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Gold Sunapee.
से

BY
MARY DWINELL CHELLIS,
AUTHOR OF "CHARLEY WHEELER'S REWARD,"´´CTO
CHICAGO:
H.
FLEMING
REVELL,
148 & 150 MADISON ST.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1860, by
HENRY HOYT.
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of Massacnusetts,
Stereotyped by
COWLES AND COMPANY,
17 WASHINGTON ST.. BOSTON.
Amerso
JAD
MAY 9 '39
8120418
oo

OLD SUNAPEE.
CHAPTER I.
Ilmu
Above all words of human law,
Still firm our God's command;
Spoken of old, from Sinai's mount,
It shall forever stand.

HE middle of July had passed,
and haying had scarcely com-
menced in the towns lying at
the foot of old Sunapee. The
heavy grass was rapidly ripening, but farm-
ers looked in vain for sunny days and cloud-
less skies. The oldest inhabitant had never
seen such weather. "Not one good hay-day
in a fortnight;" and old men peered through
815392
مله
4
OLD SUNAPEE.
their glasses at the mountain, and shook their
heads menacingly, as though, in some way,
its cloud-capped summit was responsible for
the rains that deluged their fields.
Mowing machines were not then in fashion
among the hills, and scythes had been ground
and whetted to the last degree of sharpness;
but they were idly waiting for it to "clear
up."
At length, on Friday morning, there was
a bright sun, with a good, drying wind.
Early risers shouted the good news to sleep-
1
ers, and every man or boy who could swing
a scythe was soon in the field, glad to give
vent to their impatience in deeds, rather
than words.
Farmers' wives rejoiced, and hoped, now
there was work out of doors, there would be
less of fault-finding within.
Mr. Benson owned the largest farm in
the vicinity, and, on the first appearance of
OLD SUNAPEE.
5
a fair day, started out to engage additional
help, and the long table in the kitchen was
surrounded by a group of hungry men, who
did ample justice to the breakfast before
them.
Every one who went there to work, knew
there would be no shirking; but they knew,
also, if they were "hard worked," they would
be well paid.
One old man came in after all the rest
were seated, and took his place at the right
hand of Mr. Benson. There was a hush in
the conversation while "Uncle Joe" invoked
God's blessing upon them.
"Give Uncle Joe an extra cup of tea this
morning, Madge," said the farmer; "I hardly
think he feels like work, but I told him your
mother would take good care of him, and he
finally concluded to come.”
Then, turning to the old man in question,
he added, "I don't know as I could get in
..
6
OLD SUNAPEE.
1
my hay without you. You've nelped me
every year since I've been here, and I be-
lieve I should go after you, if you only
looked on."
"I sha'n't do even that much longer. I
am almost home," was the reply, as a happy
smile irradiated the pale face.
ce
We are going to keep you several years
yet. This isn't so bad a world that you
need
be in a hurry to leave it."
ce
Oh, no; I'm willing to wait God's time,
but I'm thankful there's a better one be-
yond."
"There's a mist settling down on old Sun-
apee again," interrupted one who was seated
opposite a window that commanded a view
of the mountain.
"Don't begin to croak," was the reply,
"I've waited long enough for fair weather,
and now I'm going to mow till it begins to
rain, and trust for the future."
OLD SUNAPEE.
F
"Who will you trust?" said Uncle Joe,
quietly.
There wasn't another at the table who
would have dared to ask the question; but
the old man was privileged to say what he
pleased.
"I hardly know myself."
"Wouldn't it be best to find out?"
"Perhaps so; but my grass is coming down
at any rate, and if I knew of any one else I
could hire I'd send for them."
Plenty of time was allowed for breakfast,
and the men chatted a few minutes after all
were through, but when Mr. Benson rose,
they started for the field.
"Uncle Joe, mother wants you," said
George Benson, a boy about ten years of
age. "She told me to call you."
Проектив
He was walking along slowly, waiting for
the farmer, but turned, and as he met him
coming out of the house, pointed to the
mountain.
8
OLD SUNAPEE.
"Can't help it," was the reply to the mute
warning; "I sha'n't stop. You'd better go
in and rest a while before you come out into
the field. My wife's to take care of you, and
if you obey orders I've no doubt you'll help
us a great deal."
Mrs. Benson was glad to see him; and the
younger children, who really thought he was
their uncle, crowded around him, eager for a
story.
"I can't stop this morning; I must go to
work."
"You don't look able to work."
"I can work some, but I'm getting old.
I've seen fourscore years, and strength is
often labor and sorrow; but God is very
good to me."
Well, Uncle Joe, I only wanted to cau-
tion you against working too hard, and in-
quire for Aunt Sarah."
She's well as usual; able to knit and spin
a little."
९९
Ce
OLD SUNAPEE.
9
""
"Then you're getting along comfortably?"
"Oh, yes; we want for nothing."
"Now sit down and drink a cup of tea
with mother, and then we'll let you go," said
Madge.
"How many have I drinked already this
morning?"
"I don't believe you've emptied your cup
once.'
"That's because somebody kept filling it
up all the time.”
The extra cup of tea was disposed of, and
then Uncle Joe joined the haymakers.
The sun shone all the morning, the men
worked rapidly, and at noon there was a great
quantity of grass spread out to dry. After
dinner, work went on with renewed vigor.
Mr. Benson, true to his word, kept on mow-
ing until it began to rain. It commenced
about three o'clock, raining heavily until late
at night.
-
1
- V
OLD SUNAPEE.
10
"Lucky Uncle Joe is here to keep Ben-
son's tongue in order," said one.
"Yes," replied another, "we should hear
some pretty tall swearing if he wasn't here."
Some of the men went home in the even-
ing, while those who remained seated them-
selves in the kitchen to talk of the crops,
discuss the doings of Congress, and wonder
who would be the next President. Mr. Ben-
son was there, thoroughly out of temper.
Uncle Joe was in "mother's room," where
were assembled all but the father, and when
Madge had read a chapter in the Bible, he
offered up his evening prayer.
Why don't papa pray to God?" asked
Ralph, the youngest child. "He never
prays. Why don't he, mamma? I'll go and
ask him."
"No," was the reply; "I want you to stay
with me.
It's almost time for you to go to
bed."
CC
OLD SUNAPEE.
11
景
​Mrs. Benson provided for Uncle Joe's
comfort, and sleep soon came, a welcome
guest to all.
In the morning it was cloudy, and Mr.
Benson wished he had the ordering of the
weather.
"He's the only one who wishes so," said
one of the workmen, who had overheard the
remark. ""Twould take half a dozen Uncle
Joes to keep him in order."
About ten o'clock the sun appeared, and a
cloudless afternoon was improved in stirring
the hay.
"Another half day of sunshine, and this
would be in good condition for the barn."
"Yes, and we may have it; but these
superstitious folks round here are too good
to improve all the time the Lord gives them,
so to-morrow they'll go to meeting and leave
the hay to rot, and cattle go hungry. For
my part, if one day's better than another,
1
i
12
ÓLD SUNAPEE.
then the better the day, the better the
deed,' I say; I'm sick of so much nonsense."
"God, who made heaven and earth, has
said, 'Remember the Sabbath day to keep it
holy."
(C
¿.
"You here, Uncle Joe? I didn't know
you were anywhere round, or I shouldn't
have said what I did."
""
"If you're not afraid of your Maker, you
needn't be of me, a poor old man, with one
foot in the grave. No man ever prospered
who disregarded the Sabbath, and you may
find it so to your cost."
"I'm not so sure of that. Some of our
richest men always work on the Sabbath
through haying, and they certainly seem to
prosper.
This was said not very confidently, for,
where duty was concerned, Uncle Joe was
more than a match for Mr. Benson, and he
knew it.
!
OLD SUNAPEE.
13
:
"Tell me of one really prosperous man
who is in the habit of working on the Sab-
bath."
"Mr. Chase. He never minds anything
about Sunday, and he's got a handsome
property."
"I didn't say a Sabbath-breaker wouldn't
get money, and perhaps keep it. I said he
wouldn't prosper."
"Well, what's the difference? I think a
man prospers if he makes money.'
"Then Mr. Chase has prospered; but he
doesn't look as though he enjoyed his pros-
perity very much. Should you think your-
self a prosperous man, if one of your boys
was obliged to leave the country to save him-
self from deserved punishment?
"Perhaps not; I didn't think of that. But
there's Mr. Carney; his sons are respect-
able."
"I've nothing to say about them; but two
""
""
""
1
1
1
14
OLD SUNAPEE.
of his daughters died a few years ago calling
on their father to save them from the dark
grave. There was no hope in their death,
and I've heard him say he would gladly have
given every dollar he was worth to save
them. I don't envy him his money, and he
don't seem to me a prosperous man."
"I suppose we sha'n't think alike about
these things, so we'd better not talk. I
believe you're sincere, and if your way of
thinking only makes you happy, it's just as
well."
"Does your way of thinking make you
happy?"
"I don't trouble myself much about such
things, any way. But here comes Madge.
She wants to go over and see Aunt Sarah
this afternoon, so I'm going to let her go
with you. She can drive as well as I can.
I shall come after you Monday morning, if
the sun shines. I'm going to drive business
next week."
OLD SUNAPEE.
15
>>
"If
There'll be no ifs about it," was the some-
what impatient reply, as his daughter came
up to say that she was ready.
Taking some money from his pocket-book,
he handed it to the old man, saying,
always pay my help Saturday night."
"But I haven't earned my board."
667
"Yes you have. At any rate, what money
I give you will be well spent, so I shall do a
little good, if I am a sinner."
Uncle Joe went to the house with Madge.
Mrs. Benson was just filling the last vacant
place in a good-sized market-basket, which
she handed up into the wagon, as they were
ready to start off.
"Here's something for Aunt Sarah while
she lives alone next week."
"But I want Uncle Joe to have some.
Can't he?" asked Ralph.
"T
I guess he'll get his share; he and Aunt
Sarah never quarrel."
16
OLD SUNAPEE.
"No, indeed. Sarah is a good sister.
We've lived together more than sixty years,
and never a hard word between us.
""
At a word from the young .driver, the
spirited horse trotted down the carriage-way,
and was soon out of sight.
"I believe you like a horse as well as your
father does, and you're his own child for
managing one."
"Yes, indeed, Uncle Joe, I do like a horse,
but I want a good one. I don't fancy slow
horses or slow people."
"Slow and sure' is the old adage, and
people often lose a great deal by being in
a hurry."
Madge received this reply with a clear,
ringing laugh. "You must work slower
yourself, if you wish to enforce your precept
by example. You and Aunt Sarah are the
quickest motioned old people I ever saw.”
"Well, there's no use in moping when
Į
OLD SUNAPEE.
17
+
•
you're in a good cause, and we shouldn't
engage in a bad one.”
The report of a gun made the horse start,
but Madge held him with a firm, steady
hand, and he soon yielded to her guidance.
A ride of two miles brought them to a low
yellow house, shaded by two large elms,
whose branches swept protectingly over the
moss-covered roof. Aunt Sarah was stand-
ing in the doorway ready to receive them.
"I thought it was you, brother Joe, when
I heard the wagon. I'm glad to see you, too,
dear; it's a long time since you've been
here."
"It seems long to me, so I persuaded father
to let me come over this afternoon with Uncle
Joe. We're going to have him back again
Monday morning, if it's pleasant, so I've
brought something to console you in his
absence."
"This is some of your mother's packing, I
2
18
OLD SUNAPEE.
}
know by the looks of it," said Aunt Sarah.
Every corner filled with just what I like.
She'll be rewarded somewhere for all her
goodness."
By this time Uncle Joe had taken care of
the horse, and came into the room, that
served as kitchen, dining-room, and parlor.
It was large and pleasant, a real home room,
that gave a cordial welcome to every one
who entered it. The furniture was of the
simplest kind, plain and substantial, bearing
marks of long though careful usage.
Standing in one corner was a chest of
drawers, that reached quite to the ceiling,
"This was my grandmother's," Aunt Sarah
would say, and it was the pride of the good
old lady to keep the fantastic brass handles
bright and shining. An old Bible, covered
with brown linen, lay upon a little stand by
the chest of drawers. It had been preserved
with great care, but it was much worn, and
I
OLD SUNAPEE.
19
1
1
J
was now used only on the Sabbath, when
"the minister" called, or a prayer-meeting
was held there.
Uncle Joe used to say he got more comfort
from reading in that, than in any other
Bible. "I think how many prayers have
been offered over it, and it brings me nearer
Heaven,"
An old-fashioned clock occupied the cor-
ner opposite the drawers. This, too, was an
heir-loom, having done duty in the family
for three generations. It was prized next
to the Bible, and in one way helped these
dear old people on in their Christian course.
When it struck the hour of twelve Saturday
night, and the Sabbath commenced, then in
clear, distinct tones rang out upon the still
air the rich harmony of "Old Hundred."
Uncle Joe and Aunt Sarah rarely failed to
hear it, and two voices, faint and trembling,
added their words of praise to the music of
1
}
20
OLD SUNAPEE.
the old clock. A Sabbath, thus ushered in,
could not fail to bring rest and holy enjoy-
ment.
Madge Benson had been there often before,
ever since her mother used to bring her when
she was a little child, and she had never
tired of the room or its occupants, but that
bright summer afternoon they seemed in-
vested with a new charm.
Aunt Sarah began bustling about to pre-
pare supper, which, in honor of their guest,
who was a great favorite, must be better than
usual.
"Should you like some of my biscuits,
Madge ?"
"Indeed I should, Aunt Sarah. I've tried
ever so many times to make some like them,
but I don't succeed. I thought I learned the
secret when I was here last, but found my-
self mistaken. I believe there's some magic
in your hands."
1
OLD SUNAPEE.
21
ee
Oh, no! You can come down into the-
store-room with me now and see me make
them; and, brother Joe, you'd better pick a
few currants to eat with the biscuits."
They were made; just such biscuits as
only nice old ladies can make, who have
been accustomed to cream and flour all their
lives, and know exactly what proportions to
use. It was one of the objects of Madge's
ambition to make these
these " wondrous com
pounds,” and she watched the process carc-
fully.
"Now you can make them," said Aunt
Sarah.
"I'm not sure, but I'll try, I never mean
to give up what I once undertake.”
This was true; she never did give up;
and it was this trait of character that made
all Christians who were acquainted with
Madge so anxious she should devote herself
to the cause of truth and sight,
1
22
OLD SUNAPEE.
2
1
The biscuits having been put in the oven,
Aunt Sarah proceeded to lay the table, with、
a snowy linen cloth, home-made and home-
bleached. Then plates of plain white ware
were placed upon it; the best knives and
forks taken out of the box; and last were
brought out the cups and saucers, the admi-
ration of all juveniles, and the crowning
glory of the table. They were broad and
shallow, with scalloped edges; each one
adorned with a representation of Juno's bird,
whose bright green plumage and long, starry
train made you quite forget that you were
drinking from only plain delf.
At length the biscuits were done to a turn,
and the bubbling tea sent forth its grateful
fragrance from the little brown pot that was
"so much better than tin." Aunt Sarah pre-
sided in her own quaint, kindly way, looking
so happy that her young guest was in danger
of forgetting all but the feast for her eyes.
(
OLD SUNAPEE.
23
"Why, what's the matter, dear? Why
don't you cat? These biscuits are good, I
guess."
-
:
"I've no doubt of it, Aunt Sarah but I
was so much engaged looking at you, that I
forgot there was anything else for me to do."
"What are you looking at me for, child?"
The old lady put up her hand to smooth back
the soft, silky curls that shaded her face, and
looked down to see if her white muslin ker-
chief was smooth.
"It's all right, auntie; there isn't a wrinkle
in it; and your hair looks as nice as can be.
I was thinking that you must have been very
handsome when you were young. Wasn't
she, Uncle Joe?"
"Folks called her so; but she looks just as
well to me now as she ever did. Her hair
*
used to be the color of gold; now it's like
silver. Her eyes are not quite so bright as
they used to be, but I always look in them
for sunshine."
*
24
1
OLD SUNAPEE.
"Now, brother Joe, don't talk nonsense,
said his sister, with a little shaking of her
curls. "Let's eat our supper. These cook-
ies and this loaf-cake are worth eating, I
know; Mrs. Benson's a good cook."
So the supper was eaten; and, after a
short time spent in cheerful conversation,
Madge started for home, thinking all the
way of the beautiful picture of old age she
had seen, and the sweet little poem she had
read in the humble cottage.
She passed another cottage, tenanted by
old people, but she had no desire to stop.
Idleness and vice had made it a place to be
shunned, and the inmates to be dreaded.
"Mother says it's religion makes the differ-
ence, and I don't know but 'tis," thought
Madge; "but I do believe people might do
right without so much praying and going to
meeting."
"I'm glad you've got home, Madge
1
OLD SUNAPEE.
25
*
father's awful cross, and I wish you'll make
him laugh."
This was said by George, as his sister
drove up to the door, and her father coming
out directly, she found he was cross, sure
enough. Madge was his favorite child, and
in his eyes she was "the best walker, the
smartest worker, and the most forward
scholar in town." He looked upon her with
pride, and quoted "my Madge" on all occa
sions. And she was all he claimed for her, a
girl of unusual mental and physical strength.
She had a way of managing him, of which
the younger children always took advantage
when his favor was to be propitiated. She
was also her mother's prime minister, sympa-
thizing with her in everything but her relig-
ious feelings. She knew just what to say to
her father to call forth a pleasant response.
"Prince gave one good jump this after-
noon, but I held him in with a tight rein, and
ne soon found out I was mistress."
26
OLD SUNAPEE.
}
1
}
"I should expect you'd bring him to terms.
You wouldn't be my Madge, if you didn't,"
was the reply. "You got Uncle Joe home.
safe, I suppose."
Ce
'Oh, yes, and had a nice time there. I
believe they're happier than anybody else I
know."
"Yes, they are happy; there's no mistake
about that. They've got what folks call
religion, if there's any such thing. It's all
very well for them, but I hope you'll never
get any such notions into your head."
"I don't think much about it now, father,
but when I get older I shall take time to
study it all out and decide for myself."
Madge entered, to find her mother seated
at the window, where she had overheard the
whole conversation. "God grant you may
decide wisely, my daughter, but remember
your decision will not change the truth."
Mrs. Benson finished her remark with a
OLD SUNAPEE.
27
辈
​sigh, for she knew how strong was the in-
fluence to lead her child from religion and
God.
Sabbath morning there was an unclouded
sky. Mr. Benson sat down to his breakfast
with a very determined looking face, as
though he had decided upon something in
which he knew he should meet with opposi-
tion. Whatever it might be, it was evident
he was well fortified against both argument.
and entreaty. His wife, who was pretty
well skilled in discerning the signs of the
times, was not surprised when he announced
the fact that he should want the horse to
use himself that day, so it couldn't go "to
the hill to meeting.”
"Well, then, the children can walk, and I
will stay at home," was the reply of Mrs.
Benson.
"But I want the boys; they must stay at
- home, too."
!
28
OLD SUNAPEE.
SUNAPE
ì
۲۳
What do you want of them?”
"I want them to rake after the cart. My
hay is coming in to-day."
"Don't you know it's Sunday, papa? It's
wicked to work Sunday; mamma says so,"
said Ralph, the youngest child, scarcely four
years of age. George and Thomas sat look-
ing at their mother, waiting for her to speak.
She hesitated but a moment. She had feared
ť
this, and had spent several hours of the pre-
vious night in deciding what was her duty.
CC
I shall not try to control your actions,
my husband, but there is for me a higher
law than yours, and my children cannot work
unnecessarily on the Sabbath.
The boys
must go to church to-day with Madge and
Nell."
Mr. Benson looked up with flashing eye
and parted lip, but, as he met the calm,
steady gaze of his wife, the oath was smoth-
ered, and he remained silent.
(
OLD SUNAPEE.
29
}
1
Ce
After a few minutes, he turned to George
with, "Well, are you going to do as I tell
you or not?"
This was a hard question; Mr. Benson
was a severe man, and, when angry, ruled
his children with a rod of iron. A look
from his mother reassured the boy. "I can't
work to-day, father.”
"Then you must suffer the consequence.
I calculate to be obeyed in my own house."
By this time Madge's face was all ablaze
with indignation, the younger children were
frightened, and Mr. Benson was almost in-
sane with rage. His wife realized fully her
unfortunate position; but her will was as
strong as her husband's, and though yielding
to him in everything where principle was not
concerned, here, for her children's sake, she
must be firm.
1
George is not the one to be punished.
The responsibility of his disobedience rests
R
30
OLD SUNAPEE.
:
"
with me, and I, if any one, should receive
the punishment."
Ce
George and Tom will both work in the
field with me to-day. There's no danger but
I'll find a way to make them mind."
There was a struggle in the mother's mind,
and then, calmly but firmly, she said to him
what he never afterwards forgot. "Remem-
ber your promise, my husband. You made
it with my hand clasped in yours, and called
God to witness, that, if I lived, I should be
free to teach our children the religion of the
Bible, and you would put no obstacles in my
way. You promised, too, that you would
never oblige them to desecrate the Sabbath.
I believed you, for John Benson had always
been a man who respected his word."
"And he is now," said Madge. "You will
not punish the boys for obeying mother, and
when you have promised, too.
will not, father.'
I know you
1
""
OLD SUNAPEE.
31
Mr. Benson would have struck any other
one of his children who had dared oppose
him, but Madge met his look with one as
firm as his own, and he turned away without
replying. He remembered the time he had
made the promise, when his wife seemed to
be dying, and he feared he should lose one
whom he loved as well as such a man can
love. She had never reminded him of it
before, but the thought of it had often made
him hesitate when prompted to do what he
knew would conflict with it. He was too
angry now to reason, and too proud to ac-
knowledge his wrong, so he went out sul-
lenly.
A good cry by all but Madge relieved
their burdened hearts, and they set about
preparing themselves for church. George
feared a whipping, but his sister assured him
that she would save him from that, and he
managed at last to recite his Sabbath-school
32
OLD SUNAPEE.
lesson perfectly. They started in good sea-
son, having before them a walk of two and a
half miles. No allusion was made to the
unpleasant scene of the morning, and by the
time they reached the church, all but Madge
seemed to have forgotten it.
Her faith in her father was shaken; she,
had always respected him, and had quite an
admiration for his independent way of think-
ing. She could not but see that her mother
was his superior in general culture and intel-
ligence; but she had never before seen him
give way to such anger, and in her eyes he
had utterly disgraced himself. Mrs. Benson
had been careful to screen her husband's
faults from the observation of their children,
and nothing but an imperative sense of duty
would have made her set aside his authority.
