THE WANDERERS FIND A HOME
MARY AND HER FATHER WANDERED on for many days without finding either work or a place where they could settle. They had traveled more than twenty miles; the money Anthony had given them was nearly spent, although they had lived as frugally as they could.
The very thought of asking charity was painful to them, yet at last they were compelled to do it, and painful indeed they found it. More than one door was rudely closed against them; sometimes a little morsel of broken bread was given with a careless or surly word of reproach, which they bore with meekness, and were contented with the dry bread and water from the nearest brook.
Sometimes people, more charitably disposed, invited them into their cottages and gave them a little soup or vegetables, or even such morsels of meat as were left from their own repasts. Often for many days together the poor wanderers had not one warm meal, and they were thankful to be allowed to spend the night in a barn.
One day their journey had been longer and more fatiguing than usual. They had taken a rugged and hilly path, and for a long time they had seen no house where they could ask refreshment. Worn out with fatigue and hunger, the poor old man was taken suddenly ill and sank down pale and speechless on a heap of dried leaves.
Mary was in an agony of terror. She sought in vain for water; not a drop was to be found near. She called aloud for help, but no voice replied. She hastily climbed the nearest height and looked eagerly round to see if there were any cottage in sight where she could hope to procure assistance, and at length she saw, in the middle of the wood on the opposite side of the hill, a solitary farmhouse, surrounded with beautiful meadows and fields of ripe corn. She ran down the hill as fast as she could and reached the farmhouse quite breathless. With tears in her eyes and a faltering voice, she implored help for her father.
The farmer and his wife, both elderly people, were charitable and kindhearted. They were touched by the tears and entreaties, the paleness and the terror, of the poor girl. The farmer's wife said to her husband, "Harness a horse into the cart as soon as you can; we must bring this poor old man here."
The farmer hastened to get ready a cart. His wife threw into it cushions and blankets, and filled a little pitcher with water, and a small bottle with vinegar.
Mary, having heard that the cart road, which led round the foot of the hill, was much longer than the way by which she had come right across it, took the pitcher of water and the vinegar, and hastened to return by the way which she came, that she might be sooner with her father.
By the time that she reached him, he had recovered a little; he had raised himself up and was looking eagerly round for Mary. His joy was great when she appeared bringing the water.
The cart came soon after, and he was taken to the farm. Behind the farmhouse there was a small cottage attached to it, intended for the farm laborers. It happened then to be unoccupied, and here James was conveyed.
The kind farmer's wife had prepared a good bed for him, into which he was put. She spared no pains to get everything comfortably arranged for Mary and brought her everything she could think of to do the old man good. His illness was the effect of fatigue and want of food, and all he required was rest and nourishment.
The good woman brought him plenty of milk, butter, eggs and meal; she even sacrificed some of her favorite fowls to make him nourishing soup, and the young pigeons which she had been keeping to carry to market were roasted for him when he was able to eat them.
The farmer and his wife had been accustomed to go once a year to a large fair in the neighborhood, which they considered a kind of festival. They resolved this year to remain at home, and to spend the money, which they had laid aside for some little luxuries at the fair, in buying some medicine to restore strength to the invalid.
Mary could not find words to thank them; but when every day she gave thanks and praise to God, who had raised up these kind friends for them in their utmost need, she prayed most earnestly, at the same time, that God would bless and reward their benefactors and restore to them a thousandfold all they were bestowing so freely.
Mary never left her father's side, yet she was not idle. Every moment she could spare for attending to his wants, she spent in sewing and knitting for the farmer's wife; her busy fingers never rested and never seemed to tire.
The farmer's wife was delighted with her activity and usefulness, her gentle and obliging disposition.
As soon as James's strength was a little restored by good food and rest, he too was anxious to be busy. His first work was a beautiful basket for the farmer's wife. He had guessed her taste exactly. The basket was large and strong, but at the same time very pretty. He had dyed some willows red, and woven with them, on the cover of the basket, the initials of her name, and the date when it was worked. Upon the sides he had contrived to weave, with willows of various color, a neat little picture of a cottage, with a few pine trees round it. This gave great pleasure to the farmer's wife, who was flattered and pleased by the allusion to the name of the farm, which was called Pine Farm.
When James had quite recovered his strength, he said one day to the farmer and his wife, "I have been long enough a burden to you; I must now go and try to find work."
The farmer, taking him kindly by the hand, said, "What whim is this, my dear James? I hope we have not offended you in any way. Why do you wish to leave us? It is not what I expected from a sensible man like you."
A tear came into the eye of the farmer's wife at the thought of losing them, for Mary was like a daughter to her. "Stay with us, my dear friends," said she. "The season is far advanced; the leaves are yellow already, they will soon fall; winter is at hand. Do you really wish to make yourselves ill again?"
James assured them that his only reason for wishing to go was the fear of being troublesome and a burden to them.
"Troublesome to us!" replied the farmer. "How can that be? You have your own little cottage there, which was empty before you came; you are not at all in our way, and you work for more than we give you."
"Oh yes," said his wife; "Mary's knitting and sewing alone is far more than all you have cost us. And if you are able to get on with your basket-making, James, you will make money. The last time I went to the mill in the village, I took your beautiful basket with me. Everybody coveted it; everybody wished to have one like it. I can get you as many orders as you please. You may sell as many as you can make; so if work is all that you want, just consent to remain with us."
James and Mary gladly agreed to stay, to the great delight of the farmer and his wife.
Reader, examine yourself. If you were left alone among strangers, do you possess any useful qualities or talents which would make them wish to keep you with them? Can you be of any use? Are you leading a useful life; or are you so wholly selfish and useless that, if you went away, no one would regret you; if you died, no one would miss you?