at her mischievously; then turned and traced upon the sands the name again – “Becky Sleeper.”

“O, Harry, Harry! I’m so glad, so glad!”

She sank down by his side; his arm was about her, and her head was on his breast. Very much like lovers, now. So thought Mrs. Thompson, as she stepped inside the gate; so thought two old fellows, who just then came from the barn towards them.

“Look there, Cyrus, old boy; there’s poaching on your ground.”

“All right, Paul – if my dove must go. It will be tenderly nurtured there.”

And so, in due time, the “Tomboy” became a lovely bride; and the name Harry Thompson had shaped upon the sand, was written in the old family Bible; and another generation of Thompsons sported in the orchard, and plucked fruit from the old tree where Becky Sleeper had long ago been found Running to Waste.