Madge had secretly sympathized somewhat
with her father in his contempt for religion,
but always joined in the Scripture readings
OLD SUNAPEE.
33
in mother's room, and was a constant attend-
ant at church. That morning her sense of
right and justice had been outraged, and
nothing could have prevented her from man-
ifesting her indignation. She had no fear
of her father in his rage, but her heart was
filled with inexpressible sorrow, as she real
ized that she almost hated him.
She heard hardly a word of the sermon;
indeed, she rarely did. She was not seeking
for truth, and the good old man who occu-
pied the pulpit failed to interest her. She
was glad when the services were over. She
wanted to know what was going on at home,
and the distance was soon passed over.
George and Tom kept close to her, feeling
sure she would protect them, but Mr. Ben-
son said nothing in regard to his command.
Sitting at an open window, Madge over-
heard a conversation between two men who
had been working there during the day.
dag
X
:
3
34
OLD SUNAPEE.
"Much good that hay'll ever do Benson.
"Taint half cured; it never'll be fit to feed
cut. He'll lose it, and I don't care if he
does. He's had one of his ugly fits to-day."
"I should think he had. For my part, I
had a good mind to leave, and let him get in
his own hay. His wife looks as though she
was ready to die to get away from him."
"I should think she would be," replied the
first speaker. "But Uncle Joe says she's a
Christian, so I suppose that's what keeps her
up. I don't see what she ever married such
an old heathen for. He never'll drag her
down with him; she's too good for that; but
I guess she'll never get him up a great ways
with her. I don't pretend to any goodness,
but I wouldn't work Sundays if I wasn't
obliged to. My family need all I can earn,
so I must work when I can; but I wasn't
brought up to do it.”
"Well, I didn't have much bringing up
OLD SUNAPEE.
35
any way, and one day's as good as another
with me. I don't know anything about
religion; but I know there's a great differ-
ence between Uncle Joe and Mr. Benson, and
I'd a thousand times rather take the old
man's chance in another world."
९९
So would I," thought Madge, as she
turned away from the window, having al
ready heard quite too much.
•
She was very young, only fourteen, and
in her experience had not fully understood
the conflicting influences in her home. She
comprehended it all now, and was resolved
that her mother should have at least one
able supporter. Not that she proposed to
become religious herself; nothing was far-
ther from her thoughts. She had an uncon-
querable desire for knowledge; and, in some
way, she had gotten the idea that persons
of strong intellect received the Bible with
some reservations. Religion was a very
1
36
OLD SUNAPEE.
good thing for Aunt Sarah, Uncle Joe, and
all such people, but she thought she might
some time get beyond such simple faith.
Revolving all these things in her mind, she
passed an almost sleepless night.
She knew that when the family met in the
morning, her mother's face would wear the
same placid look as ever, and she would treat
her father with the unvarying respect she
always manifested for him. His wishes
would be consulted in all the domestic
arrangements, but Madge really felt that she
would like to punish him for having fright-
ened her little brothers.
This was evident in her appearance, and
her mother was obliged to recall her to a
sense of her duty before breakfast was quite
ready.
Mr. Benson looked at Madge as he came
into the room, but she was either too busy to
see him, or unwilling to acknowledge his
presence.
OLD SUNAPEE.
37
"Your father has come in, my daughter,
and you haven't spoken to him," said Mrs.
Benson. "He'll miss his good-morning."
"Good-morning, father," said Madge, but
in so constrained a tone that it really grieved
him, and she might well have been satisfied
with the pain she inflicted.
This was not a proper feeling for a
daughter to manifest, however great might
be the provocation; but Madge Benson had
a moderate share of her father's temper,
though combined with a quick sense of right
and justice. A high-spirited, noble girl,
ever ready to espouse the cause of the weak
and injured, she yet lacked the self-control
that only the discipline of life can give.
"Where's Uncle Joe, papa," said little
Ralph. "I thought he was coming this
morning."
"I haven't been after him yet. I shall
have some business that way this forenoon,
and shall call for him then."
O
1
I
A
38.
OLD SUNAPEE.
*:
"Fine weather for haying," remarked one
of the men, as he sat down to the breakfast-
table. "Those who had hay out over yester-
day won't lose anything."
Mr. Benson made no reply to this. He
wished his own hay had been left in the field,
but nothing would have induced him to
acknowledge it. He found when putting the
first load into the barn that it wasn't dry
enough, and would have stopped then if it
wouldn't have seemed too much like yield-
ing to the influence of others. As it was,
he left the barn-doors wide open, that there
might be plenty of air, and hoped it would
come out all right next winter.
He didn't relish his breakfast, and went
out before the men were half through.
Every look from his wife was a reproach to
him, the younger children avoided him, and
Madge, the pride of his heart, seemed to
have quite deserted him. He had intended
OLD SUNAPEE.
瞥
​39
$
to accomplish a great deal that week, but for
some reason he didn't feel much in the spirit
of work, though the weather was all that
could be desired. He waited a few minutes
on the piazza to give some orders to his
workmen; then harnessed his horse and
started off.
Nell made some whispered comment to
Madge in regard to her father's conduct, but
her mother checked her, and afterwards had a
long conversation with her eldest daughter
in regard to the influence she was exerting
upon her sister and brothers.
"But father was so wicked yesterday,"
interposed Madge.
"Hush, my daughter; such words are not
for you to speak, or me to hear. I was
obliged to do my duty, but it was very pain-
ful to me. Will you make it still more so
by your undutiful conduct?"
:
The generous heart was touched. "No,
=
40
OLD SUNAPEE.
mother. I will not; you may depend upon
me."
Meanwhile, Mr. Benson found his ride an
unpleasant one. Every one whom he met
inquired how he got on haying, if he had
much grass down, and remarked upon the
prospect of a drying day. He stopped at
Uncle Joe's only long enough to say he
would call for him on his return from the
village.
Ce
Something's wrong with John Benson
this morning, I know," said Aunt Sarah.
"He acted as though he'd been doing some-
thing he was ashamed of. He didn't look
you in the face once when he was talking."
"Shouldn't wonder if he had done some-
The children walked
Perhaps he got in his
thing he's ashamed of.
to meeting yesterday.
hay.”
"Did he tell you he was going to do it?"
"No; but we had a talk about working on
the Sabbath."
OLD SUNAPEE.
41
"I hope you were faithful to him,
brother."
'
"I tried to be, but I think sometimes it's
no use; if his wife can't make him a better
man, I'm sure I can't. He always treats me
with respect when I talk to him, and that, I
suppose, is more than anybody else can say.”
I often think," said Aunt Sarah, "that it
all depends on Madge. If she becomes a
Christian, she'll take the whole family to
heaven with her; but if she gets her father's
infidelity into her head, I'm afraid her
mother's prayers will be in vain."
"There's certainly a great responsibility
resting on her, but God can bring about his
own purposes without her aid."
"Yes, brother Joe, that's true, but in my
way of thinking she'll have something to do
about it, after all."
Nothing will make men or women so
cross and unreasonable as the consciousness
1
་
42
1
OLD SUNAPEE.
that they have done wrong; especially if this
nas been done in opposition to the wishes
and remonstrances of others: Every one
with whom Mr. Benson had any business.
that morning received proof of this. He was
in his worst humor, more overbearing and
fault-finding than usual.
When he got back to Uncle Joe's, he tried
to be cheerful and pleasant, though he would
willingly have paid the old man his week's
wages to stay at home, rather than have him
for a companion in his ride. Uncle Joe had
a shrewd suspicion of this, and allowed the
conversation to drift as far from the subject
of haying as the farmer desired.
Now, if there was one person in the world
for whose respect Mr. Benson cared, that
person, next to his daughter Madge, was
Uncle Joe Marston. He had never been
known to speak an angry word to him, and
rarely before him, and he was the only
1
OLD SUNAPEE.
43
y
person whom he ever allowed to ask a bless-
ing at his table.
"All sham," he would say. "If there is a
God there's no need of telling him what you
want. He knows all that beforehand, and
won't change his plans to please anybody."
He had often done what he called "odd
jobs" on the Sabbath, but never before
made a regular business of working. This
may have been from regard to his wife, or
perhaps it had never been really convenient
for him to do so.
As they passed the barn Uncle Joe said,
ec
Got in your hay? I didn't suppose 'twould
be ready Saturday. It must have dried fast
after I went home.
""
"I didn't get it in Saturday.”
"When then? Not this morning, of course."
"No; I got it in yesterday."
"Why, yesterday was the Lord's day.”
"I know you call it so."
f
44
OLD SUNAPEE.
"The Bible calls it so, and it says, too,
that 'in it thou shalt not do any work.""
"But I have done it, Uncle Joe."
"I see you have, and so disobeyed the
command of your God."
Nothing more was said. Mr. Benson was
glad he was through with his confession, and
felt that he had received less of a lecture
than he deserved; yet words of severe con-
demnation would not have been so much of
a reproach as the grave, sorrowful look upon
his companion's face.
Uncle Joe was welcomed by all in the
house, and before Mrs. Benson could prevent
it, Ralph had told him that "papa was wicked,
and worked Sunday." "I wouldn't be so
wicked; would you, Uncle Joe?"
"No, my dear boy, I wouldn't; but we
won't talk about that now. Just bring me
one of those cakes, and you and I'll eat it
together."
{
OLD SUNAPEE.
45
"Then you'll tell me a story, won't you?"
"I
guess they won't want you in the field
just now," said Nell, who, though twelve
years of age, was as fond of Uncle Joe's
stories as her brother.
"Can't stop now, I must spread some hay
this morning; but I'll find time to tell you a
Etory before the week is out."
The men were glad to see him in the field.
Work went easier, and everything seemed
more cheerful.
Mr. Benson had been scolding, but stopped
and went to another part of the field.
"Well, Uncle Joe, what do you think of
getting in hay Sunday?"
"Bad business; such work never prospers."
"I'm pretty sure this won't," was the
reply.
"I'm sorry about it, but it isn't best to
find fault with our employer, behind his
back; that isn't my way. It's right to work
to-day, and I don't want to wait for you."
1
46
OLD SUNAPEE.
I
Gossip ceased, and scythes were swung a
little faster under the influence of a good
example.
At dinner, Mr. Benson did not make his
appearance. He had a severe headache, and
was lying down.
"We shall trust you, Uncle Joe, to see
that all goes right," said his wife.
"I guess we'll all do the best we can till
he comes out."
"Uncle Joe'll drive us up well," said one.
"He's diligent in business."
"Yes," added another, "serving the Lord.”
It was nothing unusual for Mr. Benson to
1
have a headache after he had been much
excited. For some reason, he didn't sleep
Sabbath night. He didn't say so, but his
wife knew it. He said he only needed to
rest a little while. One hour's good sleep
would make him all right, and he should go
to work.
P
1
OLD SUNAPEE.
47
He didn't sleep, but at four o'clock he
went to the field. Some of the hay was all
ready to go in, and a large load, too large,
the men thought, was soon on the cart. Mr.
Benson loaded it himself, saying he could
ee It
put on a third more than any one else.
all depends on the way it's loaded." If it
did, he must have made a great mistake that
time; for, as he was going over a little bil-
lock, the hay began to slide, and the owner
found himself on the ground nearly smoth-
ered.
It was not in human nature to resist the
impulse to laugh, and amid the shouts of his
workmen, the crest-fallen farmer got up and
shook himself clear of his fragrant bed.
Uncle Joe's presence was forgotten, and his
anger found vent in his usual profane way.
The old man was laughing with the rest,
but the profane words sobered him. "John
Benson, thou shalt not take the name of the
Lord thy God in vain.""
48
OLD SUNAPEE.
1
The swearer stopped, awed for a moment
by the solemn words. No one seemed ready
to repair the mischief until Uncle Joe, as
usual, came to the rescue.
"You've laughed enough for once, men;
now take hold and load up again."
This time it was not so heavy, and went
into the barn safely.
"That's the first judgment for working
yesterday," said one, as soon as he was out
of hearing; "I guess it won't be the last."
The suppressed laughter only made Mr.
Benson still more angry, conscious as he was
all the time that he had made himself su-
premely ridiculous.
Another load was on, the extra third being
left off. This time Mr. Benson drove, and
vented his spleen upon the unoffending oxen.
A heavy blow with the whip, and a sharp,
impatient word of command, made them
start; some part of the cart broke, and all
was on the ground.
•
+
49
OLD SUNAPEE.
i
1
The driver couldn't join in the general
laugh that followed.
"Well, Uncle Joe, what do you think of
all this? I never had such luck in my life.
I suppose I may as well go in now. We
can't get in any more hay to-day, and my
head aches worse than ever."
"Headache is bad enough, but heartache is
worse," was the reply.
"I suppose you think I didn't start the
week right, so I needn't expect good luck."
"I know you didn't start right, but I don't
believe in luck."
"What do you call it, then?"
"Providence."
"Well, perhaps it is; it's bad enough, any
way."
Mr. Benson stood during this conversa-
tion, -looking the very impersonation of
baffled rage. The man who "had a right to
do as he pleased, and who calculated to have
1
}
50
OLD SUNAPEE.
his own way without consulting other peo-
ple's judgment," was, by what seemed a
slight accident, made to feel that he couldn't
always control even his own business.
Uncle Joe was the only one who had any
sympathy for him. He set about examining
the cart, and found it could be easily repaired.
"If I had a hammer and a few nails, I could
make this all right again. You go to the
house and bring them down, George. Mr.
Benson, if you'll trust me to manage the rest
of the afternoon, I think we can get the hay
in. Your head will be better in the house,
and there's plenty of help here."
The offer was accepted. He was glad to
get out of the sight of the broken cart. His
head ached severely, and if he had a con-
science, a fact he never recognized, I think
it must have troubled him. When he went
ïnto the house, his kind, patient wife tried to
cheer him. Madge came in to talk to him,
ƒ
51
OLD SUNAPEE.
as soon as she could stop laughing, after
George's recital; but her father could see
that it was an effort, and, for the first time in
her life, wished her out of the way.
In the field, work went on without further
mishap. Uncle Joe obliged the men to
attend to business, despite the laughter that
threatened to take both their time and
strength.
"I wish Benson'd have the headache all
the week," said one. "At any rate, I'd keep
out of sight a while, after making such a fool
of myself. He was mighty independent,
Saturday and Sunday. Guess he must be
a little humble by this time."
The speaker might think so, but he was
entirely at fault in his conclusions. Who
ever knew an obstinate, unprincipled man
to be humbled when he had bad luck? Mr.
Benson was no exception to the general
rule, and lay nursing his anger rather than
}
52
OLD SUNAPEE.
his head, feeling himself very much ag-
grieved. He was a strange man. Every
one called him so.
Left an orphan at an early age, without
money or friends, he had met the fate of
most poor, friendless boys in a farming
community. He lived in different families,
receiving his board and clothes, the latter
often coarse and scant, for his work. The
people did not intend to be unkind, but
they had no particular interest in him, and
only wished to make the most they could for
themselves.
All called him "smart to work," but he
was often sullen and hard to manage, so
that he never gained the love of those with
whom he lived, a fact which seemed to give
him no uneasiness. In a Christian home,
with loving parents, he might have grown
up noble and intelligent. As it was, he
attended school but a few months, and the
OLD SUNAPEE.
53
cultivation of his better nature was entirely
neglected. Always by himself, he never
joined the sports of those around him, ap-
pearing, at times, almost unconscious of
their presence.
When he was eighteen years of age, at
a time when he was beginning to feel some-
thing of his own responsibility in life, ho
spent a winter in a family where revelation
was ridiculed and reason glorified. The
Bible found no place in the household, and
the long evenings were often spent by the
farmer, with two or three neighbors, in
what they considered very wide discussions
of the truths of religion, and in which the
arguments, if such they could be called,
were all on one side.
For some reason, young Benson listened
to these conversations with more of interest
than he had ever before manifested. By
spring he had learned the whole train of
54
OLD SUNAPEE.
words from these ignorant men, and could
repeat as well as they the arguments which
seemed invincible to his uncultivated mind,
but which would not have a feather's weight
with one accustomed to sound reasoning and
logical conclusions.
This fireside talk was very wicked and
foolish, unworthy the attention of any think-
ing being, but it had a marvellous influence
upon the life of one of its hearers. John
Benson was not deficient in intellect, and by
no means dull of comprehension; but having
once yielded his faith to infidel assumptions,
he had a dogged resolution of will that
prevented him from afterwards investigating
the subject.
About this time, he learned suddenly that
money was a very desirable object, and
devoted his whole energy to obtaining it.-
IIe worked early and late, taxing his strength
to the utmost. He was always faithful to
J
OLD SUNAPEE.
55
the interests of his employer, and at twenty
could command higher wages than any other
young man in the vicinity.
He was high-tempered, and, having once
been told what was expected of him, never
brooked interference; but his word was to
be depended upon, and his judgment in
farming matters universally respected. Eco-
nomical in his habits, never spending money
or time in recreation, at twenty-five he was
able to buy a small farm, on which he
worked harder than ever. There was an old
house on the farm, and every moment that
could not be profitably employed otherwise,
was spent in repairing it.
After he became a landholder he was more
social in his habits, bought a new suit of
clothes and sometimes appeared in the vil-
lage church. He was said to be making
money, people called him "Mr. Benson,'
and looked upon him quite differently from
x
56
OLD SUNAPEE.
´what they did when he was working for his
board.
"A rising young man; he'll make some-
thing after all," said one, whose ideas of
prosperity were confined to this world.
After a time he sold the small farm and
bought a larger one, in the shadow of Old
Sunapee. Here he had a good house; why
shouldn't he have a housekeeper? He was
considered a "good match" by mothers who
had marriageable daughters, and he began
to hook upon himself as a person of consid-
erable importance; but if the vision of wife
and children filling his vacant rooms ever
rose before his eyes, he gave no sign of its
coming.
He was past thirty, "an old bachelor,"
the young people called him, when Mary
Dinsmore came to live in the family of his
nearest neighbor, a distant relative of hers
She, too, was an orphan, poor and homeless
น
-
•
OLD SUNAPEE.
57
豐
​(
Still young, only twenty, her character all
unformed, knowing little of the world, she
was too thankful for a kind word to think
of analyzing the motives of the speaker.
Her parents had given her as good an
education as their means would allow, and
then left her dependent upon her own ex-
ertions. They were religious people and
she was a member of the church to which
they had belonged.
Mr. Jennings, her father's cousin, sent
for her, offering to give her a home if she
would assist his wife in the work of the
1
family. So she came. Mr. Benson saw her.
The air of refinement about her, to which
he was quite unused, gave her great attrac-
tion in his eyes. He treated her with a
deference he had never shown to any one
else, was a constant attendant at church, and
after a few months asked her to be his wife.
She knew he was not a Christian, he had
1
58
OLD SUNAPEE.
1
even told her that he had "no great faith in
the Bible;" but she loved him, and loving,
believed he would in time learn to reverence
the God in whom she trusted.
It was very sweet to feel that she should
have a resting-place at last, a home that
would be all her own. She could not see
the years that would follow, when she would
have other dutics and responsibilities, when
young and helpless ones would cling to her,
and for their souls' sake she must meet her
husband's influence with steady, untiring op-
position. She thought nothing of all this,
dreamed not of the time when her heart
would grow faint and weary in the life she
voluntarily took upon herself.
The world said she had "done well," her
relatives congratulated her, and she passed
over the threshhold of the farm-house, a
happy bride. Se it was that Mary Dinsmore
became the wife of John Benson; and for a
!
OLD SUNAPEE.
59
time her influence won him to an outward
respect for religion.
But his heart was not changed; he bad no
love for God; he only loved Mary with a
selfish, exacting love; and before the second
year of their married life was ended, she
knew her husband was an infidel.
It was a heavy blow a sudden dashing
of the cup of happiness from her lips; but it
was too late for regrets, and, God helping
her, she must go forward and do her duty as
best she might. She had yielded so impli-
citly to her husband's will, that he thought he
could soon drive the "superstitious whims "
out of her head. He was overcome with
astonishment when he found she acknowl-
edged a higher authority than his wishes.
He had made many excuses for not accom-
panying her to church, and at last thought
he might as well tell the whole truth. She
was his wife then, and couldn't leave him if
he wasn't quite so good as she expected.
{
porn great in
60
OLD SUNAPEE.
He came to this conclusion one pleasant
Sabbath morning, and when Mary asked him
as usual about going to church, said "he'd
been long enough; he didn't believe a word
he heard, and he wasn't going any more."
"I don't want to stay alone, so of course
you'll stay with me. You can read your
Bible at home, if you think so much of it.
My horse needs to rest one day in the week,
and he ain't going up to the hill to stand
there all day. There's no use in making such
a fuss every Sunday morning."
He thought he'd made a speech that would
forever stop all church-going in his family,
and expected his dutiful wife would, after
shedding a few tears, as is woman's way,
devote herself to his entertainment during
the day. But she only turned very pale, and
left the room without making any reply.
Too proud and angry to seek her, he did
not see her again until about an hour before
OLD SUNAPEE.
61
time for church, when she walked out of the
front door as quietly as though nothing had
occurred to disturb her. Quite unprepared
for such a demonstration of independence,
he sat for some time in a maze of wonder.
After an hour or two, one of the neighboring
farmers came in.
"Your horse sick, Benson? Our folks
said your wife walked to meeting to-day, so
I thought there must be something the mat-
ter, and came over to see.
"There ain't anything the matter with my
horse, but I thought I wouldn't go to-day.
There's no use in making such a fuss about
going to meeting every Sunday."
"Well, I wa'n't brought up to go, nor my
wife either, and we've never got in the habit
of it, but when the children get older I mean
they shall go. It'll do for us old folks to
tay at home, but if young folks want to be
thought anything of, they must go to meeting
somewhere."
""
{
62
OLD SUNAPEE.
Benson made no reply to this, and the
neighbor finding him in such an unsocial
mood, soon left. Alone, he spent a most
uncomfortable day. He knew he had no
provocation for his unkindness, but this only
made him more determined to have his own
way, and assert his authority so strongly that
it should be heeded.
He was ashamed to have his wife scen
walking home, so harnessed up and went for
her. She was glad to see him, taking his
presence as proof that he was in a better
frame of mind, but before they reached
home she was convinced that it was from no
motives of kindness he had come for her.
