Mildred Keith by Martha Finley
Chapter Twenty-second.
"Hail! independence, hail! heaven's next best gift, To that of life, and an immortal soul." --THOMSON.
"There is strength, Deep bedded in our hearts, of which we reck But little till the shafts of heaven have pierc'd Its fragile dwelling. Must not earth be rent Before her gems are found?" --MRS. HEMANS.
"BOOM!"
The loud voice of the cannon rent the air with sudden shock just aseager waiting eyes caught the first glimpse of the sun's bright discpeeping above the eastern horizon.
The sound broke suddenly in upon many a dream, woke many a sleeper.
"Independence day! the glorious Fourth, the nation's birthday," shoutedCyril, giving Don a kick, then springing out of bed and hurrying on hisclothes.
"Oh! oh! Fourth of July!" echoed Don, following suit. "I'm so glad,'cause now we can fire our crackers."
Their clatter and another shot roused Fan and Annis who joined in therejoicing, the latter calling loudly for mother or Milly to come anddress her.
"No more hope of sleep," yawned Mr. Keith, in the next room; "so we mayas well get up."
"Yes," returned his wife, "I wish you would, and watch over thechildren;--see that they don't burn their fingers or set things on fire.
"Yes, Annis, mother's coming."
Breakfast was prepared amid the almost constant firing of crackers andchildish shouts of exultation, near at hand, and the occasional boomingof the more distant cannon.
The young folks were full of gayety and excitement, hurrahing, singing"Hail Columbia!" "Yankee Doodle," and "Star-spangled Banner."
Rupert came in a little late to breakfast, from a stroll down town, andreported that a wonderfully large flag-staff had been planted in frontof the court-house, and that the stars and stripes were floating fromits top.
The Sunday schools were to unite and march in procession through thestreets of the town, then separate, and each school betake itself toits own church, there to enjoy a little feast prepared by the parentsand friends of the scholars.
There had been a good deal of baking going on in Mrs. Keith's kitchenthe day before, and shortly after breakfast a large basket was packedwith delicacies and sent to the church.
Then mother and Mildred had their hands full for an hour or so indressing the children and themselves for the grand occasion.
They made a goodly show as they issued from the gate and took their waytoward the place of rendezvous; the girls all in white muslin and blueribbons, the boys in their neat Sunday suits, and each with a flower ortiny nosegay in his button-hole.
The house had to be shut up, as Celestia Ann claimed the holiday, butwas left in its usual neat and orderly condition, by means of earlyrising and extra exertion on the part of the three older girls.Otherwise Mildred could not have been content to go, and delay wasdangerous, as on account of the heat of the weather the procession wasto move by nine o'clock.
The whole town was in holiday attire, and everywhere smiling faces wereseen.
A shower in the night had laid the dust without turning it to mud, andthe Sunday school celebration proved quite a success.
The children enjoyed their treat of cakes, candies and lemonade, thenthe little Keiths went home, tired enough to be glad to sit down andrest while father, mother and Milly told them stories of other Fourthsthat they could remember.
After dinner Mildred went to call on her friend Claudina, carrying withher another book for Effie Prescott.
"Dunallan," had been returned in perfect condition and with a littlenote of thanks.
Effie met Mildred with a pleased look, a cheerful greeting, and warmthanks for the book.
"I am so glad to see you!" she said, "and it was very kind in you tocome; for I am owing you a call. I thought I should have paid it longago, but there are so many days when I don't feel quite equal to thewalk."
"You do walk out then?"
"Oh yes! every day when the weather is good. That is part of the cure.But I cannot walk fast or far."
"I hope you are improving."
"Yes, I believe so, but very slowly. I'm never confined to bed, butnever able to do much, and the books are such a blessing."
From that they fell into talk about books and authors and were mutuallypleased to find their tastes were similar as regarded literature, andthat their religious views accorded.
It was the beginning of a friendship which became a source of greatenjoyment to both.
Effie had learned to love Mrs. Keith. That drew Mildred toward her; andtheir common faith in Christ and love to Him, was a yet stronger bond ofunion.
They regretted that they had been so long comparative strangers, andMildred felt well rewarded for the kind thoughtfulness on her part,which had at length brought them together.
But leaving Effie to the perusal of the book, she walked on to SquireChetwood's.
Mrs. Chetwood and Claudina, in their deep mourning dress, sat quietly athome, with no heart to join in the mirth and jollity going on aboutthem; yet calm and resigned.
"Ah," sighed the mother, tears springing to her eyes, as the joyousshouts of children penetrated to their silent room, "our little darlingwould have been so gay and happy to-day! But why do I say that! I knowshe is far, far happier in that blessed land than she could everpossibly have been here."
