The old man went on in the same kind but plain and impressive manner. At first Mrs. Royden had been impatient to return to her work; but the words of wisdom, each a golden link, formed a chain to hold her gently back. Her hands fell upon her lap, her eyes sought the floor, and it was not long before her cheeks were wet with downward-coursing tears.

And still the old man talked. Such sweet, simple, earnest and touching eloquence, her soul had never tasted. He did not forget to plead for Hepsy,--the lonely, unhappy and oft down-trodden girl, for whom her pity was seldom moved; and now she wept to think how thoughtless and cruel she had sometimes been.

Mrs. Royden was altogether softened,--was quite melted. Then the old man added words of hope and comfort; he drew a picture of her sensitive, irritable, but loving and n.o.ble-hearted husband, made happy by her cheerfulness, aided and encouraged by her to conquer his impetuous and petulant temper; he described the children growing up under mild influences, with such sunny dispositions and gentle natures as reap the golden grain of content, and love, and tranquil joy, in the rich, wide fields of life.

He ceased at the right moment. Pressing her hand affectionately, he took his hat and went forth. She returned to her work. The angels must have smiled, for what a change was there! No more fretting, no more scolding, no more angry looks and impatient words, no more impetuous rushing into the stern arms of labor; but gentleness of manner, a low-toned word now and then, thoughtfulness, and some few silent tears, astonished Hepsy and Sarah, and led the guilty Sam to think that this strange calmness boded ruinous storms, to burst with sudden eruptions of thunder and quick cross-lightnings upon his devoted head.

XX.

THE HAY-FIELD.

Father Brighthopes felt much refreshed in the open air. His heart expanded, his soul went up on wings of light towards G.o.d.

"I have done my duty, thanks to the Giver of strength!" he murmured, with deep inward peace. "Oh, Lord, bless unto her the seed of truth thy servant has scattered upon the th.o.r.n.y ground of her heart!"

Birds sang around him; fearless squirrels chattered at him, from fences and limbs of trees, with fan-like, handsome tails curved proudly over their backs; and the beautiful sunshine kissed his aged cheek.

In the distance he heard the cheerful sound of the mowers whetting their scythes, in the sweet air of June. His heart leaped with joy, as he followed along the gra.s.sy orchard path. In a little while he came in sight of the hay-field. A pleasing picture met his eye, and he stopped to look upon it.

A st.u.r.dy laborer stood manfully erect, his scythe at his feet, with the blade buried in a fresh swath, and the water-jug elevated at right angles from his perpendicular, with its nose just beneath his own.

Chester, rosy, perspiring, his straw hat set carelessly upon one side of his head, stood leaning on his scythe. His father was whetting the obstinate tool which he had been deterred from grinding properly by the ill-timed laziness of Sam. The second hired laborer was seated upon a heap of gra.s.s, under the fence, fanning his brown face with his broad hat-brim; and, still nearer the orchard, James was scattering the swaths with a pitchfork, in the midst of the wide s.p.a.ce which the mowers had already gone over.

It was a handsome meadow; the ground high and rolling, the gra.s.s waving in the distance, a cornfield on the right, a hilly pasture on the left, and a green grove still further to the south. The old clergyman stood in the midst of the orchard trees, admiring the picture, until Mr. Royden, uttering some pleasant jest, swung his scythe into the tall gra.s.s, followed by the two hired men and Chester in regular succession, at each other's heels.

Father Brighthopes found a fork by the orchard fence, and went to help James spread hay. Having gone once across the field with one of Chester's light swaths, he took off his coat, and hung it upon the fence by the pasture; having gone back again, he removed his vest; and one more turn brought off his neckcloth.

"You go to work like an old farmer," cried Mr. Royden, coming out with his swath, and shouldering his scythe.

"Yes," said Father Brighthopes, cheerily; "I ought to, at least, for I was bred a farmer's boy, and now I _am old_, sure enough."

"Well, I would advise you to take it easy."

"I mean to; risk me for that!"

"But there is danger of your hurting yourself before you think of it,"

said the careful farmer.

The clergyman thanked him for the kind warning, and stopped to pick some berries in the corner of the fence. Mr. Royden waited for the other mowers to get out.

"Chester," said he, "you don't point out well. Carry your scythe a little lower as you bring it around. There! You will make a famous mower, with practice," he added, encouragingly. "Don't try to cut too wide a swath."

At that moment James was heard to utter a loud shout, and, looking up, Mr. Royden saw him running at full speed towards the pasture fence.

"What is the matter?"

"That confounded mischievous colt!" cried James.

"I declare!" exclaimed Mr. Royden, suddenly, "that cunning brute has got hold of your coat, Father Brighthopes!"

"Ha!" said the clergyman. "My coat? That will never do, at all. Where is the little rascal?"

"Don't chase him, James!" cried Mr. Royden. "You will only make the matter worse."

But James did not hear. The colt, with the clergyman's coat between his teeth, was capering over the hill. James ran after him, throwing pebble-stones and shouting, while the hired laborers leaned their great strong arms upon the fence, and laughed broadly at the fun.

"What a playful animal!" exclaimed Father Brighthopes, laughing as heartily as any. "He thinks he is doing a wonderfully pretty trick."

Suddenly the colt stopped, dropped the garment, and, looking round at James, whom he had distanced by some twenty rods, darted from the top of the hill. This was not all. While the youth ran panting up the acclivity, he returned to the coat, and began to tear it with his teeth and fore-feet; but James put an end to that fun, by sending a well-aimed stone to the very center of his neck, upon which the mischievous animal s.n.a.t.c.hed up the garment again, and went galloping off with it to the further extremity of the field.

Mr. Royden, Chester and one of the hired men, had to go to the a.s.sistance of James, and drive the colt into a corner, before the booty could be recovered. When it was finally seized by Chester from under his very feet, it was not worth much. It had been shamefully trampled and torn.

But Father Brighthopes laughed pleasantly, as they brought it back to him.

"The shrewd dog!" said he; "as long as I kept at work, he was too conscientious to touch my coat; but the moment I stopped to pick berries, he thought he would teach me a lesson."

"I am sorry,--sorry!" exclaimed the mortified farmer.

"Oh, it is not a great loss! It will not ruin me. I think I shall recover from the damage. Bad work he made with it, didn't he?" laughed the old man, holding up the wreck of cloth. "It is fortunate I did not wear my best coat out here. It isn't so bad as if I had not another to my back. You have no more colts over in the cornfield, to take as good care of my vest, I trust?"

As the men looked in the direction of the vest, they saw Mark Wheeler, the jockey, coming towards them, across the lot. He was walking very fast, and pa.s.sion contracted his features.

"Mr. Royden," said he, with forced calmness, "are you pretty busy just now?"

"You see I am holding my own with these hearty young men," replied the farmer.

"I'll work for you enough to make up for lost time," said Mark, "if you will go over and look at my new horse."

"What is the matter with him?"

"He has hurt his eye."

"Hurt his eye? How?" asked Mr. Royden.

"You will see; I can't stop to explain now," answered Mark, showing more and more agitation. "If you can, I wish you would go right over now."

"Oh, well, I will," said Mr. Royden. "Let me carry my scythe to the other end of the swath. Come, Father Brighthopes, would you like to take a short walk?"

The old man, thinking he had exercised about enough for one forenoon, willingly left the meadow in company with Mr. Royden, Chester and Mark the jockey; having first, to the great amus.e.m.e.nt of the spectators, put on the farmer's loose coat, to avoid getting cold in his aged bones.

XXI.

THE SWAMP-LOT.