She had feared for several months that
her husband had less regard for religion than
ho seemed to have when they were first,
married, but she had tried to quiet her fears,
and believe him all she had hoped. The
events of that Sabbath left no place for doubt,
うん
​1
OLD SUNATEE.
63
1
and by no effort, of even woman's faith,
cculd he be made to appear other than an
infidel.
What wonder that when she first realized
this, she shrank from him with dread, and
wished, oh, so earnestly, she could sever the
ties that bound her? How could she spend
her whole life with one who had no fear of
God before his eyes?
If she would give up all religious privi-
leges, it might for a time, bring the sem
blance of peace.
Could she do it? It was
true that she could read the Bible at home.
God could hear and answer her prayers,
though she entered not his temple. But she
had a weak, human heart, needing, at every
step, human as well as divine sympathy.
Shut out from this sympathy at home, she
needed still more the help and support of
the Sabbath services to give her ength for
the duties of the week.
3
OLD
OLD SUNAPEE.
64
A woman with less of grace in her heart,
and perhaps with less of natural firmness,
would have yielded the point, and allowed
herself to drift downward with the current.
That Sabbath was the commencement of
the saddest week of her life, sadder even
than that when she first found herself au
orphan. She performed her duties mechan-
ically, and felt sometimes that it would be a
blessed thing to die and leave all the strife
and sorrow.
The next Sabbath was even more unhappy
than the one which preceded it, but Mary
Benson attended church.
Uncle Joe and Aunt Sarah watched her
with loving interest. They were thoroughly
acquainted with John Benson, and longed to
give the young girl a word of warning before
she became his wife.
"It will be hard for the young thing to
keep to her religion with such a man as he
s," said Uncle Joe.
1
OLD SUNAPEE.
65
"Too hard," was the reply of Aunt Sarah;
"but perhaps she'll make him better."
"I hope she will; but, as worldly people
say, the chances are all against her. There
are but few women who can live a consistent
Christian life with a husband who has no
regard for religion, and John Benson cer-
tainly has none."
"He always goes to church now."
"Yes, he has an object to gain. He
knows better than to let Mary Dinsmore
understand his real sentiments, but when
they're married, you'll see him come out in
his true colors."
The old people had looked to see the
change in his habits sooner, and sometimes
almost thought the wife's influence had been
successful. The first Sabbath she walked to
church, they were sure it was necessary for
her to do so or remain at home.
"John Benson's getting sick of pretending
B
66
OLD SUNAPEE.
+
to be good," said Aunt Sarah. "Mary
looked tired and unhappy to-day. Poor
chiid, she'd no idea what a life she had
before her when she was married.”
1
"I'm sorry for her, and wish I could help
ber, but God alone can do that. It will take
a great deal of courage for her to do her
duty with such a man; but there's a look in
her face sometimes as though she wouldn't be
easily turned from what she thinks is right.”
Yes, there was such a look; and, in the
weeks that followed, that look deepened
until the sweet, girlish face grew to be that
of a woman who had learned some of life's
saddest, sternest lessons.
It may be her husband noticed this, for he
often found himself looking at her, with a
strange mixture of awe and curiosity.
He had found, after repeated trials, that he
could not bring her to give up her religion;
yielding and submissive in everything else,
}
OLD SUNAPEE.
67
here, she was firm. This firmness irritated
him; he grew sullen and morose, and rarely
addressed his wife with respect or kindness.
There was little to make her life happy;
all the enthusiasm of her youth died out, and
too true a woman to parade her sorrows,
she tried only to hide them in her own heart,
and do her duty.
After a time, children came to brighten
the old farm-house, winning the mother from
ber sadness, and filling up the days with
constant demands for love and care.
The father, too, loved these children in a
selfish way, stopping to play with them when
he was in good-humor, but never for a
moment troubling himself in regard to them.
He couldn't endure their noise, and when ho
came in tired from his work wanted them out
of the way. The younger children were a
little afraid, and never ventured to go to him
unless called; but Madge, his first-born,
68
OLD SUNAPEE.
with her large, speaking eyes, and small,
firmly-closed mouth, was always near him,
whether he would or not. She took it for
granted that her presence was always agree-
able, and often coaxed the stern man into a
playfulness that surprised himself. His wife
hoped he would realize something of his
responsibility as a father, and thus be led to
a better life. In this she was sadly disap-
pointed; every year he grew more profane,
and seemed to delight in thwarting all her
plans for the religious training of their
children.
Wher Madge was about seven years old,
Mrs. Benson was taken sick, and there
seemed little prospect that she would recover.
"I fear she'll die, Benson, and if it wasn't
for these children, I should hope she would.
You've treated her like a brute, and don't
deserve to have her live. Everybody knows
what a life you've led her, scolding and
OLD SUNAPEE.
63
·
If she dies,
swearing about all the time.
you may thank yourself for it. The truth is,
she has no heart to try to live, and I don't
wonder at it. I never saw the light go out
of a young face as it did out of hers when
she'd been married a year or two. You
pretend to believe that men don't need the
Bible, or religion. I tell you what, man, it
would take half a dozen Bibles, and all Uncle
1 Joe's religion, to make you half fit to breathe
the same air with your wife. You ought to
have led an old bachelor all your life, and
left retty Mary Dinsmore for some one who
wld take care of her.”
↑
Dr. Thorne had spoken his mind, and
went out feeling very much relieved, and
hoping he had left Benson something to think
about.
In this he had succeeded. Mr. Benson
had become so accustomed to speaking
harshly to his wife, that he didn't think any-
70
OLD SUNAPEE.
1
thing about it. She bore it so uncomplain-
ingly, that even this vexed him, and made
him still more severe. Then he had a way
of saying, "just like a woman," when any-
thing done failed to suit him, until his wife
thought, to be a woman was a most unfor-
tunate thing; as, indeed, it would be, if all
were placed in her position.
All these things, together with his un-
wavering contempt for religion, had so worn
upon her, that when she was prostrated with
a fever, she had, as the physician had said,
"no heart to try to get well." She loved her
children, and, for their sakes, was willing to
bear the burden of her life, if only at the
end she could take them with her to the rest
above. As for her husband, it would be
difficult to tell whether she had any real love
for him then, or only the memory of what
had been, when she first became his wife.
John Benson thought of all these things, in
OLD SUNAPEE.
71
܂
room.
the light of the great fear that fell upon him,
and under its influence went to the sick-
What passed there, neither revealed; but
the next morning the Doctor found his pa-
tient decidedly better, and in a few days
she was able to sit up.
From that time, John Benson always
carried his wife to church, although he
never entered himself.
He treated her with more respect at all
times; allowed a Bible to lay upon the table
in the sitting-room, and yielded a tacit con-
sent to his children's studying it.
Thus the years passed on, until the time
of the commencement of my story, when
Mrs. Benson for the first time reminded her
husband of his promise, made seven years
before. He had violated this many times,
in spirit, if not in letter, for his example
constantly interfered with and thwarted her
1
72
OLD SUNAPEE.
plans for the religious training of their
children.
It was very hard for her to punish her
boys for using profane language, when they
heard it constantly from their father's lips.
When she told them of its wickedness, she
condemned him, and they could not under-
stand why their father and mother were so
different.
The mother was most anxious for Madge;
having been so much with her father, she
had heard his irreligious opinions, and
thought they might be true, though her
mother taught the contrary. The effect of
this could be seen in the influence she had
in the family. Not wholly disregarding the
Bible and religious teaching, it was evident
she had no love or reverence for them.
Mrs. Benson had been careful not to
weaken her confidence in her father, and
would have made any sacrifice of personal
OLD SUNAPEE.
73
feeling or comfort, rather than take the posi-
tion that was forced upon her that pleasant
Sabbath morning.
She need not have feared to lose her
power for good by so doing; she had gained
more strongly than ever the confidence of
her children, while her husband's harshness
and disregard of right, had greatly weakened
his influence over them.
"I'm ever so glad the hay tumbled off,"
said George, the next day. "Father was
wicked to work Sunday; I never'll do it as
long as I live. I know mother's the best,
because she reads the Bible."
"Yes," said Tom, "and I always mean to
do just as she says, and never swear again,
whether father does or not. Uncle Joe says
it's dreadful wicked, and I'm sure he knows.
I wish I was as good as he is; don't you,
George? He says he ain't a bit afraid to die.
I should think father'd be, since he worked
Sunday."
74
OLD SUNAPEE.
Just then, George remembered something
his mother had said, and told Tom they
mustn't talk about their father.
The day's work was done; the hay all in
the barn, in good condition. An occasional
burst of laughter reminded Mr. Benson of
his "luck," and served to keep him wide
awake.
"Judgment number two was too much for
im; wasn't it, Uncle Joe?"
The old man shook his head.
* Your
judgment may come in the future. We all
do wrong, and must have charity for others."
The next day Mr. Benson was no better;
and all through the week he was obliged to
stay in doors, despite his assertion that there
would be no ifs about his driving work.
Madge's heart softened towards him when
she saw that he was really suffering, and she
did all in her power to make his confinement
less irksome. She read his favorite paper,
OLD SUNAPEE.
75
cheered him in regard to his haying, and
took care that the children didn't trouble him
with their noise. But she looked upon him
as suffering the just punishment of his sin;
and whether his sickness was really a judg.
ment for profaning the Sabbath, or not, it
served to impress the children with the
belief that God's law could not be broken
with impunity.
Uncle Joe, old and feeble as he was, was
head-manager out of doors, and nothing suf-
fered through the absence of the owner.
"It has always taken a great deal of
swearing to get Benson's hay into the barn,
before this," said one. "I don't see but we
get along just as well without it.”
"A great deal better," said Uncle Joe.
"Now you've tried it, how many will prom-
ise not to use another profane word through
baying?"
"I'd promise,” said the first speaker, "if I
f
"
76
OLD SUNAPEE.
thought I could remember, but I'm so used
to swearing I don't think anything about it.
It's as natural for me, as 'tis to breathe. I
wish I could leave it off. Did you ever
swear in your life, Uncle Joe?”
"Yes, once; and had such good reason to
remember it, that I was never tempted to do
it again."
"Do tell us all about it," said George,
who, with his brothers, had joined the group
on the piazza.
Yes, tell us," was echoed by the men.
"We all want to hear your experience."
"It wasn't a pleasant one, and the memory
of it always saddens me. I'll tell it if you'll
leave off swearing while we work together."
They promised to try, though doubting
their success. The children crowded around
him, Ralph taking his favorite seat in Uncle.
Joe's lap, while his sunny curls mingled with
locks of gray.
ce
1
OLD SUNAPEE.
77
1
1
"Tell us all the story, Uncle Joe,” said
Tom: "just how it happened.
Don't leave
out any of it. We want to hear it all."
"I'm afraid these men will get tired, it
I make a long story of it.
They've gone by
their story days."
"No, indeed, Uncle Joe, that we haven't.
Don't leave out any of the filigree on our
account. Tell it just as you would if we
were all children, and be sure you put a
good deal of mother in it. I can't remember
my mother, but everybody says she was a
good woman. I like to hear about good
mothers. I might have been a better man
if she'd lived."
•
"Please make a good long story of it,"
said Nell. "You've plenty of time, and we
are good listeners.'
"I was
Thus urged, Uncle Joe began :
ten years old when I uttered my first and
last oath. My parents br ught me up ac-
78
OLD SUNAPEE.
cording to the Bible. I could repeat the ten
commandments before I could read a letter.
My mother said them over and over to me
till I knew them perfectly; then every night
she asked me how many I had broken
through the day."
"Did you always tell the truth, Uncle
Joe?" said one.
"You'll hear how I fell once, if you listen.
I had no brother or sister then, so my mother
had plenty of time to devote to me. Her
father came from old England, and she had
been brought up in a very strict way. She
didn't allow me to play much with other
children, even when I had a chance, and that
didn't often happen, for neighbors were
scarce then."
"Did you live where you and Aunt Sarah
do now?" asked George.
"No; we lived in Connecticut, and there
We
was no house within a mile of us.
OLD SUNAPEE.
79
}
{
#
didn't have much schooling then, and one
of the neighbors went round, the summer I
was ten years old, to see how many scholars
he could get for a subscription school. My
father and mother were very glad to send me,
and I was quite as glad to go. The first
morning I was a little frightened when I
found myself among so many boys and girls,
all older and larger than I was; but this
feeling soon wore off, and I enjoyed my
school very much. We lived four miles
from the school-house, but I didn't mind the
walk, and used to start off every morning,
swinging my basket of dinner, while mother
stood at the door to give me the last word.
'Be a good boy, Joseph, and remember the
commandments.' She said this every morn-
ing. When I shut my eyes sometimes, now,
I can see just how she looked, and hear the
very tones of her voice."
Here the old man paused, as if listening
80,
OLD SUNAPEE.
to the sounds of other days. Ralph's mute
caress recalled him.
"Among the scholars there were some bad
boys, who troubled the master by their idle-
ness and disobedience. The rod was con-
sidered then the best argument in school,
but it had no effect upon them. For some
reason the boys seemed to have a special
spite against me.
I suppose it was because
I was quiet, and kept out of their way as
much as I could. I was a little afraid of
them, and my mother had told me that
Evil communications corrupt good man-
rs.' They didn't go the same way home
that I did, but one night three of them
started off with me and another boy, who
lived a mile nearer the school-house than
I did. They behaved well enough till we
got into the woods, when they began to call
This made us angry, but we
were too much afraid of them to say any-
vs names.
OLD SUNAPEE.
81
thing. We tried to hurry along, but they
stood in our way so we couldn't go by them,
and the more we tried the louder they
laughed. All the time, they were swearing
and saying such awful words, that I expected
the ground would open and swallow them
up."
A
"Why didn't it, Uncle Joe? I wish I'd
been there, I'd drove them wicked boys off.”
This brave speech of Ralph's was greeted
with a laugh, but he did not know he'd said
anything to laugh at.
"Let's make them swear,' said one, 'and
then let them go.' I heard my mother's
words, 'Remember the commandments,' and
thought they might kill me, before I'd be so
wicked. John, my companion, was a good
boy, but he was high-tempered, and at last
got so angry that he answered them in their
own way. Then they turned round and
called him smart, and told him he could go
82
OLD SUNAPEE.
home as soon as he wanted to. 'We're
going to keep Parson Meekness,' said they,
'till we make a man of him. He thinks he's
dreadful good, but we'll send him home so
wicked he won't dare go to sleep to-night.'
I can't tell you all they said, but I never
shall forget it as long as I live. Perhaps I
could have borne it all, if they hadn't ridi-
culed my mother. Then I forgot all her
teachings, and uttered a fearful oath. Some
of you could say it without thinking, but it
frightened me so that I sprang away from my
tormentors, and ran at full speed till I fell
down. Here I laid till John came up. At
first, we couldn't either of us speak, but
after a while we found our tongues, and
made solemn promises to each other never
to tell what had happened. I had to go
through a piece of thick woods after John
left me. I never had thought of being afraid
before, for my father considered it safe, but
/
1
4
1
OLD SUNAPEE.
83
1
that night it seemed as though somebody
was after me, and it was all I cou'd do to get
home. I couldn't eat much supper, and what
I did eat choked me. Mother thought I was
sick, and sent me to bed early. She heard
me say my prayers, and then asked me the
question about the commandments.
I an-
swered, 'Not any, as I know of.' Then, you
see, I told a lie. One sin always makes room
for another, and anybody that'll swear, will
lie, if the temptation is strong enough. Af-
ter my mother went away, I wanted to call
her back and tell her how wicked I was; but
I didn't, and when she came to look after me
before she went to bed herself, I pretended
to be asleep. I was glad when it was morn-
ing, though I dreaded to go to school. John
waited for me, but we didn't say anything
about what happened the night before. We
didn't feel much like talking, and the road
never seemed so long as it did that morning.
7
84
OLD SUNAPEE.
•
The three boys who tempted us to swear, got
into a quarrel after we left them. This had
been reported to the master, and about the
middle of the forenoon they were called up
and severely flogged for fighting and swear-
ing. One of them, the largest and ugliest,
said John and I swore, too, when we were
going home.
Our confusion seemed evi-
dence of our guilt; the master was very
angry, and, without asking any questions,
whipped us both. It was the first whipping
1 ever had in my life, and the pain, added
my terror of conscience, quite overcame
me, and I had to be carried home. I knew
nothing after three or four blows of the rod,
until more than a week after, when I found
myself lying on mother's bed, and she was
sitting beside me. I was too weak to speak,
and closed my eyes again, feeling safe and at
rest. I didn't go to school any more that
fall, and hardly went out of the house. You
{
OLD SUNAPEE.
85
1
see, I have good reason to remember my
first oath."
"You wasn't to blame for that, Uncle
Joe,” said one; "you couldn't help it."
"Oh, yes, I could. 'Twas a strong temp-
tation, but I was to blame for not resisting
to the end."
९९
"Did your mother ever know all about
it?" asked the man who wanted a "good
deal of mother" in the story.
"Yes, John told her the whole story before
I was able to talk. The master was very
sorry for having whipped us; but I guess
'twas the best way, after all."
"Why, Uncle Joe?"
Because, if he hadn't, I might have gone
on and grown worse, thinking my mother
wouldn't know it. She always said she'd
rather I'd died then, than have lived to be a
profane man."
"Perhaps mine would rather had me die
1
:
}
86
OLD SUNAPEE.
when I was a baby," said the motherless
"But I learned to swear a great
man.
while ago."
"What made you?" said Uncle Joe.
"I heard the men I worked with, and I
thought 'twas smart to use such big words."
"Ah, yes, that's the way. Perhaps some
motherless boy has learned to swear from
hearing you."
The man hung his head. He was thinking
of his own boys, and the fearful oaths he
sometimes heard them use.
"Well, I know I never'll swear again when
I think," said George.
"And if I forget, I
hope mother'll punish me so I shall remem-
ber it as long as I live."
"And I, too,” said Tom.
"I never did say them wicked words, and
I ain't going to," added Ralph.
Madge and Nell said nothing; but as their
brothers came into the house, they resolved
}
OLD SUNAPEE.
87
7
to help them resist the temptation of their
father's example.
The men sat silent, evidently thinking of
what they had heard. "Remember the
commandments," said Uncle Joe, as he ert
them.
So we say to our readers, "Remember
the commandments." The world is making
rapid progress, but we shall never outgrow
the law delivered once from Mount Sinai.

بول
96250
Dunfor x

CHAPTER II.
Patient waiting, prayerful watching,
So the fleeting days go by;
Never tiring, spirits training
For the mansions in the sky.
Ever hoping, still enduring,
Fainting not 'mid all the strife;
Upward looking, onward striving,
Toward the Christian's endless life.

'NCLE Joe told his story Fri-
day evening. The next day
the weather was very warm;
there was a great deal of grass
down; the men were obliged to hurry, and
everything betokened hot work. Mr. Ben-
son was fretting at his forced idleness.
making everybody around him wish, for their
88
1
A
***
}
Ce
OLD SUNAPEE
sakes as well as his own, he could go out
and attend to his work. The first of the
week, he had been able to watch its progress
from his window; but that day his work-
men were quite away from the house, and he
stormed and fretted until noon, when Uncle
Joe brought a favorable report from the
hay-field.
39
Everything is going well; hay making
finely, and we shall have it in in good
season, if nothing happens to prevent.
"You always put in an if," said Mr. Ben
son, "and after this I guess I shall have to.
My plans for this week have all failed. I
calculated, but its no use looking back. 1
suppose you think it's all for the best, and,
in some way, this is for my good; but I can't
see it."
""
"All things work together for good to
them that love God."
Mr. Benson was silent for a moment. He
90
OLD SUNAPEE.
}
accepted the implied reproof; but, unwilling
to acknowledge it, replied in an evasive way,
"You're always quoting Scripture; a text at
your tongue's end for every occasion. I
shouldn't think you'd ever need to read the
Bible; you seem to have it all by heart."
"I don't read it only because I need to; I
love it. Its promises strengthen my faith;
the heaven it describes seems nearer to me;
so near, that sometimes I almost think I can
hear the new song of the ransomed."
"You're a mystery to me, Uncle Joe.
You're not a rich man; you're getting old
and feeble, and can't expect to live very long,
but you seem very happy. Now, I've been
fretting all the morning, and, to tell the
truth, there's always something wrong with
me."
"But you have the desire of your heart,
Mr. Benson; I remember hearing you say
that when you owned this farm, clear from
1
OLD SUNAPEE.
91
""
lebt, and had two or three thousand dollars
at interest, you should be perfectly satisfied."
"I remember saying it, and I thought so
then; but I ain't any happier now than I was
before. I'm always having the blues; every-
thing looks dark to me, and sometimes it
makes me angry to see anybody else happy.
You see I'm in a mood for talking this
noon."
"I wish I could make you happier; but
the trouble is with your heart, and I have nc
power over that. You have all you could
ask for in this world. A good wife
"Yes, too good for me, I suppose you
think, and I know she is. She's one of
your sort, Uncle Joe; and I do believe she's
got religion, if there's any such thing."
"You know there's such a thing, John
Benson; you have proof of it every day of
your life; and if you'd study the Bible half
as carnestly as you do the interest table,
you'd be better and happier.”
""
92
OLD SUNAPEE.
Here the conversation was brought to a
close by the call to dinner.
Mr. Benson had had ample time to think,
while confined to the house, and some doubts
had crept into his mind in regard to the in-
fidel theory he had so long defended. He
had found himself wondering, once or twice,
what would be his future state, if, after all,
the Bible should prove to be true, and God.
the ruler of the universe.
These doubts had hardly taken tangible
form, when Uncle Joe came in to rest a
while before dinner. The prosperous farmer
couldn't avoid contrasting the constant cheer-
fulness of his old friend, with his own mo-
rose, unhappy temper, and before pride had
locked the door up on his thoughts, he had
given utterance to them.
He saw the aged Christian sit down to the
table, fold his hands, and implore God's bless
ing. It moved him as never before; for a
f
1
OLD SUNAPEE.
93
moment he longed to ask for his prayers.
aly a moment, and the old spirit came back.
"There is no God and the Bible is a fable.”
He wanted to say it aloud, that the tones of
his voice might reassure him.
It was strange, but true, that in all his life
he had never harbored a doubt of his infidel
eed. Devoting all his energy to the ac-
quisition of property, avoiding all religious
influences, holding himself aloof from Chris-
tians, and treating all their efforts for his
good with the utmost contempt, he was
singularly ignorant of the history and doc-
trines of Christianity. The Bible was to
him, literally, a sealed book, sealed by his
own wicked neglect.