"I know that," said Claudina, weeping, "and I do rejoice in the thoughtof her blessedness; but oh, the house is so dreary and desolate withouther! O Mildred, how rich you are with four sisters!"
There was a knock at the street door, answered by the girl, and the nextmoment Miss Drybread walked into the parlor where the ladies weresitting.
She was courteously received and invited to take a seat; which she did,drawing a deep sigh.
"Are you well, Miss Damaris?" asked Mrs. Chetwood.
"Yes; I'm always well; I try and do right, and have no sick fancies; amnever troubled with the vapors. I hope you're well?"
"As usual, thank you."
"You've had a great affliction."
No response, for the torn hearts could scarce endure the rude touch; hertone was so cold and hard.
"I hope you're resigned," she went on. "You know we ought to be;especially considering that we deserve all our troubles and trials."
"I trust we are," said Mrs. Chetwood, "we can rejoice in her happinesswhile we weep for ourselves."
"Don't you think you made an idol of that child? I think you did, andthat that is the reason why she was taken; for God won't allow idols."
"We loved her very dearly," sobbed the bereaved mother, "but I do notthink we made an idol of her, or ever indulged her to her hurt."
"The heart is deceitful," observed the schoolma'am with emphasis, "andputting on mourning, and shedding so many tears, doesn't look likesubmission and resignation. I don't see how a Christian can act so."
"Wait till you are bereaved," replied the mother, sobs almost chokingher utterance.
"And remember how Jesus wept at the tomb of Lazarus, and that he neverreproved the Jews for putting on sackcloth and ashes when mourning fortheir dead," said Mildred, adding, in her uncontrollable indignation, "Ithink you might be at better work, Miss Drybread, than wrenching thehearts of these bereaved ones whom Jesus loves, and in all whoseafflictions He is afflicted."
"I'm only doing my duty," retorted the spinster; "the Bible says we mustreprove our brethren and not suffer sin upon them."
"It says 'Judge not, that ye be not judged.' They are the words of Jesusin the Sermon on the Mount, and if you turn to the passage and read ona little further, you will see that people who try to pull the mote outof a brother's eye while there is a beam in their own, He callshypocrites."
"I can understand an insinuation as well as the next one," said MissDrybread, rising in wrath, "and let me tell you, Miss, that I consideryou the most impertinent young person I ever met.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. and Miss Ch
"What a disagreeable, self-righteous old hypocrite!" cried Mildred, hercheeks flushed, her eyes flashing. "To think of her talking to you inthat cold-hearted, cruel manner, Mrs. Chetwood and Claudina. But there!I am judging her. Oh dear! oh dear!"
She finished with a burst of sobs, clasping her arms about her friend,who was weeping bitterly.
Mrs. Chetwood, too, was shedding tears; but presently wiped them away,saying, "We will try to forgive and forget her harsh words. I trust sheis a well-meaning, and perhaps, truly good woman; though mistaken as toher duty and sadly wanting in tact."
On her way home Mildred passed Mr. Lightcap's. She usually avoided doingso by taking the other street; but to-day was too full of grief for herbereaved friends, to care which way her steps were tending till theywere arrested by Mrs. Lightcap's voice, speaking from her open door.
"Why, if it ain't Miss Keith! I hain't seen a sight o' you this longtime. Walk in, won't you? and sit a bit. They've all run off somewheresand left me settin' here without a soul to speak to, and I'm dreadfullonesome."
Mildred could not well refuse the invitation, so stepped in and took aseat.
Her first feeling on becoming aware that Mrs. Lightcap was addressingher was one of embarrassment at the idea of facing the mother of herrejected suitor; but the next instant she concluded from the cordialmanner of her neighbor, that she must be entirely ignorant of theaffair, which was really the case; Gotobed having insisted upon RhodaJane keeping his secret.
Mildred was not in a talking mood, but Mrs. Lightcap grew garrulous overthe day's celebration, the heat of the weather,--prophesying that if itlasted long, coming as it did after a very rainy spring, there would bea great deal of sickness--branching off finally to her housework andgarden; two inexhaustible themes with her.
An occasional yes, or no, or nod of acquiescence, was all that wasnecessary on the part of her listener; and these Mildred could supplywithout giving her undivided attention to the steady flow of empty talk.
The firing of the cannon at short intervals had been kept up all day."Boom!" it came now, causing Mrs. Lightcap to give a sudden start andbreak off in the middle of a sentence.
"Well, I declare!" she exclaimed, "I can't git used to that therefirin'; and I jest wisht they'd stop it; 'fore some on 'em gits hurt.It's a dreadful dangerous thing--gunpowder is, and I guess there ain'tnever a Fourth when there don't somebody git about half killed."
