IN a small cottage, situated in a lonely Highland glen, lived a widow and her only son, a boy of ten years old. Willie Stuart scarcely remembered his father, who was lost in a snowstorm, leaving his family in great poverty; the neighbors, had, however, all been kind. The cottage was given at a merely nominal rent, and many a bit arid sup did they receive; but Nelly had an independent spirit, and exerted herself so as to be a burden to none, and to keep off the parish. This she effected by spinning, knitting, or doing any outdoor work that came in her way. By this means she not only preserved a respectable appearance, but even sent her boy to school for a few months. The widow herself was no scholar; she knew no book except the Bible, but few had studied that more, or could, with more simple faith, “take God at His word.” During the long winter nights, as she knit her stocking by the dim light of the peat fire, she would relate to Willie Old Testament stories, and in simple words impress upon him the duty of love to God, and being honest and true; and as the boy pursued his herding on the hill side, he learned a task a Psalm, or verses to be repeated the next Sabbath.
At last Widow Stuart fell ill, and she soon knew that the hand of death was upon her. “I am not afraid to die,” she said to Mr. Campbell, the gray-haired minister who had come to see her; “Jesus will be rod and staff in the dark valley; but, oh, my laddie,” she added, clasping her thin hands, “my poor bairn; what will become of him?” “Trust your child,” he replied, “to Him who has promised to be a father to the fatherless.” “True Sir; that is a precious word. Thank ye for minding me of it.” It was then settled that, after her death, Willie should be sent to a cousin in Edinburgh, who his mother hoped would help him. This arranged, Mr. Campbell kneeled, and committed the soul of the dying woman to the keeping of her God and Saviour, and prayed for the child so soon to be left an orphan. He had not long quitted the cottage, when Willie softly entered. He crept up to the bedside, gazed wistfully for a few minutes, then said, in a half-frightened voice, “Mammy, you’re awfu’ white.” The widow unclosed her eyes, and with difficulty drew him close to her. “My bairn,” she said, “you will soon be all you’re lane. You’ve aye been a gude laddie to me; but, oh! Willie, promise me no’ to forget to read the Bible when I am gone, and aye to keep the Sabbath, and to be honest and—” she could say no more; and a few hours after, a neighbor coming in, found her dead, and Willie in all the agonies of childish grief. As soon as the funeral was over, he was sent under the care of the carrier to Edinburgh. The cousin had a family of his own, and was by no means pleased to have another mouth to provide for. However, he said he might stay a few days till he saw what “turned up.” Unused as Willie was to companions, he shrunk back in terror from the scenes of quarreling, fighting, and scolding, which he now beheld; and great was his joy when, at the end of a week, he was sent to a nursery-garden. Here, again, was a new atmosphere. His companions were all idle and thoughtless, some worse.
It is a great trial to any young person, fresh from the country, to be thrown, without a guide, amidst the snares and temptations of a town; not that Satan is idle in the country, no we are told that he goeth about “everywhere.” With stealthy steps he penetrates the secluded valley and the lonely glen, and whispers evil thoughts into the ear of the shepherd on the mountain side, so many forms of evil, and scenes of vice, that, but for the restraining grace of God, who could stand?
At first, Willie trembled and blushed as he listened to the oaths and bad language of his associates; but, alas! it is a proof of the natural depravity of the heart, how soon habit reconciles us to things which at first revolted us; and thus, ere long, Willie thought it manly to imitate them. His mother’s Bible was covered with dust, he ceased to pray, and his Sabbaths were spent in idleness. At last, like the rest, he began to pilfer flowers and fruit, which were privately sold. Yet conscience was not dead; many a night did he sob himself to sleep, wishing he could awake in his mother’s cottage. Ah Willie is not the only one who has exclaimed, in bitterness of soul, “Would I were a child again.”
One fine autumn day, Miss Elliot accompanied a party to see the beautiful garden and grounds belonging to her friend, Mr. Gordon. Everything was in the best taste and in exquisite order. The hot-houses and conservatories were filled with the rarest and most beautiful plants, which the gardener, a middle-aged, respectable-looking man, seemed pleased to point out and explain. “You seem very fortunate in a gardener,” remarked Miss Elliott to her friend. “Yes, indeed; Stuart has been with me five years, and is not only perfect in his profession, but what I value more, he is a thoroughly good man, scrupulously honest, and takes suite a fatherly charge of the lads under him. By-the-bye,” he added, laughing, “I thought he must have been an old pupil of yours, he seemed so resolute that you should have the best flowers, a rare favor, I assure you.”
In the evening, as the party were returning from a walk, Miss Elliot lingered to admire the sun setting behind the hills. She was leaning against the railing of a rustic bridge, which was thrown across a rapid mountain stream, when suddenly it gave way, and she fell into the water beneath, which at that part was rather deep. Before her friends, who were at a short distance, could reach the spot, the gardener, who had witnessed the accident, had jumped in, and with some difficulty rescued her from her perilous situation. Proper remedies being applied, Miss Elliot fortunately sustained no injury but fright. Before going home, she expressed her wish to see and thank Stuart. Mr. Gordon sent for him; and, upon his entrance, she held out her hand, and feelingly expressed her gratitude to him for having been the instrument, in God’s hand, of saving her life. For a few moments he was silent; then he said, with a voice of deep emotion, “To you, madam, I owe more than life the safety of my immortal soul!” “Surely you are mistaken; I never saw you before,” she replied. “I am not surprised that you do not remember me, for I was a dirty, ragged urchin in those days, but I knew your voice as soon as I heard it. Do you remember, some fifteen years since, a boy coming to your house one morning with plants?” “Perfectly,” answered Miss Elliot; “and I have very often wished to know what became of that child, but surely” — “Yes,” said Stuart, “I was that boy.” Then, seeing, his master look surprised, he turned to him, and continued, “One morning, Sir, I was sent to that lady with some plants; the servant took me into the drawing-room, and desired me to wait for her return, which would be in a few minutes. Upon the table was a ring. which had apparently just been used to seal a letter. I took it up to look at; but a voice seemed to whisper, ‘No one will see,’ and I slipped it into my pocket. Scarcely had I done so, when Miss Elliot returned. I saw her glance at the table, then at me. I must have looked guilty, for she came directly to me, and in a firm, though kind manner, said she knew she had left a ring upon the table five minutes before, and that I must have taken it. I could not deny the fact, and with many tears entreated forgiveness. Oh, Sir! how kindly did she speak to me; she showed me that I was offending both God and man, and that such acts, persevered in, would ruin me both in time and eternity; and then she made me kneel while she prayed that God would pardon me, and give me a new heart. That was the turning point of my life. I left the house humble and penitent, and I believe from that time I have never broken the eighth commandment. My Bible was again opened, and as much as possible I kept apart from my companions. I was transferred from one garden to another; but as long as the work was done, none of the masters seemed to care what the boys did. At last, a gentleman from England came in search of a lad who could assist his gardener, who was up in years. He was to be under him, and to live in his house to my great joy I was selected. The first night I arrived, my new master opened his Bible, and proposed we should read together. I gladly assented. Soon after I told him my little story, and from that time he took a fatherly care of me; he solved my doubts, instructed my ignorance, and taught me to make the will of God the rule of my conduct. After a time I married his daughter; and when he died I was found competent to succeed him. I might have been there still, but my heart yearned after Scotland; and when this situation was offered I gladly accepted it.”
“I am, indeed, rejoiced,” said Miss Elliot, when he concluded, “that my words fell into good soil, and, with God’s blessing, have produced good fruit. How truly it is said, ‘A word spoken in season, how good it is.’”