Since he attended church the first year of
his marriage, he had never listened to a ser-
mon, except on a funeral occasion, and this
he avoided if possible.
True, his wife was a Christian, and as
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OLD SUNAPEE.
faithful as she could be in her position, bit
she had long ago learned that it was worse
than useless to remonstrate with her husband.
Walking by faith and not by sight, she still
prayed, hoping against hope that God would,
in his own good time, grant a blessing.
Her pastor visited her when he knew her
husband was absent, rather than subject him-
self to the abuse that had once been heaped
upon him.
Uncle Joe was an exception to all rules.
Mr. Benson heartily liked him, and gave him
unbounded confidence, often saying he would
take his word against the world. There was
a quiet dignity and grave solemnity in his
manner when speaking of the subject nearest
his heart, that compelled even the scorner
to treat him with respect and consideration.
Surprised at the confession of his employer,
he hailed it as an omen of good, and another
prayer, winged by faith, ascended to Heaven.
1
OLD SUNAPEE.
95
•
"Well, Doyle, how goes work to-day?"
was Mr. Benson's salutation to one of the
workmen, as he passed the window of the
room in which he was sitting.
"Fast and easy, sir. Uncle Joe smooths
all the rough places. I don't believe you
ever had so much hay put into your barn in
one week before."
"I'm glad things go well, and hope I shall
be able to work next week myself."
"Better not begin your week's work too
soon, then," thought the man, as he went on,
"Well," said one, as he unhitched the
oxen from the cart that night, "we've had a
pretty tough day's work, but somehow we've
got through it without much trouble. No-
body's been cross even to the cattle, and I
believe they know the difference as well as
the men."
A man by the name of Jones replied to
this. "The hardest work I've had to do to-
96
OLD SUNAPEE.
}
day, was to keep from swearing. I've caught
myself just going to, a hundred times."
"How have you made out," asked Uncle
Joe.
ee I suppose I've thought swear, but I
haven't spoken it but once."
"Pretty well for you, Jones," said the first
speaker. "I believe you could get the prize
for swearing any time, when Benson ain't
round."
What do you suppose will be the prize
swearers will receive in another world?”.
"I never thought of that, Uncle Joe.
you know?"
Cre
Whosoever was not written in the book
of life was cast into the lake of fire.' In
sure no swearer's name will ever be found
written in the book of life.
That must be in the Bible, though I don't
know much what is in there."
Why don't you study it, then, and find
୧୯
out."
Do
""
OLD SUNAPEE.
97
"It don't seem to be in my line; you take
to the Bible naturally, but I never look into
1 it. I believe there's one somewhere in the
house, and if I thought it would make me as
good and happy as you are, I'd study it.”
"If you study and obey it, you can't fail
to be happy."
"I haven't heard one of the men swear to-
day, Madge," said George, that evening.
"They never swear much before Uncle Joe,
but I don't believe they have anywhere to-
day. I didn't, and I hope I never shall
again."
"I hope not, little brother."
"Do you think it's as wicked as Uncle Joe
says?"
I
"Yes, quite as wicked; and, besides that,
it's low and vulgar.'
"Is it? Then, what makes so many men
swear? There's John Prince; he came in
here yestesday, dressed up ever sɔ nice. Ho
7
98
OLD SUNAPEE.
1
talked good all the time he was with you,
but when he went to the shed for his horse,
he swore dreadfully because the horse backed
a little. Is he low and vulgar, Madge?
A hard question. Young Prince was home
from college for a vacation. He was a fine
scholar, talked well, when he didn't swear,
and thought himself to have the best man-
ners of any one in town.
"He isn't a real gentleman, George, or he
wouldn't swear."
""
The boy didn't understand this. He al-
ways thought his father was a smart man,
but he wouldn't have dreamed of calling him
a gentleman. The idea of a gentleman was
associated in his mind with a glossy coat
and shiny boots.
"Is Uncle Joe a gentleman?"
"Yes, indeed, he is," was the emphatic
reply.
"But he wears patched clothes, and his
1
OLD SUNAPEE.
99
A
+
3
boots never shine a bit. I know he's ever
so good, and I love him, but I didn't know
he was a gentleman. I wish you'd tell me
l
what makes a gentleman," added he, his
ideas upon the subject getting somewhat
confused.
"A good heart, with kind words and ac-
tions," replied his mother, coming into the
room.
"If that's so, Uncle Joe is the finest gen-
tleman in town, and I should like to be one,
too, if I only knew how."
"You'll find all the rules in the Bible."
Then I'll study it; and I guess a good
many other folks need to."
1
L
Mr. Benson overheard this conversation.
Sitting alone in the gathering twilight, a new
revelation had come to him. "It was lọw
and vulgar to swear." Madge, his Madge,
had said it, and he was in double disgrace.
Pretty position for a man who intended to du
100
OLD SUNAPEE.
er
as he
was a mind to" in his own house, if
he couldn't work on Sunday, and swear as
he pleased, without losing caste with his
children. It was very humiliating, but the
conclusion was unavoidable. He was likely
to remember some of the commandments,
even if he wouldn't study them.
He had thought for a moment of calling
in Madge and George, and enlightening
them upon the subject of swearing; but, on
further consideration, wisely concluded to
keep silence.
It had been an eventful week for all. Mr.
Benson found himself drifting from the old
moorings, and, ply the oars as he would, the
current was too strong for him. The chil-
dren, who had wavered between the con-
flicting home influences, were all on mother's
side, leaving the master of the house alone
with his Sabbath-breaking and profanity.
"I'm not sure but Benson's last Sabbath
{
i
I
?
OLD SUNAPEE.
101
will prove the most profitable one for his.
family he ever spent," said Uncle Joe to his
sister, as in their happy home they talked
over the events of the week.
"How so?" was the reply. "I don't see
how such an example of wickedness can be
profitable to any family."
"It wouldn't be, if they didn't think he'd
been punished for it ever since. He's been
sick all the week, not able to look after his
work. He was out a little while Monday,
but was glad to go in pretty soon out of
sight."
Aunt Sarah looked up questioningly, and
her brother gave a graphic description of the
events of that afternoon, that provoked a
hearty laugh from both.
"Do you suppose he'll work to-morrow?"
"No indeed; he's satisfied with one Sab-
bath's work, and I guess the horse can go to
the hill to-morrow just as well as not.”
*
4
[
102
OLD SUNAPEE.
So it did. Madge inquired in regard to
the matter, and volunteered to remain at
home, so that her mother could have the
pleasure of attending church. She had
always before enjoyed staying with her
father, but she was looking at him then in a
new light; his extreme opinions had lost
their attraction, and comparing his outbursts
of passion with her mother's gentle firmness,
she saw plainly where was the real indepen-
dence of thought and feeling. Mr. Benson
was not ill enough to be cared for as an
invalid, and neither he nor Madge seemed to
have much to say to each other. The time
would have been long and tedious, had not
Ralph, the pet of the household, been there.
He was in a thoughtful mood, and asked
strange, far-off questions, while the father,
feigning sleep, listened to his children, think-
ing, as he listened, how different their life
might be from his.
OLD SUNAPEE.
?
103
"
|
1
"Please tell me about the angels, sister
Madge. Do they have wings?"
"Yes, I suppose they do," was the
abstracted reply.
"Don't mother say so? She knows all
about such things."
"Yes, but what made you think of that,
little brother?"
ce
"Why, mother told me the other night,
if I was a good boy and prayed to God
every day, he'd take me up in the sky some
timè, and make me an angel. I should want
to have some wings, so I could fly down and
see you and mother. Sha'n't you want to see
me?"
"Yes, darling, indeed we shall."
Well, I guess we shall all have wings
but father. He can't have any unless he
prays to God; and he'll keep going down,
down, ever so far. I wish he'd be good."
Madge shook her head; but Ralph insisted
x
104
ULD SUNAPEE.
(
•
that his father was asleep, and went on
talking.
"If he was only like mother, there wouldn't
anybody in the house say wicked words.
George and Tom ain't ever going to say any
more, and I wouldn't for anything. You
and Nell won't; will you, sister?".
Ce
'No, Ralph; but let's talk about some-
thing else. Don't you want I should tell you
a story."
"Yes, if you'll have something in it about
the angels; will you?"
"What makes you want to hear so much
about the angels to-day?
'Cause I guess I shall be one pretty soon,
and I want to know how 'twill seem."
""
As he said this he opened a magazine on
the table, in which was the picture of a
youth pressing eagerly forward in the path of
ife. On one side, so near that the silvery
wing fanned the brow of the pilgrim, was his
1
OLD SUNAPEE.
195
!
CC
guardian angel, a look of loving interest on
the half-upturned face, as he silently wooed
him to the good and true. On the other
hand, the spirit of evil, whose black, shadowy
wing drooped heavily earthward, and whose
dark face, though telling of thwarted plans,
still wore an expression of malignant cunning,
as he seemed to whisper of forbidden pleas-
ures and sinful indulgence.
"Isn't that an angel?" said the child,
pointing to the shining one.
Yes, little brother; and so is the other."
۲۰
What, the black one, with the ugly face?
He isn't pretty."
"He isn't good, either. He's a bad angel.”
"I didn't know there were any bad ones.
Ain't they the folks that don't pray to God,
so when they die they grow black. I guess
the mer that swear make black angels; don't
they, sister?"
"I'm afraid they will," was the reply.
$
106
OLD SUNAPEE.
ĭ
Madge looked long and earnestly at the
faces of the attendant spirits. Accustomed
somewhat to analyze her own feelings, and
study the emotions of her heart, she recog-
nized the two influences that struggled for
the mastery of her life.
A few more questions, and Ralph was
asleep. She pressed her lips tenderly to his,
and wished, not prayed, that he might be
shielded from all evil.
Her father made a slight motion, and she
asked if he was awake.
९९
Yes," was the reply; "where's Ralph?"
"In my arms, fast asleep.”
"Bring him to me."
Madge obeyed, thinking, as she laid him
down, of the contrast between the sweet
young face and the stern, furrowed features.
She went out and left them, glad to be
alone. Sitting in the shade of the vine, she
thought of the home prepared for the pure
1
OLD SUNAPEE.
107
1
1
}
in heart, of the blessing that maketh rich,
adding no sorrow therewith, and of the
white-robed throng above. Under the in-
fluence of these thoughts she grew restless,
and paced the piazza with clasped hands and
rapid steps.
Uncle Joe's words sounded in her ears,
"Remember the commandments." She re-
peated them over, one by one, and almost
fancied she was strong enough to keep them
even to the end.
But what had she to do with such things
now? What made her have such strange
thoughts? She wouldn't be so foolish any
longer. The time hadn't come for her to
decide what was true and what was not.
She must be a great scholar, nothing should
prevent that; and then she would study the
Bible, perhaps in its original tongue, and
make her decision."
"I'm sure I can keep the commandments,'
""
}
108
OLD SUNAPEE.
thought she. "I shouldn't think of worship-
ping idols, and I don't want to lie, swear, or
steal."
She tried to satisfy herself with this rea-
soning, and thought she succeeded.
Meanwhile Mr. Benson, in the wild unrest
that seized him, folded his child closer, while
wave after wave of feeling swept over him.
It would have been a relief to give utter-
ance to his unwonted emotions in a storm of
oaths; but he dared not, for the boy that
lay cradled in his arms. Sometimes he al-
most hated him for the prophecy he had
uttered, and, in his madness, cursed the God
to whom he would not pray.
The child moved uneasily in his sleep. "I
want to be an angel," came from the parted
lips.
The man's brain fairly reeled beneath the
accumulation of "superstition," and he re-
solved, in some way, to put a stop to so
1
OLD SUNAPEE.
-.109
Ce
1
much nonsense." He who could not be
induced to go inside a church, had been lis-
tening to sermons preached by every mem-
ber of the family, from Uncle Joe down to
little Ralph. He had a great mind not to
have the old man there again. His wife had
religion enough for one house, his children
were all coming up the same way, and
Here he remembered his promise, and
found himself bound by his honor to keep
silence.
After a little while Madge looked in upon
him.
"What makes you so sober? You didn't
seem like yourself all last week, and to-day
you're worse than ever. What's the mat-
ter?"
"Nothing, father.
I'm well enough.
"That isn't it. I don't suppose you're
sick, but I haven't heard you laugh as you
used to, and I feel as though you were a
""
110
OLD SUNAPEE.
f
great way off from me.
Don't go to get-
ting pious. You're too smart to be tied
down by any such old-fashioned rules. 1
hoped I should have one child after my own
heart, but I'm afraid I'm losing you."
"Losing me
how?"
"You're going over to your mother's
side."
Defeat Type
"Mother's always good. If I follow her,
I sha'n't go far wrong."
"Who said she wasn't good," was the
angry reply. "She's too good; that's the
trouble. For my part, I'm sick of such
dreadful good folks."
The look on his daughter's face recalled
him to some sense of propriety. He had
been thinking so long, that, as she entered,
he addressed her involuntarily in a way that
he wouldn't have done, had he stopped for a
moment to consider.
Madge waited till the flush had faded
{
OLD SUNAPEE.
111
from her check, before she allowed herself.
to speak. "Do you wish to have me do
anything for you now, father? I'm going to
get supper."
"All I want is to see one of your old
smiles."
"What is it?" said Ralph. "Am I here
with you, sister? I thought I was an angel,
and had wings, all covered with stars."
He crept away from his father, and fol-
lowed Madge into the kitchen, where she
gave him a nice lunch, and thus engaged in
feeding the body, he forgot for a while that
he wanted "to be an angel."
Supper was waiting when mother and chil-
dren returned from church. Mrs. Benson
went first to inquire for her husband's health.
Well enough," was the ungracious reply.
She had received too many such answers
to give any sign of annoyance, and they sat
down to the table. There was but little said,
1
}
1
112
and that little in subdued tones. The chil-
dren had brought home an unusual supply
of books and papers, but they never talked
about such things before their father. He
finished his tea soon, and left them. The
door closed, and there was a Babel of tongues.
"I've got just the nicest book, Madge.
You'll read it to me, won't you," said Tom,
who never liked the trouble of doing his own
reading. "It takes a fellow so long to find
out the big words, it spoils all the story."
"His book isn't any better than mine,"
said George. "I know you'll want to read
mine. It's about a boy who hadn't any fa-
ther or mother, and a good lady took him
home and took care of him."
OLD SUNAPEE.
"If I only could get a chance to speak
once,” said Nell, "I should be glad. I've
been trying to say something, but those
boys
""
१९
}
What do you wish to say? We'll all
listen to you now.”
1
1
OLD SUNAPEE.
113
{
"I want to tell you that we've got some
new books, and there are some of them large
enough for you, Miss Madge."
"Where did they come from?”
"Oh, some school, richer than ours, has
read them all through, and sent them up
here among the hills, to enlighten us poor
heathen."
Ce
Heathen, indeed," was the reply," if, with
all the money there is in this town, we can't
buy our own Sabbath-school books.”
"Well, you see the women go to church,
but the men have the money. I expect that's
the reason."
'
"I expect it is too," said Madge, and
it's a miserable way of getting along. That's
why poor Mr. Mervin don't have any more
salary."
"Yes; but as Mr. Chase and Mr. Benson
say, if he don't like the salary, he can have
the privilege of going somewhere else."
114
OLD SUNAPEE.
1
"Nell," said her mother, in a tone of re-
proof.
ee
Why, mother, what have I done now?
They did say so."
"You shouldn't repeat it, if they did."
Any way, Madge, we've got the books,
so it's just as well as though we bought
them. We're to have a concert, two weeks
from to-day, and you're invited to do your
part towards making it interesting."
"I hope you will, this time, my daughter,"
said Mrs. Benson. "Mr. Mervin tries hard
to do us good, and it grieves me to have my
children refuse to help him."
"Miss Steele said," added Nell, "if you
would only be interested, we four children
could do a great deal; but I told her I was
afraid you wouldn't."
Ce
What made you think so?”
"Because you haven't done anything for
more than a year, and I didn't suppose you
would this time."
1
OLD SUNAPEE.
115
"For once, you're mistaken. Mr. Mervin
may count on me. I'll do all I can."
"I'm so glad, my daughter," said her
mother, a real heart-smile lighting up the
worn face.
Nell was astonished, but asked no ques
tions. Madge seldom gave a reason for
what she did to the younger members of
the family.
The sudden decision to help in that from
which she had before stood aloof, was one of
the first fruits of her resolution to assist her
mother in the religious training of the family.
After supper came the reading, and it
proved to be very interesting, Madge adding
comments and explanations. Mrs. Benson,
who was occupied with Ralph, observed that
her daughter was more serious than usual;
and the children almost thought mother was
talking to them.
Mr. Benson looked at the group for a
116
OLD SUNAF EE.
1
little while, listened to the subdued talk,
then went away, feeling himself of very little
consequence in the family. It was of no use
to scold; he had tried that enough; nobody
would scold with him. He was ashamed to
swear, his political paper had lost its charm,
and he had no sympathy with the sweet
Sabbath lessons. He wished the day was
over, wished there never had been any Sab-
bath; in short, wished anything and every-
thing but what he should have wished and
prayed for, that he might be a good Chris-
tian man.
The day came to an end, the night watches
passed, and Monday morning, with its cares
and labors, found the family early awake,
and ready to take up the burden of a new.
week.
In the afternoon Mr. Benson went into the
field for an hour or two, and, as usual, when
conversing out of Uncle Joe's hearing, inter-
1
OLD SUNAPEE.
117
Į
larded his sentences with frequent oaths.
He had been so long shut up with uncon
genial society, that he felt it a great relief
to be where he could say what he pleased.
He directed his conversation principally to
Mr. Jones, whom I have before introduced
to my readers.
After a while it occurred to him, that his
companion seemed different from usual; his
replies were short, lacking the point and
keenness that had always attracted him. He
only assented to many remarks, and when he
said more, was absent-minded and dull.
"What's the matter with you, man? Why
don't you say something?" asked Mr. Ben-
son. "I've heard nothing but sermons all
the week, and I thought 'twould do me good
to talk with somebody who's alive."
"Then Uncle Joe is just the man for you.
Old as he is, he's more alive than anybody
else I know of."
?
118
OLD SUNAPEE.
I
"I've nothing to say against him. But I
want to hear some other kind of talk."
"Other kind? Why, he can talk anything,
from a story to the Bible."
"Bible! I believe you're all going crazy.
Are you Bible-struck, with all the rest?
That old book that somebody made up hun-
dreds of years ago
!
Strange how it hits everybody's case
just right though, ain't it?”
"It was written by very cunning men."
"That's a fact; and their cunning died with
them. They knew more than anybody now-
adays."
ce
"Pshaw! What are you talking about,
Jones? I've told you a hundred times,
there's no truth in it."
"Yes, I know you have. But Uncle Joe
says every word of it is true. He's read it
through a great many times, and knows all
about it. Did you ever read it through?”
1
OLD SUNAPEE.
119
"No, I hope not; I can spend my time to
better advantage.'
د,
"Well there's one strange thing about it.
I've always noticed that the ones who study
it most, believe it; and they ought to be
better judges than the ones that never look
into it. I guess 'twould pay to know what
there is in it, for if it should prove to be true,
you and I shall stand a hard chance when we
come to die. Don't you ever think it may
be true, after all?"
I should not dare repeat the oaths to
which Mr. Benson gave utterance, when he
was asked this direct home question. Mr.
Jones had but echoed his thoughts of the
last week. Where he had looked for strength
and sympathy, he found only weakness.
"Are you going over to the other side,
Jones," asked he, as soon as he had recov-
ered breath after the first outburst of passion.
"I don't know know where I'm going. I
mean to find out, if I can.
"
120
OLD SUNAPEE.
**
"Find out! You are well enough, if you'll
only attend to your business, and let all this
nonsense alone."
Ce
Perhaps I've got some business that I
haven't looked after yet."
"Where do you suppose it is?"
"Not far off, I guess, and I mean to attend
to it."
"I don't know what you're talking about,"
replied Mr. Benson, in an irritated tone of
voice.
Ce
Well, I don't know much about it my-
self."
Some one came up to ask about the work,
and the conversation was interrupted, great'y
te the relief of one of those engaged in it.
It was Mr. Jones who had listened so
eagerly to Uncle Joe's story, and whose
mother, a devoted Christian woman, had
died when he was less than a year old. The
prayers of that mother had ever hovered
OLD SUNAPEE.
121
1
over him, notwithstanding his profane dis-
regard for the religion that had made her
death so peaceful and happy.
His early home had never been a pleasant
one, his step-mother treating him as an in-
truder; and he was glad to leave it, so soon
as he was able to provide for himself. He
was now a husband and father, living on a
small farm not far from Mr. Benson's. The
world had not gone very well with him, and
he had hard work to meet the expenses of
his family.
The influence of his wealthier neighbors
was all on the wrong side, and he had placed
too much confidence in their assertions, with-
´out taking the trouble to think for himself
He had often worked with Uncle Joe before,
respected and almost reverenced his consist-
ent piety, yet.never thought of imitating his
example. Having helped in getting in the
hay on the Sabbath, the events of the follow-
}
122
OLD SUNAPEE.
ing week had made a strong impression up-
on him, which he did not care to conceal.
There was a vague longing for something
more than he then possessed, a fear that he
might be neglecting the most important
business of his life; but, as he said, he
hardly knew what he had been talking
about.
As he worked on, he wondered if he
hadn't better let it all go. He had enough
to do to look out for this world. Why
should he trouble himself about another?
The hurry of loading hay commenced;
and, for a time, all thoughts were occupied
with the immediate work. Mr. Benson re-
mained; but everybody wished him out of
the way. There was too much scolding, too
many orders; and Uncle Joe looked on with
a quiet smile, wondering if the oxcn were
conscious of the storm that raged about their
}
ears.
OLD SUNAPEE.
123 1
1
It must have been that the men had
changed, for they had always before looked
upon their employer as a smart worker and
most capable manager.
"Too much fuss; ain't there, Jones? I'm
sick of it. I believe Benson grows worse.
He swears worse than ever, when Uncle Joe
ain't round."
"You are mistaken there, he hasn't used
half as many big words as he generally does.
The difference must be in you."
Perhaps it is. Any way, I wish he'd go
into the house. I don't like him as well as
I used to. He's a hard man."
"He always was, but it's a pretty good
place to work, after all. We are always
sure of our pay, with plenty to eat, in good
shape and good season.”
After supper, the men had it all their
own way, and finished up without any more
trouble.
ce
1
124
OLD SUNAPEE.