"Or quite," said Mildred; "people will be so careless; and I supposethat even with the greatest care there must be some danger, from thebursting of guns and other accidents that it is, perhaps, impossible toguard against."
Mildred sat very near the open door, Mrs. Lightcap farther within theroom.
"Well as I was a sayin'," began the latter, resuming the thread of herdiscourse.
Some one came running without, his heavy footsteps resounding upon thesidewalk. It was a man. He paused before the door, looking pale andfrightened, and beckoning to Mildred, said in a low, hurried tone, "Juststep this way a minute, Miss, I want to speak to you."
Hardly comprehending, too much taken by surprise even to wonder what hecould want, she hastily complied.
"She ought to be prepared, you know," he went on in the same breathless,agitated manner, drawing her further away from the door as he spoke;"he's awfully hurt, a'most killed, I believe, and they're bringin' himup the street now."
"Who?" gasped Mildred.
"Her son Gote; gun went off while he was ramming in the wadding and shotthe ramrod right through his hands; I guess they'll both have to comeoff."
Mildred staggered back, sick and faint, and with a dazed sort of feelingthat she was somehow to blame.
"They're comin'," repeated the man hurriedly, pointing to a little crowdof men and boys moving slowly up the street, scarcely a square away,"can't you say something to her! kind o' break the shock a little, youknow."
Mrs. Lightcap had stepped into the door way and was looking this wayand that, curious to learn the cause of Mildred's sudden exit.
"Why, Jim Foote, is that you?" she exclaimed. "What on airth are you awantin' with Miss Keith?" then catching sight of the approaching crowd,"What's goin' on?" she asked, "anything the matter?"
Mildred sprang to her side, and fairly pushing her back into the house,threw her arms about her sobbing, "Oh, I'm so sorry for you! so sorry!Don't look! not yet. He--he's living but--"
"Who? who's a livin'? who's hurt? Girl, tell me quick! 'Tain't none o'mine, sure? 'Taint my old man? Oh, what'll I do? what'll I do?"
The trampling of many feet drew near, her husband rushed in, pale,breathless, trembling, and at sight of her burst out crying like achild. Then the wounded man was supported into the house, men and boys,and even women and girls crowding in after, till in a moment the roomwas full.
Rhoda Jane and the younger brothers and sisters were there, screamingand crying. Gotobed was silent, bearing his agony with the heroism of asoldier, but as his mother caught sight of his ghastly face, his mangledhands, the blood upon his person, and the surgeon with his instruments,she uttered a wild shriek and fell back fainting.
Her husband carried her into the kitchen, and some of the neighbor womengathered round with restoratives and whispered words of pity andcondolence, while others hurried back and forth in quest of sucharticles as the surgeon called for.
Rhoda Jane rushed out of the kitchen door, and ran to the foot of thegarden, screaming and wringing her hands, the younger ones followingher.
Mildred could not go away and leave the family in their dire distress.She caught Gotobed's eye, and there was in it a dumb entreaty which shehad neither power nor heart to resist.
Silently she made her way to his side. The doctors were clearing theroom of all who were not needed.
"They're a goin' to take off my right hand," he said hoarsely. "It's anawful thing, but if--if you'll stand by me and let me look in your eyes,I can bear it."
She turned hers on the surgeon--Lucilla Grange's father.
"May I?"
"If you have the nerve, my dear child; it would be a great kindness tothe poor fellow. There ought to be a woman near him, and it seemsneither mother nor sister is equal to it."
"I will stay," she said, a great compassion filling her heart. "I shallnot look at what you are doing; but I will stand by and fan him."
She kept her word; forgetting herself entirely, thinking of him only asone suffering terrible agony and in need of her support, she stoodgazing into his eyes, her heart going up in silent, fervent prayer onhis behalf.
Chloroform and ether were not known in those days, and the knife's cruelwork must be borne without the blessed insensibility to pain that theycan give. Had the magnetism of Mildred's gaze a like effect? I know not;but something enabled Gotobed to pass through the terrible ordealwithout a groan or moan; almost without flinching.
The right hand had to be taken off at the wrist; the left, though muchmangled, the surgeon hoped to save; and did so ultimately.
The amputation and the dressing of the wounds was over at last andMildred was turning away when a cup of tea was put into her hand withthe words, spoken in a half whisper, "Give him this; he will take itfrom you."
She held it to his lips and he drank; a plate was silently substitutedfor the cup and she fed him like a child.
Poor fellow! it would be long before he could feed himself again.
Mildred set down the plate and stole quickly from the house. Her longpent up emotion must find vent.
She went weeping home, her heart breaking with pity for the man shecould not love, could not have married for the wealth of the world. Oh,why did he love her so?
