“GET up, you lazy girl; it is: after five o'clock, and you lying there. I tell you what it is; if you are going to eat my bread, you will have to earn it first. I've worked hard in my day, and you will have to do it, too, or my name is not Betsy Cranstone.”
Emmie had been taken hastily to this woman, a distant relative of her father, and such were the words she heard on the morning after her arrival at Joe Cranstone's farm. The woman very reluctantly took her—the kid, as she called her. No person explained in any way the cause of the change, and the little clinging, loving heart was well-nigh broken. Let us not suppose that childhood has not its feelings.
This homestead was situated away up on the hills—a wooden shanty surrounded by hundreds of acres of barren-looking land. The rugged mountains, whose tops reared far away into the heavens, with not an acre of bush to relieve the eye, and scattered on them here and there were extinct craters, which showed to a passerby, if ever there were such a being in this outlandish spot, that though far away from the busy scenes of life, the footprints of the Creator were here; and His watchful eye at this moment was watching over that beautiful and lonely girl, who was in consternation listening to the words and harsh tones of Betsy Cranstone. The child was of very delicate organization; she wore such a look of refinement, and her expression was so sweet. Her well formed head was covered with a mass of auburn curls.
Poor Emmie awoke from a troubled sleep, wondering where she was; but though a child in years, she was not in mind, and the absence of her father and mother and the whole change of circumstances flitted through her little active mind, and the harsh tones of Betsy frightened away or rather prevented the outburst of her pent up feelings, which otherwise would have broken out.
Emmie, in her childish glee, had often frolicked on the green in front of the native school, where her father had scattered the seeds of truth. She had rambled in the woods gathering ferns and wild flowers. Her little voice had warbled sweet notes of praise in the Sunday class. She had been petted and loved by the children. Her refined and sensitive nature had never to succumb to harsh treatment. Her day had been one continual flow of happiness. And now in one short week all was changed, and Emmie was alone, yet not alone, for her father's God was with her.
“Savior, like a shepherd lead us,
Much we need Thy tender care.”
The poor child was taken ill, and Elizabeth was afterward told that she had almost lost her. Most unsuitable medicine was administered to the little one; so that God must have fully been the Author of her recovery. He who knows the end from the beginning was going to rejoice the mother's heart in giving her back her child. He can over-rule all things. When Elizabeth was told where her darling was, the child she had so loved and shielded, she received a great shock, and oh! the bitter pain of knowing she could not get to her.
It was the law that no inmate of an asylum could leave that institution till he or she had a home to be taken to.
The mother tried to forget the instrument used in caring for her child, and constantly prayed to the Shepherd of Israel, who never slumbers or sleeps, to shield her darling child. His ear was attentive to that mother's cries. His eye was on her child, "Shall not he who formed the ear hear, and shall not he who made the eye see?" That wondrous formation of ear and eye speaks of a wondrous Creator. Betsy in her rough way fed and "housed" the child; but she did not want her there.
There are many hearts with rough exteriors in the colonies, that when on England's shores possessed softened natures; but from colonial hardships in days gone by, and from having to battle with the stern realities of life, and without any fear of God before their eyes and ignorant of the One who is the great burden-bearer of His people, they have become selfish and hardened. Would that they knew the One, whose love can melt the heart of stone.
When Joe Cranstone was on English shores he had professed to belong to the Savior; but the love of drink, and the temptations of ungodly companions, together with the love of gold, had made him a fearful backslider. Could such a one have ever tasted the Savior's love? Still the great God above so loved mankind as to send His Son to die that all might be saved, and ere his soul is called hence, may he know and feel a Savior's love. He, too, as well as Emmie, had Christian parents. He had at times his moments of contrition, but turned to drink to drown remorse.
The child trembled to hear his drunken oaths at the table, and oh! how she longed for her mother. That mother she was soon to see, much sooner than she expected.
Elizabeth wrote a letter to Betsy, asking her to send Emmie to the station, and she would be there to meet her. One morning the child dressed herself as usual, and appeared in the doorway tremblingly. Betsy told her to come quickly to her breakfast, and then get herself ready to go in the buggy. Emmie dared not ask a question. The woman volunteered to remark "that her father was in a big hole." This was all the comfort that the fatherless child had bestowed on her.
Now that Betsy knew that she was to be rid of her, she was a little more kind in her articulations. Over rough roads was Emmie driven for many miles. Horses dashing fearlessly on, accustomed to rough roads and river passes. A vehicle swaying into the middle of the river was thought nothing of by colonials of earlier days; but to one of later date such experiences do not tend to soothe the nerves, if he has any.
However people soon get used to these things as to everything else. The dryness of the climate is very exhilarating, and the starlight nights, owing to this dryness, are magnificent. When Elizabeth's eyes first rested on the "Southern Cross" in the midst of the spangled heavens, she thought she had never seen aught so lovely.
On Emmie was driven on this eventful morning, and at last stopped at a primitive little railway station.