*
}
•
"What do you think of swearing, Mr.
Jones? Can't you get along just as well
without it?" asked Uncle Joe.
"Yes, a great deal better."
"Then I hope you won't go back to it."
"I wish I never could swear again in the
world; but I'm afraid I shall, when I get
away from you."
"I hope not. I shall ask God to keep
you from it."
"Ask
The man looked up in surprise.
God to keep me from it! Do you ever pray
for me, Uncle Joe?"
"Yes, indeed, my friend. I pray for you
every day."
"Did you ever pray for me before this
summer?"
"I've prayed for you ever since I first
knew you. There isn't a man in town but
what I've prayed for, a great many times."
"What makes you do it?"
1
í
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OLD SUNAPEE.
125
1
"Because they have souls to be saved or
lost, and but few of them ever pray for
themselves."
"Do you suppose it will do any good?"
"I know it will.”
"But they don't any of them go over to
your way of thinking."
"I know it, but in God's good time they
may; and it always does me good to pray
for them," said Uncle Joe, as he turned
away, leaving Mr. Jones to think of what
had been said.
Uncle Joe hoped and prayed for that town
among the hills, where years before had been
sown the seeds of infidelity, that had taken
deep root, and were now springing up in a
plentiful harvest. The little church strug-
gled hard for existence. It had but five
male members, of which Uncle Joe was one.
The church book contained the names of
about forty Christian women, who had come
126
OLD SUNAPEE.
out from the world and taken the vows of
God upon them.
As Nell Benson had said, the women went
to church, but the men had the money. The
sisters of the church did what they could,
but that was very little, and they were often
thwarted in their efforts by an opposing
influence at home.
Uncle Joe deeply lamented this, knowing
it was all wrong, but unable to remedy it.
He was poor, but gave more of his poverty
than many who counted their thousands.
He gave, too, what they could not give, the
effectual, fervent prayer of the righteous.
He prayed, especially, for the men of the
town, that they might be converted from the
error of their ways.
"I may not live to see it," he would some-
times say to Aunt Sarah, "but I believe the
Lord has a blessing for this town. My faith
is strengthened, and every prayer brings back
1
OLD SUNAPEE.
1 77
1
Ce
to my soul an answer of peace." He left Mr.
Jones that evening with a prayer that fol
lowed the restless, weary man every step of
his way home.
"Wife, isn't there a Bible in the house?"
"Yes, somewhere. I hardly know where.
I don't know as I've seen it lately."
Why, father," said one of the boys," you
had it to strop your razor on yesterday morn-
ing, and when you got done you put it up
on the shelf. Are you going to shave again
to-night?"
The boy, having seen only the cover used
for sharpening purposes, couldn't think of
any other use for it.
"What do you want of it?" asked his
wife.
"I want to read it," was Mr. Jones's reply.
"Seems to me you are turning over a new
leaf."
"I haven't turned it over yet, but I hope I
I
128
OLD SUNAPEE.
4
t
shall. I'm going to read the Bible, and see
what there is in it."
"You have always said it wasn't true."
"I know I have; but I took somebod
word for it. I never read it, nor Benso
either; so we don't either of us know an
thing about it. If it's true, as the pio
people say, we're all going to destruction
as fast as we can, I think its time to find
out about it. Another thing; I've given up
swearing. I never shall swear again unless
I forget, and I want these boys to give it up,
too. I wish you could have heard the story
Uncle Joe told us Friday night. He never
swore but once in his life, and then he had a
dreadful time.
"Can't you tell us about it, father?"
I'm afraid I shouldn't get it right, but I'll
tell you what I will do. If you won't say a
wicked word for the next four days, I'll ask
Uncle Joe to come here and stay next Friday
-
1
1
OLD SUNAPEE.
129
i
1
night, and tell you the story himself. Ask
mother if she can find a place for him."
"Yes, indeed," was the reply. "I always
liked Uncle Joe, and shall be glad to see
him."
er
The boys looked at each other, but said
nothing. "Can't you promise, Frank?" said
his father to the eldest.
"Yes, sir; but I'm afraid I should forget,
and say the words before I think."
Perhaps you will forget; but are you
willing to try?
"Yes, sir," answered both together.
"I shall want to know how many times.
you forget; so I'll write your names on the
slate that hangs up in the bed-room, and
every time you say a wicked word, I want
you to make a mark beside your name."
They both promised to do this, and the
slate, duly prepared, was returned to its
place.
""
1
&
9
130
OLD SUNAPEE.
'Now, boys," said Mr. Jones, "you mus
be honest about this. It will be just the
same as a lie if you don't put down as many
marks as you ought to; and remember it is
wicked to lie as well as to swear."
This was the first lesson in morals Mr.
Jones had ever given his children. Having
decided to give up swearing himself, he pro-
posed that his boys should give it up too.
They readily promised all he desired, and he
commenced reading the Bible.
"Are you going to begin at the beginning,
husband?"
"Yes; and I'll read every word of it, if I
live long enough."
"I wish you'd wait till I've put the chil-
dren to bed, and then read aloud to me. I
never read it much, and it's so long since I
looked in it, I've forgotten all about it.”
Mr. Jones waited, and then read for more
than an hour; his wife giving the closest
I
1
OLD SUNAPEE.
131
1
attention, occasionally interrupting him with
a question that he could answer no better
than herself. At length he closed the book,
saying, "It don't sound like a lie; does it,
wife?"
"No; and I don't believe it is. Mrs.
Benson believes it's true, and she knows ten
times as much as her husband."
"That's a fact, and she's ten times as good.
She has a hard time with him.”
That's what she does. I should think
she'd get discouraged. There's no such thing
as suiting him. He's cross from morning till
night."
"And I'm cross, too, sometimes, wife. I
never thought of it before, but I'll warrant
there's something in the Bible about it."
"I don't believe you'd ever be cross in the
world if you had such a wife as Benson has.
She's a Christian, and I'm not. That's what
makes the difference. What are you going
;
132
OLD SUNAPEE
to do, if you find the Bible is true?" added
Mrs. Jones.
Going to do what it tells me, as far as I
er
can."
"I'll go with you, husband. I've always
let you do my thinking in such matters, and
I'll follow you now."
'I've been a poor guide," said he, with a
sigh, for the first time realizing his respon-
sibility; "but I'll try to be a better one in
future."
There was silence for a few minutes,
broken only by the ticking of the clock.
At length Mrs. Jones spoke.
"Do you believe there's a God?"
Ce
"I know there is, whether the Bible is
true or not."
"But you said
"I know what I said, but I believo now
there is a God, just as much as I believe
there's a sun in the heavens."
"
1
I
OLD SUNAPEE.
133
1
CC
"And do you believe it does any good to
pray to him?"
"I believe it does good for such folks as
Uncle Joe to pray to him."
"Then why wouldn't it do good for us to
pray to him?"
"Because we are wicked, and Uncle Joe is
good."
"God can make us better, can't he, if we
ask him?"
"I suppose so; but we'll wait till we've
read the Bible more and know better how to
pray. Won't that be best?"
Perhaps so," was the reluctant answer.
"I'll tell you what we will do, wife. We'll
ask Uncle Joe about it, when he comes here
Friday night."
"I'm afraid he won't come."
I
"Yes, he will. He certainly will, if he
knows we want him to talk about the Bible.
He's full of it."
0
O
134
OLD SUNAPEE.
Then do ask him. Tell him I want to
see him, and will do everything I can for
him."
Mr. Jones found time to read a chapter in
the Bible before he went to his work the
next morning, and by the time he reached
the house of his employer felt well fortified
against swearing, by the thought that his
boys were looking to him for an example.
He remembered he had told his wife, he be-
lieved there was a God as much as there was
a sun in the heavens, and, turning towards
the east, where the king of day was just ap-
pearing above the hills, he felt his belief con-
firmed.
He was a little impatient to see Unclo
Joe. He wanted to know what he would
say in regard to his studying the Bible,
and how he would receive his invitation.
About the middle of the forenoon, they
were working near together, and after a
1
1
}
OLD SUNAPEE.
Ce
135
little hesitation he introduced the subject
by saying, "My wife wants you to come
over and stay with us, Friday night."
Uncle Joe looked up, waiting for an
explanation.
"We've got a good many questions to
ask you, about the Bible. I began to read
it last night, and there are some things I
don't understand. I'm going to read it
through, and then make up my mind whether
it's true or not."
"I'll certainly come if I can help you any.
I love to talk about the Bible. Tell your
wife I'll be there, if possible."
Another thing; I talked to my boys
about swearing, and they are going to try
and leave it off. I promised them I'd ask
you to tell them your story. They don't
hear stories very often, and I'm sure it will
do them good. If it wouldn't be too much
trouble, I wish you'd tell them. They'll
never forget it."
~
:
136
OLD SUNAPEE.
"
ee
I'll tell them. It's never any troul le
for me to do good. And I'm more than
glad you are studying the Bible. I'm
thankful you are in the right way now.
Don't let anybody persuade you to turn
back. Don't be deceived by loud talking,
or frightened by foolish laughter, which is
only to be despised."
"There's no danger of that, Uncle Joe.
Benson always says the Bible ain't true;
but yesterday he owned that he never
read it. I've taken his word for it, but
now I'll see for myself."
"Thank God you've made such a decision.
This is the turning-point of your life," said
the old man, as he was called to another
part of the field.
"Well, Jones, I hope you are coming
to your senses to-day."
"I'm trying to find them, but it's slow
work for a man like me," was the reply.
·
1
1
OLD SUNAPEE.
137
7
1
1
"I suppose you've got over your fuss
about the Bible, by this time.".
(
'Got over my fuss! What do you mean
by that, Mr. Benson?"
"Why, yesterday, I thought Uncle Joe
had made a convert of you. You talked
as though you half believed the Bible was
true."
"I rather think it is."
Mr. Benson uttered an oath, and his com-
panion added, "I commenced reading it last
night, and when I'm through I'll tell you
what I believe about it."
"You ain't going to wade through all that
stuff?"
"I'm going to read the Bible through, if I
live."
er
Don't make such a fool of yourself,
Jones. You are too smart to spend your
You don't want the name
time that way.
of belonging to the pious ones. Just look
☆
1
f
138
at the men of the town. They don't believe
any such nonsense."
They don't all agree with you, Mr.
Benson. There are some men in town who
believe the Bible Uncle Joe's way, and you
must own they are some of the best, if not
the richest. Any way, it's of no use to
talk to me. I've made up my mind, and
am bound to judge for myself; so you
needn't be surprised if Mr. Mervin has an
addition to his congregation."
"I won't talk with you any more, Jones,
till you can talk like a sensible man. I
never expected this of you."
Hem," was the inaudible reply; "I've
taken your word long enough. Your life
isn't a very attractive comment upon your
doctrine. I'll do my own thinking in fu-
ture."
-.
Ce
OLD SUNAPEE.
Uncle Joe had noticed the two in conver
sation, and was a little anxious in regard to
1
OLD SUNAPEE.
139
<
the result; but Mr. Benson's manner at its
close satisfied him that there was nothing to
fear.
1
"Benson and Jones don't seem to have
quite so much as usual to say to each other
this week," remarked one.
"No," was the reply, "Jones don't swear
now; and I guess, from something I heard
him say, he don't intend to take Benson's
word for law and gospel any longer."
"I guess we've all done that too much."
"Shouldn't wonder if we had. He's a
pretty good hand at an argument, and makes
his side appear to be right."
"I know it seems so, but didn't you ever
think there were more big words than good
ones, in what he says? I ain't so sure he
argues much, after all.”
"I don't know but you are right, Doyle.
He don't seem so smart as he used to."
Meanwhile, the object of these remarks
1
140
OLD SUNAPEE.
began to feel that he was losing his influ-
ence; his workmen didn't defer to his opin-
ion as formerly; Mr. Jones was going to
read the Bible for himself; he didn't hear
any swearing in the field; and, altogether,
things were getting in a very strange way.
But in all this he failed to recognize the
fact that there was one beside him who had
power to move the arm that moves the
world. Uncle Joe's prayers had greater
influence than the infidel's oaths.
Just at night he went over to one of the
neighbors, where, by a great deal of loud
talking and hard swearing, he convinced
himself that the wise ones of this earth
were quite able to take care of themselves,
without any assistance from a higher power.
People with sound heads and right hearts,
who have been forced to listen to such an
outbreak of words, would not wish to have
them repeated; and those who have never
1
OLD SUNAPEE.
141
neard such blasphemy, should be thankful
that they have been spared such an infliction.
There were marks on the slate against
both names when Mr. Jones went home
from his work Tuesday evening, and the
drooping heads of Frank and Amos showed
that they were much mortified. They had
never thought of it before; and, accustomed
as they had always been to hearing and
using profane language, it was strange that
they had gotten through the day with so few
lapses of memory. Their father did not
scold them; only told them how sorry he was
they had forgotten, and encouraged them to
try again the next day. After talking with
them for a while, he read aloud from the
Bible, feeling more and more sure that what
interested him so deeply must be true.
His wife said nothing about prayer. She
thought of that as a good to come some time
in the future, knowing not that the unspoken
&
142
OLD SUNAPEE.
wishes of her heart were noted by im
whose eye is ever upon all the children of
his care
During the next three days everything
went on as usual in the busy farm-house of
Mr. Benson. Out of doors there were hard
work, little talking, and much earnest think-
ing.
Friday afternoon was rainy, giving Mr.
Jones an opportunity to go home early with
his guest, where they were greeted with the
sunshine of an earnest welcome. Everything
was in the best possible order; the children,
dressed in their best suits, were scrupulously
clean; Mrs. Jones was smiling and happy,
her face cloquent with unspoken questions.
Supper was soon ready; and, for the first
time in their lives, the boys heard a blessing
asked upon their food.
their food. The hearts of father,
mother, and guest, were all engrossed with
one subject; and the conversation naturally
took a serious turn.
OLD SUNAPEE.
143
Perhaps the old man had never before, felt
so deep a responsibility as on that evening,
when striving to recommend the religion
and teachings of Christ to those so ignorant
of them. The expectant children were not
disappointed in regard to the story. Uncle
Joe told it in his happiest manner, adding a
few impressive words of warning, that made
his youthful auditors feel it was indeed a
terrible sin to take the name of the Lord in
vain.
I
"Can you repeat the commandments?"
said he, drawing the children towards him,
and holding their hands in a loving clasp.
In reply, they only looked wonderingly
at each other and their parents.
!
"Poor boys," said their father, with a sigh,
"they don't know what you mean, and I've
almost forgotten about them."
"They are in the Bible somewhere; ain't
they?" asked Mrs. Jones.
.
144
OLD SUNAPEE.
Uncle Joe opened the Book of books, and
read the nineteenth and twentieth chapters
of Exodus. His hearers listened with almost
breathless interest to the inimitable descrip-
tion of the sights and sounds that heralded
the giving of the law to man. Then the
words that "God spake" from amid the thun-
ders and lightnings and terrible fire.
"And those are the commandments," said
Mr. Jones, after a painful silence. "I must
have heard them before, but 'twas a long
time ago.'
""
"Are they the same ones you used to say
to your mother?" asked Frank.
"The very same; and I want you to learn
them to say to your mother. She'll hear
you say them every night, I guess; and then
you never'll forget them."
"We'll learn them together, children. We
must begin with them, husband," said she,
turning towards him.
1
OLD SUNAPEE.
145
}
1
?
Ce
Yes, wife; and the sooner the better,"
he replied, forgetting that the book from
which they were to learn was one he had
always despised.
The boys took the Bible, and went into
their bedroom, where they commenced study-
ing the commandments.
"Let's learn the one about swearing, first,"
said Amos.
"Yes," was the reply. "We sha'n't for-
get so easy then; and perhaps there won't
be any marks to-morrow."
"We want to ask you about praying,
Uncle Joe," said Mr. Jones. "We know
God hears you, because you are good. But
we are wicked, and always have been. When
can we pray to him?”
"Do you mean, when will God hear and
answer your prayers?"
"Yes, that's what we mean," said Mrs.
Jones.
5
10
146
OLD SUNAPEE.
*
*
**E
Ce
}
"He'll hear you whenever you call."
What, to-night?" was the eager ques-
tion.
-
ce
Yes, this minute," was the reply.
"Then don't let us wait any longer, hus-
band."
"I thought I'd wait till I'd read the Bible
through, and found out whether it is true or
not."
Re
Will it take so long as that to find out?
asked Uncle Joe. "You may not live to
✔
Į
""
er
read half of it, and then
"I know, I know. I think it is true, wife,
and we had better be on the safe side."
"I'm glad to hear you say so, for I know
it is true."
"
"How do you know?”
"I can't tell that, but I'm sure of it.”
The boys came in and repeated the third
commandment. Now I guess we sha'n't
forget any more," was Amos's comment
"We'll learn the rest as soon as we can."
OLD SUNAPEE.
147
"Do so, my dear boys; and remember
they are God's words.
You must try not to
disobey one of them.
"We will," said Frank; "and you'll come
again, and tell us some more stories; won't
you, Uncle Joe?"
"I shall be very glad to come; but you
must come and see me and Aunt Sarah.
I guess she'll tell you some stories; she has
a great many laid up for good children; and-
I know you mean to be good."
"We'll come, if mother'll let us. May we
go, mother?"
"Mother will say yes," replied the father.
"But it is getting to be time for you to be in
bed; isn't it, boys?"
"We ain't a bit sleepy, father. Need we
go just yet?"
"I want Uncle Joe to pray with us first,"
said Mrs. Jones.
Her husband echoed the wish, and they
""
148
OLD SUNAPEE.
knelt there, parents and children, while the
saintly old man, bearing up these souls ou
the wings of faith and love, laid them at the
feet of the Master, praying him to make
them pure and stainless by the washing of
his own blood. Under the influence of this
prayer all doubt vanished, and Mr. Jones
knew the Bible was true, although he might
not have been able to give a reason for such
knowledge. When he rose from his knees,
if he was not a Christian, he was certainly
no longer an infidel.
Charmed by the affectionate earnestness
and novelty of the conversation, the children
lingered until they were again reminded that
it was past the usual time for them to be in
bed. The older people were no more sleepy
than they, and it was late before they sepa-
rated for the night.
"Strange we never found this out before;
isn't it, husband?" said Mrs. Jones, when
they were alone.
OLD SUNAPEE.
149
}
1
""
!
"Yes, indeed it is; and now we have found
it out, there's something for us to do. Do
you know, Uncle Joe says he has prayed for
every man in town, and he believes it will do
good."
"I wish they knew it. If he'd pray with
them, as he has with us to-night, I'm sure it
would do good; but he says we must pray
for ourselves. I'm sorry we've wasted so
much of our lives."
"We'll do better now, wife, and try to
bring up our boys in the right way. I sup-
pose Benson and the rest of them will laugh
at me, but I don't care for that."
"That won't hurt you any, and if the Bible
is true
f
"Don't ever say, if the Bible is true,"
again. We know it is; and I wish every-
body else knew it, too."
"You don't expect to be as good as Uncle
Joe; do you, husband?"
~
150
OLD SUNAPEE.
THERE ARE
"I'm afraid not; but I can be better than
I am now. He says God will help me, if I
ask him."
They said no more, and sat waiting.
Waiting for the prayer both felt must be
offered before they slept.
"You ought to pray to-night," at length
said Mrs. Jones.
"I know it, wife; but I don't know what
to say.
But he did pray, notwithstanding his
ignorance. For the first time, he asked
God to forgive their sins, and show them
the path of duty.
The next morning, Uncle Joe stopped to
talk with Mrs. Jones for a few minutes
after her husband went to his work. Ie
gave the boys some words of counsel that
they never forgot, and then walked over to
Mr. Benson's, thanking God for the oppor-
tunity of doing good
""
1
OLD SUNAPEE,
151
The next thing was to get Frank and
Amos Jones to attend the Sabbath school;
and here he intended to enlist the aid of
Madge Benson. Not that he thought the
boys or their parents would need urging,
but it would benefit Madge if she would take
an interest in the matter, and in making the
request he would have an opportunity to
say some things to her in relation to her
own attendance.
ce
Good-morning, Uncle Joe. We missed
you last evening," said the object of his
thoughts, as he stepped upon the piazza.
"We can't let you go off so again, and cheat
us out of our stories."
"But Mr. Jones's boys wanted to hear
"ome stories, and you've heard so many
you must be getting tired of them, now
you are almost a grown woman."
"I don't think I shall ever outgrow your
stories; and if I do, you can talk something
besides stories."
1
Q
152
OLD SUNAPEE.
"My sober talks don't suit you, my dear
girl."
"I know what you mean, Uncle Joe, and
I suppose I don't like them so well as
mother does," was the reply, as a shadow
flitted across the frank young face.
"I hope you will, some time, Madge.
There are many prayers offered for you,
and there is a fearful responsibility resting
upon you. Now, I want you to help me in
doing good."
"How can I help you? Just tell me, and
I'll do all I can."
"You've promised, without knowing what
it is. That isn't always a safe way of do-
ing, and you may be sorry when I tell you
it has something to do with the Sabbath
school."
“Oh no, I shaʼn't be sorry on that account.
I've gone over to the Sabbath school, soul
and body, and am going to help poor Mr.
Mervin all I can."
1
OLD SUNAPEE.
153
Ce
"Then you'll be glad to know where you
can get two new scholars?"
"Indeed I shall," Madge replied, with a
light laugh. "Where are the scholars?"
"At Mr. Jones's. I'm sure his two boys
will go, if you ask them."
Why, Uncle Joe, I don't believe they
ever went inside a church in their lives;
and they talk so badly, I never like to have
Tom or George with them."
"I presume they never did go inside a
church, and perhaps won't know what you
mean when you ask them to go to Sabbath
school. I know they always have talked
very wickedly, but I hope they'll do better
Will you go over there this afternoon
and see them?"
now.
"I'll go, if mother can spare me. The
boys are bright enough, and I suppose they
are not much to blame for talking as they
do. Their father swears all the time."
154
OLD SUNAPEE.
{
Madge went about her work. She smiled
to think that she who had so avoided the
Sabbath school was now enlisted to recruit
for its numbers. Uncle Joe was surprised
at her readiness to enlist in the enterprise.
IIe had supposed that he might be obliged to
use some persuasion to induce her to grant
his request. He knew now that there was
nothing more for him to do in that direction.
Madge was sure to have the boys in place the
next day.
He told Mrs. Benson of the result of his
visit, and tears of thankfulness rolled down
her cheeks as she listened.