She had read it in his eyes;--that she was more to him than all theworld beside, and that he knew his was a hopeless passion.
She was glad to see that the sun was setting; because she knew from thelateness of the hour that tea
Her mother, that best earthly friend, who always understood her as byintuition, met her at the door and clasped her in a tender, lovingembrace; and on that dear bosom the whole sad story was sobbed out.
"Poor, poor fellow! my heart aches for him," Mrs. Keith said, minglingher tears with Mildred's. "And, my dear child I am very glad you hadthe courage and firmness to give him the help you did. I pity him, too,for his unfortunate attachment, at the same time that I, of course,could never, never be willing to see it returned.
"But your courage surprises me, I doubt if I should be capable of thelike myself," she added, smiling through her tears.
"I know you would, mother dear," returned the girl, gazing with lovingadmiration into her mother's eyes; "for you are far braver and firmerthan I. I should not have expected to be able to do it myself, but wenever know what we can do till we are tried.
"I am sure our Father helped me in answer to prayer, and according tohis gracious promise, 'As thy days, so shall thy strength be,'" sheadded in subdued, tremulous tones.
"I do not doubt it," said Mrs. Keith; "for 'our sufficiency is of God.'"
Throughout the whole town great sympathy was felt for the wounded youngman. People showed it in various ways; by inquiries made of the doctoror at the door, by calling in for a little friendly chat and sendingdelicacies to tempt his appetite; which for a time failed under thepressure of pain, enforced idleness (a great change for one who hadbeen all his life a hard worker) and depression of spirits; for therewere seasons when he was well-nigh overwhelmed at the thought of hismaimed and helpless condition.
Mrs. Keith went frequently to see and comfort him and his distressedmother, and was more successful in so doing than almost any one else;except Mildred, who occasionally accompanied her.
They carried to Gotobed food for the mind as well as the body; bookswhich they read to him; as he could not hold them himself, and the othermembers of the family had little time or ability to entertain him inthat way.
Also they said many a kind, encouraging word concerning thepossibilities of future usefulness yet remaining to him.
"I shall never be good for nothing no more," he sighed, mournfully, oneday, looking down at his maimed arm and wounded hand; "can never swingmy hammer, or shoe a horse again. I'll have to be a helpless burden onother folks, 'stead o' takin' care o' father and mother when they gitold, as I used to think I should."
"I don't know that, Gotobed," Mrs. Keith answered cheerily; "I think Godhas given you a good mind, and that you will gradually learn to do agreat deal with that left hand; write, hold a book and turn the leaves,and so be able to educate yourself for usefulness in some new line;perhaps do more for your parents and friends than you ever could havedone with your hammer."
A light broke over his face at her words, "Oh!" he said drawing a longbreath, "if I thought that I could bear it."
"I think you are bearing it bravely," she said.
"I'm tryin' my best," he sighed, "but the Lord only knows how hard itis; 'specially when folks comes and tells you it's a judgment sent ontoyou for your sins."
"And who dares to tell you that?" she cried, flushing with indignation,"who could be so heartlessly cruel?"
"Well, Damaris was in t'other day. She means well enough, I guess;--shefetched something she'd cooked up for me--but she don't seem tounderstand a feller critter's feelin's. She give me a long lecture; saidI'd been dreadful proud o' my strength and what a neat job I could makeo' shoein' a horse and the like, and so that the Lord took away my handto punish me and fetch me down. Do you think 'twas that way, Mis'Keith? I was thinkin' 'twas my own carelessness and not to be blamed onHim at all."
"It strikes me that you are very nearly right there," she replied, halfsmiling at the earnest simplicity with which he spoke. "He is verymerciful and gracious, full of tender pity and compassion for thecreatures He has made; especially those who are peculiarly His ownbecause they have accepted of the salvation offered through ChristJesus; yet He does not always see fit to save them from theconsequences, as regards this life, of their own follies and sins."
"Carelessness is a sin," he said with a heavy sigh. "I didn't use tothink so, but it's plain enough to me now. And do you think, Mis' Keith,He feels kind o' sorry for me even though 'twas my own fault?"
"I am sure of it; and that He will give you strength to bear yourtrouble if you will ask Him; to bear it bravely and not let it spoilyour life by robbing you of cheerfulness and hope, and the usefulnessyou may attain to by a determined, manly struggle with yourdifficulties.
"There is a pleasure in overcoming difficulties," she added with abright, winning smile, that was like a ray of sunlight to his saddenedheart, "a pleasure that the slothful know nothing of."
"I'll try it!" he said with determination. "God helping me, I will.Bless you, Mis' Keith, fur them words. I'll not forget 'em."