"I'll go over the first of the week and see
Mrs. Jones. Perhaps I can help her on a
little."
"I know she'll be glad to see you. They
are both very ignorant of what they ought to
do, but I believe they are seeking for the
truth. I thought last night I would never
be discouraged again."
OLD SUNAPEE.
155
"I know all things are possible with God,”
was the reply; "but our faith is weak, and
sometimes I'm afraid I'll lose mine entirely."
In the afternoon Madge started for Mr..
Jones's, with question-book in hand. She
was always a welcome guest, but doubly so
vhen her errand was announced. No per-
suasion was necessary. The mother was
glad to have the boys go, and they thought it
would be very nice to get books and papers
full of stories.
"You can be in the class with George and
Tom, and you have plenty of time to learn
your lessons,” said Madge.
"We don't know how to learn it."
"I'll show you," was the reply.
They were soon studying, and you would
never have dreamed that the youthful teacher
doubted one word of the truth she explained
so earnestly and so well. Mrs. Jones lis-
tened, and thought every one must be mis-
156
OLD SUNAPEE.
taken in supposing that Madge Benson
believed with her father. "She couldn't
talk like that, if she did," said she to her-
.self.
"Now I must go," said the girl. "You
can finish learning your lessons without me,
and some of us will call for you in the
morning."
"They shall be ready," replied the mother.
"But won't you stop with us longer? We
shall be very glad to have you."
"I can't stop any longer to-day. My
work isn't all done, and I have my own
lesson to learn. Mother wished me to tell
you that she would be glad to have you
ride to church with her to-morrow. We
children can walk, and mother will be very
glad to have your company."
"Nell," said Madge, as she entered the
house on her return, "I believe I was born
to be a minister."
1
""
OLD SUNAPEE.
157
ec
Shouldn't wonder," was the reply. "You
know father thinks you can do almost any-
thing. But why do you say that?"
"I've been exercising my talents in preach
ing to Frank and Amos Jones, and I cer-
t inly produced a great effect upon them."
"I hope they paid better attention than
you do to Mr. Mervin."
"Their attention was most flattering. I
don't believe they looked away from me one
minute all the time I was talking. They
really inspire me."
"You had better try the effect of such
attention upon Mr. Mervin. It may inspir
him," said her mother.
"I mean to listen, if I go to-morrow, and
sce if I can hear anything interesting."
"You may hear some instruction that will
do you a life-long good, if you will only
heed it. Remember, it is no mark of a
strong mind to condemn any one until you
158
OLD SUNAPEE.
1
1
know something about them; and I am sorry
to say you are not acquainted with Mr.
Mervin, either in or out of the pulpit. You
always avoid him, and sometimes treat him
almost with rudeness."
Madge blushed. She knew it was all
true. "I'll not do it again, mother. I'm
going to be one of his firmest friends in
future; and if he don't feel somewhat en-
couraged in this desolate field, it sha'n't be
my fault."
"Wonders will never cease," said Nell.
"There's no telling what will happen next.
If Madge ever likes Mr. Mervin, I'm sure
everybody else will."
Sabbath morning the family were astir
earlier than usual. Ralph, the pet of the
household, had been taken sick in the night,
requiring his mother's constant care. The
simple remedies she knew so well how to
use seemed to have no effect upon him, and
1
OLD SUNAPEE.
159.
Dr. Thorne was called. He prescribed for
him and left, saying he would be pretty well
in a few hours. He had seen many such
attacks, there was nothing to fear, was his
reply to Mr. Benson, who expressed some
anxiety in regard to the child.
But the father could not rid himself of the
fear. He remembered the conversation he
had heard a week before, and he thought his
darling boy might be going to join the angels
even then.
Nell and her brothers went to church,
leaving Madge to assist her mother.
They called for Mrs. Jones, who accom-
panied them, her husband walking with his
sons. The entrance of Mr. Jones and his
family, produced quite a sensation in the
ittle church; of which fact he was utterly
oblivious, so intent was he upon hearing the
truth. It had been many years since he had
before entered the house of God, and he felt
that he was in a holy place.
160
OLD SUNAPEE.
Mr. Mervin's heart thrilled at the sight of
him; and through all the services of the day
he carried the thought of these new hearers,
and it was to him an inspiration.
The day was a weary one in the home of
Mr. Benson. The disease of the child did
not yield to the prescription of the physi-
cian; and all day he moaned in pain, as he
turned his head restlessly upon the pillow
his mother held in her arms. He would not
allow his father to touch him, saying always
at his approach, "Wicked
"Wicked papa, wicked
papa." It almost broke the stern man's
heart; he longed to fold the child close in
his arms to still the wild unrest that agonized
him; and yet he must not even look upon
him.
"Tell me of the angels, mamma," said
Ralph; and through all those long hours,
she murmured low, sweet words of the
home where the bright ones dwell.
1
OLD SUNAPEE.
161
Once starting up as if from sleep, he
asked, "Did you call me, Madge?"
"No, darling."
'But somebody did. Somebody said my
name three times;" and he sank back with,
"I can't come yet.”
ee
Then again: "May I go, mamma?
Where, my darling boy?"
ec
Oh, they want me to come; may I go?"
"Yes, my dear; you may go."
"I am so glad. I was afraid
you
let me, and my wings are almost ready.”
The mother and sister looked at each other
in alarm. Were the wings almost ready?
The father walked the adjoining room in
speechless grief, and asked himself, Where
would the child go, and how could he bear
his absence?
""
wouldn't
Dr. Thorne was summoned in haste, just as
the sun was going down, and through the
night he numbered the quivering pulses,
11
162
OLD SUNAPEE.
feeling bitterly his own impotency, as in vain
he exhausted all the resources of his skill.
"It is useless," said he at last to Mr. Ben-
son. "I can do nothing more."
"Can nothing save him?"
"God alone has the power. It would be
like coming back from the dead."
"Oh, pray for him, Doctor."
"I can't do that, Benson, I'm not a man of
prayer, but I would give more for the prayers
of a real Christian, in that boy's case, than
for all the medicine in my possession. But
what do you mean by asking me to pray?
You don't believe in prayer."
A look of such intense, abject sorrow
rested upon the haggard face at these words,
that Dr. Thorne's heart was touched, and for
once he had some pity for the man whom ne
had always considered little less than a bruto.
"Your wife can pray."
"And I have," said she. "Yet I trust I
1
OLD SUNAPEE.
163
am willing to leave the event in God's hands.
I know it will be well with the child, and I
can better give him up now than live to see
him an irreligious man."
"Send for Uncle Joe," said George.
"He's a real Christian, and can pray a good
deal better than the minister."
"Yes, do send for him," added Madge.
"I know he'll come."
Mr. Benson didn't stop to think how
strange it was to send to him at such a time
and for such a purpose. He only knew that
the help of man had utterly failed him, and
his child secmed dying.
The good old man obeyed the summons,
and in the early morning entered the room
where lay his little favorite. "Is there no
hope, Doctor," said he.
"While there is life, there is hope," was
the reply; "but I can do nothing more. He
may be given back in answer to prayer, but
it will be a miracle."
1
*
164
OLD SUNAPEE.
"Do pray that he may live," said the
father; and the children crowded around himn
as though he held the life of their brother in
his hands.
"Do you believe in the efficacy of prayer.
John Benson?" asked Uncle Joe, solemnly.
"Don't ask me that now; I don't know.
I cannot give up my child, and there is no
other dependence."
"Will you bow with me, then?"
IIe hesitated for a moment. A cry of pain
from the suffering child decided him, and he
knelt, burying his face in his hands. There
followed such a prayer as can be offered
only by one accustomed to hold communion
with him who sits upon the mercy-seat,
that the child might live to gladden his
home, to be a comfort to his parents as ho
advanced in life, and to do good in the world
as a man fearing God. For this he prayed,
yet closed with the words of submission,
OLD SUNAPEE.
165
spoken first in the garden of Gethsemane,
"Nevertheless, not as I will, but as though
wilt."
"Not so," said the father. "He must live.
I cannot give him up.”
"You cannot fight against God. If he
wants him for his upper kingdom, you cannot
hold him back. I trust he may be spared to
you, but if he is, it will because the Lord
has a work for him to do here in the world.
I believe he is sealed with God's own seal.
Would you be willing to see him a believer
in the Bible and a convert to his mother's
religion?"
ee
Anything, so that he lives."
"Oh no, not anything," said the mother;
"let him be meet for heaven, though he
goes now."
Mr. Benson looked at his wife half
angrily, as she imprinted a kiss upon their
unconscious child.
}
166
OLD SUNAPEE.
"Not in anger, John Benson," said Uncle
Joe, who had observed the expression of
his face. "God grant you may live to see
the day when the few fleeting years of this
life will scem of little value, compared with
a never-ending eternity."
There was no reply to this. The silence
of the room became oppressive, and the
family went out, leaving the mother alone
with her youngest born. Those who could
eat gathered around the breakfast-table; but
it was only the mocking of a meal; their
hearts were too full of sorrow. Dr. Thorne
went out to visit other sick ones, promising
to return as soon as possible.
"I can do no good. I have told you that
before. Little Ralph's sufferings will soon
be over. It is a great deal to go through
life without sin, and he is fit to die."
Madge said but little. She could not
comfort her father, and her mother had
OLD SUNAPEE.
167
}
飘
​1
higher consolation. Now and then during
the forenoon they looked into the room
where life and death seemed keeping watch,
but there was no perceptible change.
About noon the doctor returned, and
finding the child still living, again tried
the effect of medicine upon him. "He cer-
tainly is no worse," was his reply to the
questions of Mr. Benson. "I don't see any
chance of his living, but he may for all that.
If he does live, it ought to make us both
better men; for so sure as there is a God,
I believe it will be a direct interposition
of his power. If he is alive at sundown,
I shall have some hope of him.'
""
Turning to Mrs. Benson, he added, “You
must take some rest yourself, or we shall
have you on the sick-list, and that won't do."
"I don't feel tired, and if these are the
last hours of my child, I must be with him.
There'll be time enough for rest afterwards."
1
168
OLD SUNAPEE.
This could not be gainsaid; and so the
mother kept her post, praying more for her
husband than her child, and hoping that
their affliction might prove a blessing in
disguise.
Neighbors came in to offer their assistance,
and Uncle Joe took the management of
affairs out of doors, while the master of the
house manifested no interest whatever in his
work.
As the afternoon waned, the anxiety of
all became intense. About five o'clock the
child opened his eyes heavily, and looking
up to his mother, recognized her with a
smile. "He will live," she said, almost to
herself.
$
"I'm coming back, mamma. They're go-
ing to keep my wings for me, and you'll have
your little Ralph again.”
His father came up and laid his hand
upon his head. This time he did not turn
OLD SUNAPEE.
169
away.
"You'll be good," he whispered;
"won't you, papa, now Ralph has come
back?" Without waiting for an answer, he
added, "You must be good, or you'll be a
black angel."
A feeling of relief pervaded the lately
anxious household. The over-taxed nerves
of the mother gave way, and Mrs. Jones
took her place beside the child.
"I can never thank you enough for this,"
said Mr. Benson to the doctor, as he pro-
nounced the child out of danger.
"Thank me enough, Benson! I tell you
I'd nothing to do with it. Thank God and
Uncle Joe, if he lives. He'll need careful
nursing, and your wife must be looked after,
too. I hope you'll appreciate your blessings
some time.”
"I don't suppose it will be a week before
he'll be swearing about the Bible and Chris-
tians just as bad as ever," said the doctor to
170
OLD SUNAPEE.
Uncle Joe, as he met him on his way from
the field. I believe in you now.'
"Believe in God, not in me.
I hope this
will do John Benson good. Such discipline
never leaves a man as it finds him. He
must be either better or worse."
"If he's any worse, I hope he'll have an-
other judgment that will break him down
completely. You'll think that's dreadful
wicked, but I've lost all patience with the
man.”
"It is well for us that God has more pa-
tience with us than we have with our fellow
creatures."
"That means mo. You are right, Uncle
Joe. I ought never to find fault with any
one, while I neglect my own duty."
"Then you believe you owe a duty to
God."
"I must believe it. I cannot deny that."
"Then why not set about performing it?
Have you any good reason for delay?"
I
""
OLD SUNAPEE.
171
"I cannot say that I have, and yet I am
-not ready," said the doctor, as he rode on.
The sick child improved during the night,
and in the morning was able to talk a little
He called for Uncle Joe, and wished him to
pray.
"Pray for papa, too," he added. "I want
God to make him good."
Mr. Benson heard the request, and would
have been glad to leave the room. The old
feelings had come back, made only still more
bitter by the thought that in the hour of trial
he had acknowledged the insufficiency of his
own strength. Ashamed of what he called a
nervous weakness, angry that he had yielded
to the great fear that overpowered him, he
longed to make some demonstration that
would blot out the remembrance of his fool-
ishness from the minds of his wife and chil-
dren. But he could not utter harsh, scornful
words where the rustle of the death-angel's
172
OLD SUNAPEE.
}
wing was yet heard, and the pleading eyes
of the boy retained him while he listened to
to the prayer, every word of which seemed
to him a sentence of condemnation.
At the close he went out in haste, glad to
escape from the hallowed place. His wife
knew by the expression of his face that she
had yet longer to pray and wait.
What do you suppose made me come
back, Uncle Joe?" said Ralph, as he lay
cradled in the old man's arms.
ee
"To do good, my darling boy."
""
"But I'm too little to do good, ain't I?'
"Oh no; you can do good now by always
obeying your parents and trying to make
them happy. Then, when you are older,
you will find a great many ways of doing
good."
"I can't always do what papa says, be-
cause he's wicked, you know.”
"You must ask God to make him good."
;
1
OLD SUNAPEE.
173
"Will he hear me?"
"Yes, if you don't give up asking him."
"I never will; I'll ask him every day,
and, — they're going to keep my wings for
I'm tired now."
me.
}
The weary eyes closed, and the child
gathered new life and strength in the peace-
ful slumber that followed.
2810
i


CHAPTER III.
The iron will unbroken,
The proud heart unsubdued,
He bears a fear unspoken,
Through all his solitude.
Oh, Christian wife and mother;
Oh, woman bowed with care;
God bless thy children's father,
God hear thy constant prayer.

}
H, mother," said Nell one day in
the last of August, "have you
heard that Mr. Mervin is going
away?
He's had a call to go
where they'll give him a larger salary, and
Aunt Sarah says he'll preach for us but two
Sabbaths more. Isn't it too bad? I wish I
was one of these men round here, who have
so much money, I'd keep him.”
174
1
OLD SUNAPEE.
175
Nell stopped to take breath, and Mrs.
Benson found an opportunity to speak. "I
hadn't heard of it before, but I'm not sur-
prised. I always wondered how he managed
to live on his salary. I'm afraid we sha'u't
get another minister."
X
"No, mother; if the people can't support
him, they can't support anybody. We shall
be quite heathens when he's gone."
"I'm glad he's going," growled Mr. Ben-
son, as he came from another room. "All
he does here is to make foolish women neg-
lect their business at home, and set them-
selves up to be wiser than their husbands.
I'm glad he's going," he repeated, with an
oath, "and I hope there won't another min-
ister come into town for the next ten years.
Madge entered just then, having heard the
news at a neighbor's, and, catching the last
words of her father, replied, "Then I, for
one, should like to leave town as soon as
"
ť
+
1
$
176
OLD SUNAPEE.
possible. It's a disgrace to live in a town
that won't support a minister. Uncle Joe
says no decent man will ever buy a farm in
such a town."
"That's all he knows about it. Seems to
ine you're grown wondrous pious this sum-
mner, Madge. I wish Mr. Mervin had gone
sooner."
"I'm not pious, as you call it," said the
daughter, with a great effort at self-control;
"but I know we need a minister."
"What do we want of him?”
"To pray and preach.
"Prayer is all nonsense, and preaching
worse. I've seen enough of it." "
Madge uttered an expression of disgust.
Her mother laid a hand upon her arm, but
she was too much excited to heed the silent
remonstrance.
>>
"You didn't think prayer was all nonsense
when Ralph was sick, and you sent for Uncle
Joe."
OLD SUNAPEE.
177
"I was so nervous then I didn't know
what I was about. It didn't do any good."
"Good or not, I believe if it hadn't been
for that, Ralph would have died; and you
believe it too."
"My daughter," said her mother, sternly,
go directly to your own room.'
୧୧
Mr. Benson was very angry, not so much
with his daughter as his wife, to whose in-
fluence he attributed Madge's growing want of
respect for him. He taunted her with her
religion; with her unwomanly independence
and disobedient children, until Nell left the
room in a flood of tears. It was only one
of many such trials to which the wife had
been subjected; but it seemed almost impos-
sible for her to bear the severe injustice then.
The conviction forced itself upon her, that
her husband was growing worse; and, what
added to her trouble, she could no longer
conceal his faults from her children.
""
12
178
OLD SUNAPEE.
"I couldn't help it, mother," said Madge,
when her mother entered her room an hour
after the conversation above related took
place. "I'm very sorry, because it made
you unhappy. Oh, mother, how can you
bear it all?”
The pale face was a reproach more severe
than any words could have been. She knew
she had only added to her father's rage by
opposition, and her mother had suffered for
it.
"I'll remember and control myself next
time, mother," added the repentant girl, as
she smoothed back the faded hair, and im-
printed a warm kiss upon the furrowed brow.
"I want to help you."
"Then you must be gentle and forbearing,
my daughter."
"Mother has gone away alone to pray,"
thought Madge, as a moment after she left
she heard her close the door of an unoccu-
OLD SUNAPEE.
179
pied room. "I wonder what would become
of us all, if there wasn't one Christian in the
family."
Uncle Joe and Aunt Sarah were sadly
grieved, when they found they were to lose
their minister. They would make any sacri-
fice to add to his salary; but he had decided
that it was best to go. He hoped to do
inore good in another place, and, said he to
his aged friends, "I leave you in God's
hands. He is able to send you another pas-
tor, who will, I trust, have many souls given
him in this place.
"I believe there are better days in store
for us," said Uncle Joe; "but it looks very
dark, now. It is hard to be deprived of the
preached word.”
"It is more than I can bear," said Aunt
Sarah. "The Sabbath services help me
through all the week. I don't know how to
de without them.”
""
:
1.80
OLD SUNAPEE.
"And I trust you'll not be obliged to,
""
was Mr. Mervin's reply.
"I fear we must. I see no hope of having
any one to take your place."
"Then you must have meetings here.
You can read a sermon and look to God in
prayer, and he will bless you. I'm sure,
enough will join you to give you a claim to
the blessing."
Two Sabbaths more and the little church
was without a pastor, with no prospect of
preaching through the winter. There were
some who rejoiced with Mr. Benson; others,
caring nothing for religion, but knowing
more of the world, realized that the change
would decrease the value of their property;
and, for this reason, were sorry to have the
old minister go.
Of all the young people no one felt so
much regret as Madge Benson. The con-
cert, mentioned before, had been an entire
!
OLD SUNAPEE.
181
success. Mr. Jones's children came to her
for help in their lessons, and now that she
was an attentive listener, the sermons no
longer seemed so dull. She really enjoyed
going to church, and was not willing to be
deprived of the privilege.
All this time she was saying to herself,
"I don't wish to be a Christian. I'm not
even quite sure that the Bible is true. When
I'm older I'll decide; but I'll help mother
now, and if my brothers don't follow her
counsels, it shall not be my fault."
It is doubtful if she would have done this,
had her father been less unreasonable in his
opposition to everything good. She shrank
from the thought of having one of her
brothers grow up to be such a man as he was.
An event occurred soon after in which she
was able to accomplish much good, by stand-
ing up firmly for the right. School com-
menced the middle of October; and the
!
182
OLD SUNAPEE.
teacher having the reputation of being a
superior scholar, there was prospect of a
fuller school than usual. Madge was going,
although her father doubted if it would be
of much use. They had been unfortunate in
teachers, and he thought she was ready to
graduate from the town school.
I may as well say here that most of the
people in the district were avowed infidels,
and it had been several years since their
school had been opened with prayer. Miss
Atwood was a stranger, having come from
some distance; and no one had thought of
inquiring in regard to her religious character.
Great, then, was the surprise, when, after
calling the school to order, she opened the
Bible and read a few verses. She then
requested the scholars to bow their heads,
while she offered a short, fervent prayer.
Every head was bowed; the request was so
unexpected that no one had time for consid
OLD SUNAPEE,
193
one.
eration. But at recess there was quite a
commotion among the larger scholars, and
some of them said they would never bow
their heads again.
"What do you say, Madge Benson," asked
Though not the oldest, she was accus-
tomed to take the lead, and had more influ-
ence than any other member of the school.
All listened to hear her reply.
"I like it, and I'll bow my head if no one
else docs," said she, with an impatient ges-
ture.
""
"Then of course your brothers will, was
the reply, in a disappointed tone.
Of course they will, and be quiet, too.
I know I can count on more than half the
school to go with me, and I hope you won't
stand out against it. We've got a good
teacher; she knows something; and we can
have a fine chance to learn, if we try. I'm
184
OLD SUNAPEE.
+
on her side, and nothing can turn me against
her."
Your father won't think much of such
works," said a coarse, rough boy.
Ce
My father don't attend school, so he has
nothing to do about it," was the reply.
What's come over Madge?" asked one
of the girls of Nell.'
"Can't tell. I never pretend to account
for anything she does. She's able to do
it herself, when she wants to."
Which isn't very often," added the ques
ee
tioner.
"Not very," was the laughing reply.
"Well, Nell, what are you going to do
about bowing your head?"
"Do? Why, bow it, to be sure. My
neck isn't so stiff that it will injure it to
bend a little."
The teacher observed the scholars in close
conversation, but having no clue to the
}
OLD SUNAPEE.
185
1
م
subject, gave herself no trouble in regard
to it, and went on with the exercises.
<<
That evening Mr. Benson came in very
much excited, having heard of the "strange
doings" in school. He questioned Madge
in regard to it, and she told him all there
was to tell.
"C
"There's got to be a stop put to it, and
that now. I don't send my children to
school to learn superstition."
"No, father," said Madge; "I go to learn
algebra, and Miss Atwood can teach me."
"That's very well," was the reply; "but
she'll have to stop praying in school."
Then, I guess she'll stop teaching. She
looks as though she had a mind of her own."
"We'll see. We'll see. If she goes on
the same way to-morrow, I'll call on her
and tell her it must stop."
"I hope you won't, father," said Madge.
She's a better teacher than we've ever had
;
186
OLD SUNAPEE.
before, and what difference does it make
with you?"
CC
Difference," said he, with an oath,
"we'll see what difference it makes.'
""
"Then she'll leave, and we shall have a
teacher who don't know anything."
"I guess she won't be in a hurry to leave.
Sleepy Hollow district pays good wages.
Another thing, I hear she ain't going to
allow any swearing. She'd better attend to
her proper business. My boys shall swear
as much as they're a mind to, for all her."
"But not for all me, husband," said Mrs.
Benson, in a mild tone.
"They have not a mind to swear," said
Madge.
Here the conversation was interrupted by
the entrance of Mr. Jones. Once Mr. Ben-
son would have counted on this man to
indorse all his opinions, and assist in all his
plans. But that time had gone by. Mr.
M
OLD SUNAPEE
187
:
Jones was doing his own thinking, and in
quite a different style from his rich neighbor.
"Got a good school, George?" asked he,
after the first salutations were exchanged.
"First-rate," was the reply.
"The teacher is real pretty," added Tom.
"She says please,' and thank you,' every
time."
"
CC
"My boys like her, and I should think,
from what I hear, we might all be satisfied
this winter. You like her, too, don't you,
Madge?"
Yes, indeed; she knows something, and
that's more than can be said of some of the
teachers we've had lately."
"If she can teach you, I guess the rest
won't have any trouble."
"She can teach me, Mr. Jones. If I don't
learn, it will be my own fault, and I shall
help her in everything she tries to do.'
"
Her father looked at her as she said this,
188
OLD SUNAPEE.
1
:
but she did not appear to notice him, and
the subject was set aside for one in which
Mr. Benson and Mr. Jones were equally
interested.
Later in the evening, Madge and her
mother held a private consultation, to which,
as Nell said, "no one was admitted but the
queen and her prime minister." The result
of this conference was, that in the morning
Madge started from home very early anl
reached the school-house before any one was
there, except the boy whose business it was
to make the fire. This was as she expected.
Charles Proctor was the oldest scholar in
school, and one who the day before had
been loudest in his expressions of independ-
ence. Madge felt sure if she could bring
him over to the teacher's interest, she could
manage all the rest, and for this very purpose
she went down that morning.
Good-morning, Charles," said she, as she
opened the door.
"
1
OLD SUNAPEÈ
189
"Good-morning," he replied, wondering
what brought her out so early. His eyes
asked the question, and she answered.
"I came down on purpose to see you.
Don't you want to learn this winter?"
+
"Of course I do. I don't expect to go to
school any more after this term, and I mean
to learn all I can.”
"Well, you can learn, if this teacher
stays."
"If she stays! Is there any trouble? Is
she going to leave?"
"Do you want her to stay?
"To be sure I do.".
"Then you must just take hold and help
her."
""
"Why? What do you mean, Madge
Benson?"
She then told him that some who were
angry because she prayed in school were
going to call on her, and tell her that she
I
190
OLD SUNAPEE.
must stop praying. "If they do, I'm afraid
she'll leave."
"I wouldn't be driven, if I were in her
place," said the boy. "She knows too much
for that."
"But you know you said yesterday that
you wouldn't bow your head again, and if
you don't some others won't, and it will make
her a great deal of trouble."
"I'm sorry I said it, Madge. I'll take it
all back this morning."
"That's right, Charles. We won't have
our school spoiled by outsiders, and we'll
show the other districts in town that Sleepy
Hollow is, for once, wide awake.”
As the other scholars came in they were
drawn into the arrangement, and before nine
o'clock every one old enough to be consulted
was pledged to sustain the teacher. Some,
who had received contrary instructions at
home, had promised before they quite under-
1
OLD SUNAPEE.
191
stood what they were doing; and these might
have retracted, had it not been for the fear
of being unpopular.
You might have heard a pin drop, so silent
was the school during the opening exercises.
Every head was bowed, and every one lis-
tened to the words of prayer. If the schol-
ars had been pleased with their teacher the
first day, they were quite in love with her
the second.
Ce
She knows something," was the unani-
mous verdict; and knowledge is power, the
world over, in more ways than one.
Miss Atwood had been especially attracted
by the face of Madge Benson. She saw at a
glance the keen intellect, the eager thirst for
knowledge, and the proud, imperious tem-
per. None knew better than she how to
make the most of all these endowments, and
she resolved that Madge should be to her
as a younger sister. She proposed to give
GARAN
*
192
OLD SUNAPEE.
1
her instruction, out of school hours, in some
branches not coming within the limits of a
common-school education; and after that
Madge would have done anything to serve
her.
She knew her father well enough to know
that he would make some demonstration in
regard to the manner of opening school, and
she hastened home to ask her mother if she
had better tell Miss Atwood anything about
it.
Mrs. Benson thought not. "I have an
idea she'll manage it quite as well without
consideration.”
After supper Mr. Benson put on his over-
coat and prepared to go out.
"Where are you going, father?" asked
Madge. "We shall want to know, if any-
body calls to see you.”
"I'm going down tc Mr. Davis's to see the
teacher."
1
OLD SUNAPEE.
193
•
"I
guess you'll like her. She told me to-
day, if I wished to commence, Latin, she'd
hear me recite after school.
I'm perfectly
delighted; it will be so nice to get started
before I go away next spring. I hope you'll
get my books this week, so I can commence
right away."
This was a most politic speech, and Madge
knew it, although her father made no reply
and went directly out of the house. He was
sorry he had promised to see Miss Atwood
that evening. Should she prove to be very
independent, she might insist upon manag-
ing her school in her own way, and if not
allowed to do this, she might leave. This,
under the circumstances, would be very un-
fortunate, but he had engaged to meet a few
of the parents, and he was not going to be
turned back by a "parcel of women."
How is this, Benson?" was the first sal-
utation that greeted him, as he entered a
13
194
*
OLD SUNAPEE.
neighbor's house. "My children say that
your Madge made them all promise to bow
their heads whem the school-ma'am prayed.
She told 'em if they didn't she wouldn't have
anything to say to 'em. I told 'em to sit
up straight and not mind anything about it.
'Pears to me you'd better talk to your own
girl first."
Just then others came in, and he heard
the same story repeated. It was generally
known that, to use the expression of the
people about them, "Mr. Benson pulled one
way and his wife another in training their
children, and they all looked to Madge to
see which influence would preponderate.
Whichever way she goes, they'll all go."
It was of no use for Mr. Benson to say
that Madge should take back her words.
He knew he hadn't the power to make her do
it; and strange as it may seem, he would
have thought less of her for doing it. It was
OLD SUNAPEE.
195
7
""
really humiliating to be foiled by his own
child; but he drew some consolation from
the fact that she had so much influence in
school.
"I move we go home and mind our own
business, and let the schoolma'am take care
of hers. I met her, to-day, and she looks as
though she knew how. Where are you,
Proctor?'
"I don't know exactly where I am.
Where Benson is, I guess. Charles came
home last night, scolding pretty hard about
the praying business; but he says now he
likes it, and he'll stand by the teacher
through thick and thin. I think likely
Madge had something to do with his con-
version; but he didn't say so."
"Let us go home," said a third, "and not
make fools of ourselves any longer."
Mr. Benson wouldn't do that. He had
started to see Miss Atwood, and see her he
196
OLD SUNAPEE
would. By the time he reached Mr. Da-
vis's, where she boarded, there was only
one left with him; and he a poor man,
who feared to offend one who had so much
money.
C
Mr. Davis had given his boarder a hint in
regard to what was going on, and she was
only surprised at the smallness of the dele-
gation. She met the gentlemen very cor-
dially, expressing her pleasure at receiving
so early a call from the parents of those
under her care. She led the conversation so
skilfully, that it was quite impossible for
him to introduce the object of his visit with-
out the utmost rudeness. He left at the end
of an hour, having invited Miss Atwood to
visit at his house very soon, and feeling 1ea-
sonably sure that he had been outwitted by a
woman. There was nothing left for him but
to hide his chagrin in a dignified silence.
Madge knew as soon as he entered the
OLD SUNAPEE.
197
room, that he had not gained his point, and
she was satisfied to let the matter rest.
Some pretty sharp jokes passed round the
district; but Mr. Benson could never be
induced to speak of his call upon Miss At-
wood.
The Latin books were procured; and
Madge made rapid progress under the thor-
ough instruction she received. Nowhere was
the teacher a more welcome visitor than in
the family of the man who "didn't send his
children to school to learn superstition."
Ralph, who had been in delicate health since
his severe sickness, seemed never so happy
as when seated in her lap, and listening to
her conversation. "She talks just like sing-
ing," said he to his mother; and his friend
often thought that the child needed only
the wings that were waiting for him to make
him an angel while here.
He went away every day by himself, to
198
OLD SUNAPEE.
ask God to forgive his sins and make his
papa a good man; talked much of the Sav-
iour and heaven, and gave all the evidence
such a child can give, of being born again.
There was such an atmosphere of purity
about him, that his father never felt quite at
ease in his presence; and Ralph shrank from
his harsh words and unkind manner. True,
he was never unkind to his "baby boy," as
he still called him. But it troubled him to
17556
hear his mother blamed, and he always ran
to tell Madge, and ask her help. He had
learned to read, and spent many happy hours
with the little Testament that had been given
him by his brother George.
The Bible was the text-book of the family,
despite the father's contempt for it, and a
question of its truth was often forced upon
his mind. Sometimes an almost overpower-、
ing conviction of a future retribution drove
sleep from his pillow, and made him tremble
}
199
OLD SUNAPEE.
like one in the agonies of fear. The old
arguments were
were half forgotten, and the
proud infidel bowed his head, and strove
in vain to regain his former assurance.
""
"It could not be; he would not believe
it;
and under the influence of these con-
flicting emotions, he grew colder, sterner,
and more wretched.
Madge pitied him, he seemed so alone;
so hemmed in by religion and its influence,
and yet so hating it. She talked to him
until he grew cheerful, and the dark spirit
seemed exorcised; but when she went away
he was no better than before. His wife
made every effort to please him, was careful
to have his favorite dishes on the table, and
spared no pains to make his home attractive.
He thought he should be happy if the Bible
was banished, and he need never think of it
again. If he could only stop thinking, even
for a day; but there was no rest for the
200
OLD SUNAPEE.
ever-active mind. God's spirit was striving
with him, but he knew it not.
Mr. Jones had come out decidedly, as a
believer in the truths of revelation. He did
not dare yet to call himself a Christian ;
yet Uncle Joe, who had watched him close-
ly, could not but feel that he had passed
from death unto life. It was very hard for
him to overcome his old habits, and a few
times, when much excited, he had been
guilty of uttering an oath. This plunged
him in an agony of sorrow and repentance.
But Uncle Joe encouraged him to persevere,
assuring him that God would pardon him for
Christ's sake.
His wife helped him, and theirs was a
well-ordered household, in which God was
honored, and his word magnified. The boys
were studious and attentive to the instruc-
tion of their parents. No longer using pro-
fane or vulgar language, they were well-
OLD SUNAPEE.
201
behaved, pleasant boys. Especial pets of
Madge Benson, they looked up to her in all
things, and she was very careful to have her
influence on the right side.
Miss Atwood had spoken to her scholars
of the common sins of Sabbath-breaking,
swearing, and untruthfulness, taking care to
do it in a way that would provoke no ill-
feeling. She usually enforced these short
lectures by some anecdote pertinent to the
subject, and was in this way able to do much
good. She enjoyed her school duties, loved
her scholars, and would have been quite
satisfied with her situation if she could have
attended church on the Sabbath. This she
could not do; there had been no service
since Mr. Mervin left, and a ride of ten
miles was necessary to take her to the next
town.
She had not been there long before she
made the acquaintance of Aunt Sarah and
202
OLD SUNAPEE.
1
Uncle Joe, and once she had spent the Sab-
bath with them, reading some sermons and
listening to the old man's explanation of
Scripture. She enjoyed this, but she was
anxious to do something for the children.
It seemed very wrong that they should have
no religious instruction, and she proposed
to have a Sabbath school in Aunt Sarah's
kitchen. Uncle Joe thought it would be
an excellent plan, and his sister heartily
seconded it.
"I don't know how it will be received by
the people,” said Miss Atwood, "but we can
try."
"Only get Madge Benson enlisted, and
there'll be no trouble," said Aunt Sarah. "I
know she'll come if you ask her, and her
mother will be very glad."
But her father?
""
"He won't have anything to do about it.
Mrs. Benson manages all such matters her-
!
OLD SUNAPÉE
203
1
self. The Jones boys will come, and I
shouldn't wonder if you could get up quite
a school.
"You'll be at the head of it, Uncle Joc."
"I'll be anywhere I can do good. That's
a.l I want."
"You can have the boys in your class, and
I'll try to teach the girls.'
Miss Atwood took an early opportunity to
""
inform Madge of the proposed arrangement,
and she entered into it with her accustomed
energy.
"You'll have four from our house, Frank
and Amos Jones, with all who were in the
class with me when we had a regular school.
They're none of them so far off but they can
come. I'll see them all this weck. But
what time shall we meet? That must be
decided, so that I can tell them when to
come."
This was settled, and the next Sabbath
»
204
OLD SUNAPEE,
fourteen children met at Uncle Joe's and
were formed into two classes. It had cost
Madge some long walks to accomplish this,
but she enjoyed it. She always had time
and strength for everything she wished to
do, and she wished to do anything that
would please her teacher.
As no lessons were prepared, after read-
ing the Bible and prayer by Uncle Joe, Miss
Atwood gathered the girls about her and
asked them some general questions that fur-
nished subjects for remark and illustrations.
The boys were interested by their old friend,
whom they all loved, and two hours passed
quickly and pleasantly.
It was a good beginning. The children
thought it the best meeting they had ever
atterded, and all promised to come again and
bring others with them.
Aunt Sarah thought it would be well to
have a short sermon read in the morning,
OLD SUNAPEE.
205
then have an intermission, and afterwards
hear the lessons.
Ce
"It must be very simple, to interest only
young children," said Uncle Joe.
Ce
Yes," replied Miss Atwood, "but you
could read one over during the week, select-
ng such portions as seem appropriate, and
so make it attractive."
Uncle Joe promised to think of it, and
spent considerable time in preparing the
The next Sabbath there were more
present, notwithstanding the day was cold
and unpleasant.
sermon.
Nell Benson thought Uncle Joe preached
his own sermon. "It all sounded just like
him, mother, and there were two stories in
it.
If he's got a book full of such scrmous,
I should like to read it."
"He didn't read much," said George; "he
only looked on part of the time, just as Mr.
Mervin did."
¡
་།
0
206
OLD SUNAPEE.
?
{
"Can't I go next time?” asked Ralph. "I
want to go and hear the stories."
"It is too far for you to go, little brother,”
said Madge. "I'll tell you the stories after
we come home. Won't that do as just as
well?"
"Yes, sister, if I can't go. When I get to
be a big boy, then I can go, can't I?”
Ralph was satisfied with the assurance that
he could go when he was larger, and his sis-
ter repeated Uncle Joe's stories, with some
embellishments calculated to impress her au-
dience.
One thing hadn't been thought of. There
was no library in the new Sabbath school.
That was locked up in the old church, and
the donation received a few months before
was lying unused.
"I wish we could have some books," said
George. "Then it would be just as good as
going on the hill."
1
OLD SUNAPEE.
207
1
"A great deal better," said Tom. "I like
it ever so much now.
Uncle Joe is a real
nice minister."
Nell laughed at the idea, but she endorsed
her brother's opinion.
"I don't see why we can't have the books
from the church," at length said Madge.
"They don't do anybody any good, shut up
there."
t
"I presume you can have them,” replied
her mother, "if any one will be responsible
for their being taken care of."
"I've no doubt Uncle Joe will do that; but
where shall we go to find out about it?”
"Deacon Esty is the proper person to be
consulted in regard to it."
१९
And he is three miles off," added Nell.
"That's nothing," was the reply.
"It would be, for most folks."
But not for me. Can I go up there the
first of this week, mother?"
208
OLD SUNAPEE.
"There won't be time after school, before
it will be dark."
"But there's a moon; and besides I can
get excused early from school."
"Your Latin lesson?"
"I can manage that. If we can have the
books, we want them now."
Some of my readers may wish to know
what Mr. Benson said about the meeting at
Uncle Joe's. He said very little, but
thought a great deal. In the minority in his
own house, pride compelled him to silence.
Those who had rejoiced with him at Mr.
Mervin's departure, proposed that he should
use his influence to stop these meetings, and
thought he had better keep his children at
home.
"You see, Benson," said one, "as long as
they go, others will. By and by, we shall
have all the children in town studying the
Bible; and a pretty pass things will come to
I
OLD SUNAPEE.
209
then. Your Madge is doing mɔre mischief
than the old minister ever did.”
Mr. Benson groaned inwardly, but out-
wardly there was a succession of oaths, to
keep his courage up, and prove to his com-
panion that he was no better than he had
been.
1
It isn't Madge's doings. Uncle Joe and
Miss Atwood carry it on.”
"I know that, but Madge walked all over
town to ask the children. It wouldn't have
got started without her."
Her father did not doubt the truth of this
last remark, and he resolved to take the
earliest opportunity to remonstrate with his
daughter.
This conversation took place the second
Sabbath of the school, and Mr. Benson went
home, full of his determination, and hoping
that by some means he could effect his
purpose. But the sight that greeted him
4
1
a
14
210
OLD SUNAPEE.
}
on his entrance was not calculated to give
him encouragement.
Madge had the large Bible open before
her, from which she was reading, stopping
occasionally to answer questions and make
suggestions. She was talking with anima-
tion, and her brothers and sister were giv-
ing the closest attention, while her mother
rested in an easy-chair, looking grateful and
happy.
His first impulse was to hurl the Bible
to the floor, scatter the group by his com-
mand, and send them all out of the way.
A second thought showed him how worse.
than useless this would be, and he passed
through the room, closing the door with an
emphasis that vexed the reader, and amused
Nell.
Impotent rage! He couldn't understand
how it happened that after all his loud talk-
ing as to being "master in his own house,"
E
OLD SUNAPEE.
211
*
1
and the many lessons he had given in regard
to woman's place generally, that his wife
ruled the family in matters of religion.
When his children were small he didn't care
so much about it, but now they were larger,
it was time for them to get out of such
leading-strings.". He had thought until
within a few months that they would soon
cast off their mother's teachings with con-
tempt. Now Madge was on her side, and
everything conspired against him.
All
His daughter's conduct was inexplicable
to him. He intended to give her the best
education in his power. Money was of no
consideration. He never thought much
about educating his other children.
his hopes centred in Madge, and her dere-
liction was a great trial to him. She was
studying now for herself, and to be consis-
tent, he should have believed that her clear
head and quick perceptions would bring her
to the truth.
O
1
212
OLD SUNAPEE.
}
Strange, that persons denying the truth
of revelation are so unwilling to have this
revelation studied.
Monday morning, Madge Benson spoke
to Miss Atwood about the library. She
thought it would be a great addition to their
means of doing good, and gave her pupil
permission to leave school as early as she
pleased.
Three miles over hill and dale was no
formidable walk for Madge, and despite the
chilly winds and leaden clouds of a Novem-
ber day, she set out in excellent spirits. On
the way she met Uncle Joe, to whom she
told the object of her walk. He readily
promised to be responsible for the books,
if she would herself have a care for them.
"I'll do that willingly," said she, "and
have them at your house this week, if
possible."
She hastened on, leaving the old man
1
OLD SUNAPEE.
213
looking after her, with a prayer in his heart
that she might consecrate all her talents to
the service of the Lord.
"There's a good deal of father about her,"
said he to his sister, when telling her of their
interview.
"I don't like to hear you say so, brother.
It makes me fear that she will some day
think as he does."
"1 trust not; but there's no mistaking the
proud curve of her lip, and the flash of her
eye. There's a strong will there.”
"I know it, but I always think of her
mother when I see her. She seems just like
her, so kind and thoughtful, and so ready
to help everybody in trouble."
"She is all that, sister. There isn't a
kinder, truer-hearted girl in town; and she'll
make a noble woman. But she takes many
traits of character from her father.".
"Her mother is a decided woman.
>
""
3
214
OLD SUNAPEE.
"Yes, she is; but circumstances have made
her so. Had her husband been a man fear-
ing God, and acting under the influence of
religious principle, she would have been very
different. She would have trusted every-
thing to him; but now she is obliged to set
her will against his, in order to save her
children. This opposition is unnatural to
her, and only her stern sense of duty and
her trust in God give her strength to go
through with it."
"Perhaps it is so," said Aunt Sarah; "but
I never looked at it in that light. Poor
thing, I hope she'll be blessed in her chil-
dren."
"There's Benson's gal comin'," said Grand-
mother Esty, as 'she sat looking out of the
window, on the Monday afternoon in ques-
tion. "What can she want, Sally? She's
the greatest hand' to walk, I ever see. They
say there's nothin' on airth but what she can
T
OLD SUNAPEE.
215
do; and her father's as proud of her as if
she was wuth her weight in gold."
The old lady croned on, while her daugh
ter-in-law went to the door to meet Madge.
Her husband, Deacon Esty, was at work in
the field about a quarter of a mile from the
house. She offered to send her little boy to
call him, but Madge didn't wish to trouble
him, and thought another half mile wouldn't
signify. She was soon beside the deacon,
who stopped work at her approach, and gave
her a hearty shake of the hand.
"All well at home?"
ce
99.
Yes, sir, thank you," was the reply.
"Walked all the way up here?"
"Yes, sir, every step; and expect to walk
all the way back."
Warned by the lengthening shadows, she
did not stop for much preliminary conversa-
tion, but stated her errand at once.
"I heard you had a school over there,"
216
OLD-SUNAPEE.
was the reply. "Are you one of the teach
eis?'
"
Ce
Oh, no, sir; I need to learn too much
for that."
"You ought to understand the Bible pretty
well now, with such a good mother as you've
got; but you never can know too much of
it. I hear Miss Atwood loves it, and I'm
glad to have one Christian teacher in town.
There'll be no trouble about the library;
you can have it as long as we don't have any
service at the church. I'm going by there
to-morrow, and I'll take it along and leave it
at Uncle Joe's. Guess I must come down
and see you, some time. Perhaps I can join
the school."
"We don't have any grown-up people,”
was the laughing reply.
"You certainly have three, and you are
almost grown yourself. If I come, I hope
I sha'n' be turned out because I'm so old."
1
OLD SUNAPEE.
1
217
Ce
"No, deacon, I don't expect you will; but
I never thought of anybody but children
coming."
You got up the school, didn't you? I've
heard of your invitations."
Oh, no; it's Uncle Joe's school. I've
only been trying to help him. You know
he's too old to walk far."
Cr
"I'm glad to see you doing good. If the
young people will only take hold, we can
have a minister some time, though I'm afraid
not this year.
Madge thanked the deacon for his kind-
ness, bade him "good-evening," and, taking a
short path over the hills, was soon lost to
sight.
The squirrels that crossed her path were
not more blithe and full of life than the
young girl, who, having accomplished her
mission, walked home in the waning twi-
light, repeating to herself the conjugations
of a Latin verb.
I
Q
}
218
OLD SUNAPEE.
Her mother had not begun to look for her,
when she walked in and sat down to the
table. "Who else is late?" asked she, ob-
serving that supper was waiting for another.
Father. He has gone over Blue Hill
with a man, to look at the farm."
"What success did you have, my daugh-
ter?"
"We can have the books. Deacon Esty
is going to bring them down to-morrow."
"Then you are repaid for your walk."
"I didn't need any pay;. I enjoyed every
minute of it, and don't feel at all tired."
Mr. Benson came in soon after in an un-
usually good humor. There was a prospect
that he should sell a farm he had unwillingly
held in his possession for the last two years.
It was a good farm, but too far from home
for him to manage advantageously. His
tenants had disappointed him, and he was
very anxious to dispose of it.
OLD SUNAPEE..
219
Mr. Doane, a gentleman from Massachu-
setts, had heard of the place, and thinking
it might suit him, had taken a journey to
see it.
}
J
He wished to settle a relative on the farm,
while he and his family proposed to spend
part of their summers there. He was much
pleased with the situation, and engaged to
let Mr. Benson know his final decision in a
week.
"I shall be so glad to get it off my hands
before another spring. Mr. Doane will pay
the price down, and I have a fine opportu-
nity to invest it directly. I wish I had the
money to-night."
"I wish father could sell a farm every
day," said Nell to her sister, after they went
to their room that night.
"Why?"
"Because it makes him so wondrous pleas-
ant. IIe has been awful cross lately."
220
OLD SUNAPEE.
"The farm isn't sold yet, and it won't he,
if the man has sense.
""
"Now, I thought the farm was a good one ;
but I suppose you know best, so I hide my
diminished head," and suiting the action to
the word, she buried her face in her pillow.
"The farm is good enough," said Madge,
as she opened her Latin grammar and forgot
both Sabbath school and farm in her favorite
study.
The library arrived at Uncle Joe's, and on
the Sabbath "Madge was appointed Librarian
by the unanimous vote of one."
This was the report Nell carried home, and
Tom, thinking his favorite sister ridiculed,
said, "Uncle Joe asked her, and I guess
that's enough."
A week had passed, and Mr. Benson had
said nothing to his daughter in regard to
her course of conduct. Indeed, the more
he thought of it, the more unwilling he was
[
OLD SUNAPEE.
221
to do so, and at last resolved not to inter-
fere. Silence was better than defeat, as he
had learned by severe experience.
An event also occurred calculated to de-
stroy his self-confidence, and for a time make
him wish that the old minister had remained.
1
One week from the day Mr. Doane had
visited his farm "over Blue Hill," he re-
ceived the following note:
MR. BENSON:
"Dear Sir, A friend has told me
chat you have no religious services in your
town on the Sabbath.
This necessitates a change in my plans,
as I cannot become a land-owner in a town
that does not sustain the institutions of the
gospel. Consequently, I shall not purchase
your farm, as I had intended.
"Yours truly,
"A. H. DOANE.”
222
OLD SUNAPEE.
If he had read it
This note was brought in when Mr. Ben-
son was at the table, and not doubting that
its contents were all he desired, he told
Madge to read it. You may imagine his
anger and mortification.
himself, no one would ever have known why
the bargain was not consummated. At last
he found voice to say, "I'd rather keep the
farm ten years, than have a minister here.
We've got enough such men as Mr. Doane,
and I'm glad he isn't coming.”
But he deceived no one by this assertion.
All knew that he was sadly disappointed,
and the hired man, who was present, took
care that the news should be thoroughly cir-
culated. So far as dollars and cents were
concerned, he could have better afforded to
pay Mr. Mervin a tax of one hundred dollars
than have lost the sale of his farm. He was
beginning to learn that some people outside
the shadow of Old Sunapee considered an
*
OLD SUNAPEE.
223
1
outward respect for religion necessary to
temporal prosperity.
"He's getting some pretty hard lessons,'
said Uncle Joe to Mr. Jones, as they were
conversing in regard to his disappointment.
"I hope they'll not be lost on him."
"He'll get another, I guess, when he feeds
out that mow of hay he put in first last sum-
mer," was the reply; and Mr. Jones laughed
at the combination of circumstances that had
placed the infidel farmer in so mortifying a
position.
After this Nell had no reason to wish that
her "father had a farm to sell every day.”
One to sell made him so unreasonable and
fault-finding, that the children were all glad
when school-time came, and sorry when night
compelled them to return home. Madge was
sometimes obliged to bite her lips to keep
back the indignant words, and nothing but
the knowledge that it would only make mat
""
✩
!
224
OLD SUNAPEE.
7
ters worse, restrained her. She sometimes
found herself wondering if religion could
make him kind and amiable, and thought if
it could, it must certainly be worth seeking.
His fault-finding could not stay the tide of
events, and in his own family it only served
to make the Christian forbearance of his wife
more attractive.
After "Uncle Joe's Sabbath school" had
been in existence five weeks, some of the
older people expressed a desire to join it;
among others, Deacon Esty. More children
had come in, some attracted by the novelty
of the arrangement, and others by its popu-
larity, until its numbers exceeded the accom-
modations.
-
After some deliberation, it was decided to
meet in the church on the hill. "Deacon
meetings" had been tried there, years be-
fore, and proved an entire failure, but it was
hoped they would now be more successful.
1
OLD SUNAPEE.
225*
J
The plan was to have a Sabbath school in
the morning, from eleven to twelve, then anl
intermission of half an hour, and then a short
sermon; after which, a prayer-meeting should
close the exercises of the day. This met the
approbation of all to whom it was proposed;
and, on the last Sabbath in December, the
sound of the church-going bell was again
heard, calling the people from their homes to
worship God. There was a good attend-
ance; it was a time of rejoicing; and every
Christian thanked God, and took courage.
Mrs. Benson was present, with all her chil-
dren, except Nell, who had remained at
home to do what was necessary there.
Miss Atwood's large class gave her their
undivided attention. She was one who made
the study of the Rible attractive to all. A
thorough student of the sacred book, loving
and revering it as a direct revelation from
above, she yet fully appreciated its grand old
15
226
OLD SUNAPEE.
poems, its bold metaphors, and quaint prov-
erbs. Madge Benson had never thought of
the Bible as having any attractions for the
undevout reader, and was surprised when
her attention was called to the fact that it
contained the most ancient history in the
world, the finest specimens of lyric poetry,
and the most sublime words that prophet or
seer have ever uttered. She read it now as
she would have read any rare old book, put-
ting aside for the time the question of its
divine origin. Yet she often closed its pages
with a feeling somewhat akin to that which
forced from the Jews the confession, "Never
man spake like this man.
N
""
This first public meeeting without a pastor,
was one long to be remembered. Five years
had passed since any additions had been
made to the church, while removals and
death had diminished its numbers.
George Benson told Nell that "Uncle Joe
1
}
OLD SUNAPEE.
227
prayed, and Deacon Esty preached." He
gave no account, however, of the prayer-
meeting. Toward its close, Mr. Jones was
observed to be much agitated. At length,
after an evident struggle, he rose to tell what
the Lord had done for him. There was no
effort on his part to produce an effect; he
gave only a simple narrative of his experi-
ence during the last four months.
"I never gave the Bible a serious thought
before. I was accustomed to hear it ridi-
culed as an old-fashioned book, and didn't
take the trouble to read it. About four
months ago, I went home from my work
determined to find out for myself what was
in the Bible. I began to read it through;
and calculated when I was done that I'd
make up my mind about it. I hadn't gone
far, before I felt sure it was true; and since
then I've tried to follow its rules as well as
I could. I had many wicked habits to over-
*
228
OLD SUNAPEE.
come, and have sometimes been
most dis-
couraged; but with God's help I mean to
persevere. If I know my own heart, I long
to serve God, and do some good in the
world. I want you to pray for me, that I
may be kept from profanity, and all kinds of
sin. My wife is trying to go with me, and
she, too, desires your prayers."
When he sat down there were few dry
eyes in the assembly. All had known him
for a profane Sabbath-breaker; but none
doubted his sincere repentance. A prayer
was offered in behalf of those just setting out
in the Christian course, and the meeting
closed.
¿
"The best meeting we've had these five
years,” said Deacon Esty. "It has done my
soul good. Jones will be a great help, but
he'll have a hard time to withstand the ridi-
cule of his neighbors."
"It won't affect him much," replied Uncle
OLD SUNAPEE.
229
:
Joe; "he is so happy, and has so much pity
for them that their jibes are lost upon him.
Then he is so decided, and his wife so in
earnest, that I have little fear for them."
"I know he was never afraid to express
his opinion anywhere, and would as soon
swear in one place as another. But such
people are sometimes very sensitive to rid-
icule, and his old companions will leave no
stone unturned to bring him back. Benson
has always had great influence over him.”
"That has all gone by. His wife and
Madge more than destroy his influence, and
he's beginning to feel somewhat humbled."
Deacon Esty looked up inquiringly. "I don't
mean," added Uncle Joe, "that he's any
less bitter in his opposition to religion, but
so many things have gone against him lately,
that he doesn't say quite so much."
"Well, Uncle Joe, you've begun a good
work in your neighborhood, which I hope
x
230
CLD SUNAPEE.
will extend. You have a great deal to en
courage you. If it hadn't been for you,
Jones wouldn't have left off swearing and
begun to read the Bible."
"We can't tell about that; there would
have been some other way provided, if neces-
sary."
"How did you begin with him?
him? I
shouldn't have thought it possible to get
him to listen to anything good. You know
he was a noted swearer. I, for one, was
always glad to get away from him as soon as
possible."
ce But he had a soul to be saved or lost.
I never forgot that; and I never forgot
to pray for him. I waited long before I
saw any good results, and were it not for
God's promises, I should sometimes have
despaired."
•
"I have learned a lesson to-day," said the
good deacon, "that I shall not soon forget.
OLD SUNAPEE.
231
If he could be reached, any one can; and if
we can have such meetings as this, we shall
not long want a pastor. But if we do,
there's one thing to comfort us. God's
spirit is given in answer to prayer, and
we don't need a minister to obtain that."
Before night it was known in nearly every
house in town, that Mr. Jones had " spoken
in meeting," and "asked the pious ones to
pray for him.”
Some laughed in scorn; some heard the
news with an oath; some hoped he would
be a better man, and a few Christians, who
had been detained from church, thanked God
devoutly. Mr. Benson heard it.
It was
no more than he expected, yet now that his
defection was sure, he cursed him for a fool.
"I expect you'll go next," said he to Mr.
Doyle, one of his Sabbath helpers, and at
whose house he was that evening.
"Can't tell what may happen," was the
Q
•
232
OLD SUNAPEE.
t
reply. "The schoolma'am and your Madge
have talked to my children, till they want to
go to Sabbath school; and my wife thinks
they'd better. If they go, perhaps I shall
go with them; they certainly can't walk this
winter."
"I wish the women would mind their own
business," was the reply. "They're always
running after something new."
"If the men of the town were as good as
the women, they'd be a good deal better than
they are now. Everybody knows that,” said
Mrs. Doyle, who was accustomed to say
what she pleased even to Mr. Benson.
"You can't deny but what Miss Atwood
minds her business. She came here to teach
school; and she does it, without anybody's
help. She hasn't struck a blow this winter;
and there isn't a scholar but would go
through fire and water to please her. They
say she talks like a minister in Sabbath
old sunAPEE.
233
school; and I mean my children shall go.
I'd go myself if I had a decent bonnet.”
"You can wear your hood, mother; I saw
some go by, to-day," said the oldest girl,
who was particularly anxious to join Miss
Atwood's class.
Mr. Benson knew it was of no use to try
to "stop that woman's tongue;" and without
wasting the effort, wisely took his leave.
"You settled him pretty quick, wife," said
her husband, with a laugh.
"I meant to. He's always talking about
the women; I suppose it's just because his
wife is better than he is, and it makes him
mad. It's my belief if she'd give him a
lecture once in a while, 'twould do him
good."
"She never does that. She's always pleas-
ant, and tries to do things to suit him. She
ne er sets up her will, except about going to
w sting, and there he can't help himself.
234
OLD SUNAPEE.
"She's a good woman, and she has got
some nice children. I don't know what the
neighborhood would do without her."
Ce
er
She is a good woman; but, wife, do you
really want to go to meeting next Sunday?"
Well, to tell the truth, I hadn't thought
of it. I said that, to plague Benson. I
guess I will go, though, if you're a mind to
harness up."
"9
1
So Mr. Benson, though not recognized as
a helper in the good work, had influenced
one family to "go to meeting;" for, bonnet
or no bonnet, Mrs. Doyle would be sure to
go, after what had been said.
On his way home, Mr. Benson passed Mr.
Jones's house. A bright light shone through
the windows out upon the pure white snow
He turned his steps up the path, and was
soon standing in the cheerful kitchen. Mr.
Jones had the Bible open before him; his
wife was reading a religious book; and the
a
OLD SUNAPEE.
235
boys were looking over some Sabbath-school
papers, which were quite new to them,
although they had been much worn by their
former owners.
The visitor was warmly welcomed, the
best chair set for him near the stove, and the
dish of rosy-cheeked apples passed.
Mr. Benson hadn't the slightest idea of
naving a talk about the Bible, but when he
saw it open, he couldn't forbear speaking.
"So you're reading that old-fashioned
book, Jones."
"I suppose it is old-fashioned, Mr. Ben-
son, but those who have read it most, say it
is always new.'
">
"I'm sorry so smart a man as you are
should be so duped. I hear the canting
ones have made a sure convert of you.
You've gone over to them soul and body.”
"I'm trying to find out the truth and obey
it. Do you call that canting?"
0
236
OLD SUNAPEE.
"I call all this talk about God and the
Bible, canting."
"I don't, Mr. Benson; so there's the differ
""
ence between us.'
"You used to."
"I know it'; but I've repented of that, and,
I hope, been forgiven. I know better now."
"You spoke in meeting, to-day, didn't
you?"
"I did."
"I was surprised to hear it."
"I don't know why you should be. I
never was ashamed of my colors when in an
evil service; I certainly ought not to be now
when I'm trying to serve the King of kings.”
It was a moral impossibility for Mr. Ben-
son to swear there; and, as he didn't know
what else to say, he repeated, "I'm sorry,"
two or three times.
1
"You told me, last summer," said Mr.
Jones, "that you had never read the Bible
much."
.
OLD SUNAPEE.
237
"And I never mean to," was the curt re-
ply.
"I hope you will, Mr. Benson. I'm sure
it would make you a happier man. I've
been studying it carefully and prayerfully,
and I know it is true."
"You must prove that before I shall be-
lieve it."
"You told me long ago that it was false.
Now, as your statement was made first, isn't
it your place to give the proof?'
"In the first place, it isn't reasonable."
"What part of it isn't reasonable?”
"The whole of it; but I've no patience to
talk about it."
""
Mr. Jones knew it would do no good to
talk about it, and forebore to press the sub-
ject.
"The stupidest place I ever got into,"
muttered Mr. Benson, on his way home.
"There's nothing but Bible everywhere."
238
OLD SUNAPEE.
Just then occurred to him Mr. Jones's
remark, that under the circumstances it was
his place to prove the Bible false; and he
thought it would be well for him to arrange
his arguments on the subject, and have them
at command.
2
"First,
"there he paused. "Of course
the Bible isn't true." But that didn't prove
it.
Then he tried to recall what those men
had said, to whom he listened so long ago;
but strange to say, he could remember only
blasphemous assertions.
What were the arguments used by him
and his sympathizers during the past years?
He made this inquiry of himself, honestly;
and when he reached home, took time for
serious consideration.
He was forced at last to acknowledge, that
they had used assertions, rather than rea
sons, and denunciations of religion, rather
OLD SUNAPEE.
239
than proofs of its fallacy. This was a confes-
sion to his own heart; and he would have
died rather than make it to any human being.
Henceforth, there was a strife within, that
would end only when the spirit yielded to
its rightful Master or death closed the season
of probation.
The next Sabbath Mr. Doyle carried his
family to the old church on the hill. His
wife wore her hood; but she never thought
what she had on her head, after she was
once seated beside Mrs. Jones, in Deacon
ee
Esty's class. Her husband didn't stop
through the exercises; but when he came for
his wife and children in the afternoon, he
was in season to hear the closing prayers.
'Well, wife, how did you like the meet-
ing?"
"So well I mean to go all the time."
This was her only reply; for once she was
not in the mood of talking. The children
1
O
240
OLD SUNAPEE.
!
made up for all deficiences on her part, and
if their father didn't know all that had been
said and done that day, it was from no fault.
of theirs.
There was really a waking up in religious
matters, and no less so in educational. The
children of Sleepy Hollow district had their
books constantly in hand. The most diffi-
cult lessons were met with no complaints,
and the scholars' ambition kept pace with the
teacher's desires. She had a strong hold
upon their affections, and wielded her power
for good. Profanity was banished from the
school-room and its precincts; consequently
it was getting unpopular, and, "What would
Miss Atwood say to that," was sufficient re-
proof for any boy who so far forgot himself
as to utter an oath.
The term of twelve weeks was drawing to
a close. Teacher and scholars were alike
sorry.
OLD SUNAPEE.
241
:
one.
}
"I wish we could have another term," said
Ce
"Why can't we?" was Madge Benson's
reply.
"Because we haven't the money.
Yoll
know they pay Miss Atwood more than they
have ever paid any one else, and it will take
every cent to finish up this term."
There's money enough somewhere in
the district," said Madge. "I know that.
School will be through the first of January,
and I should like to know what we are
going to do the rest of the winter. We
ought to have another term of ten weeks."
T
"Well, Madge," said Charles Proctor,
who hadn't forgotten her morning visit to
him, "you go round and talk to the parents,
and I guess you'll bring it about.”
er Will you come?"
"Yes, and be glad to. I shan't go away
from home till April, and I've nothing to
0
16
242
OLD SUNAPEE.
+
do before then. Get your father enlisted
and the rest will follow."
A bright thought flashed across her mind.
"I'll do it, if you'll go to Sabbath school
It's a good deal better than playing cards
at Old Sim's, and much more respectable.
What do you suppose Miss Atwood would
say to that, Charles Proctor?"
The boy looked down, but made no reply,
and his companion proceeded: "I sha'n't tell
her, so you needn't fear. I hope you won't
do it again. I wouldn't have my brothers
go there for a great deal."
"You never shall hear that story of me
again. It was the first time, and it shall be
the last."
1
"And will you go to Sabbath school?”
"I can't promise now, but I'll think about
it. What do you care, Madge?"
"I want everybody to go, and I know
several who are waiting for you.”
1
OLD SUNAPEE.
243
The bell rang for order, and the conversa-
tion was ended, but Charles Proctor was in
no mood for study. He couldn't imagine
how Madge Benson found out that he was
at Old Sim's the Sabbath before. He had
been ashamed every time he thought of it,
and he was doubly so now.
now. He would
never do it again.
Madge knew she should miss her teacher
as much on the Sabbath as week days, and
resolved to keep her, if possible. She found
no difficulty in gaining her father's approval
of the plan. He would gladly pay his pro-
portion of the expenses, and made a second
call upon Miss Atwood, to see if her services.
could be secured. He returned home sat-
isfied; she had no engagement until May,
when she proposed to enter a popular semi-
nary, to perfect herself in some of the higher
branches of education.
In less than a week, the arrangement was
O
244
OLD SUNAPEE.
r
completed. Sufficient money was subscribed.
to pay the teacher's wages, and Mr. Benson
gave the wood, which the older boys were to
prepare for the stove.
"So Benson's goin' to keep that pious
school-marm another tarm," said an ignorant
old man. Ce
Sleepy Holler used to be a
smart place, but they have queer doin's down
there this winter. Wish I could git down
there and gin 'em a piece of my mind.
Don't nobody swear, and the school just like
a prayer-meetin'. That Benson gal rules the
roost, they say. Her father ought to put a
stop to sich works."
This was the opinion of an infidel.
Uncle Joe, looking from a different stand
point, rejoiced at the change in Sleepy Hol-
low generally, and was encouraged to hope
that John Benson was improving.
"Don't you suppose Madge is a Chris-
tian?” asked Aunt Sarah of her brother.
OLD SUNAPEE.
245.
"I have no reason to think so," was the
reply.
"But she seems so different; and she has
done more good this winter than anybody
else in town. Miss Atwood says she is her
best Bible scholar.”
"All that may be, and yet her heart not be
changed. She loves to study, and just now
is interested in the Bible, as she would be in
anything else that excited her curiosity. I
trust it may lead her to the truth; but if
you were to ask her, I presume she would
say she had no idea of being a Christian."
The good old lady thought her brother
was rather severe on her favorite. "I don't
think the girl is a hypocrite," said she.
"Indeed she is not."
९९
"Then, why has she tried so hard to get
all the children out to Sabbath school? No-
body else could have done it."
Sympathy for her mother, was one mo-
1
246
OLD SUNAPEE.
tive. Then, she never does anything by
halves. Having enlisted in the work, regard
for her teacher, and the natural desire to see
how much she could accomplish, made her
persevere. She has done nobly, and will
receive her reward; but the love of God is
not the motive that prompted it."
Uncle Joe was right in his appreciation
of her motives, but there was one he had
overlooked. She wished her brothers to
grow up to be different men from most of
those she saw about her. Thinking of them,
she became interested in other children, and
her generous heart prompted her to help in
efforts for their improvement. Her eyes had
been opened in regard to her father, during
the previous summer. She saw that all his
influence was on the wrong side, and she
then resolved to meet it with opposition.
Sleepy Hollow school" closed with the
best examination there had ever been in
Ce
OLD SUNAPEE.
247
town.
Nearly every parent was present;
and many from other districts came to see
the result of the teacher's labors. There was
•.
ļ
but one voice. All were pleased, more than
satisfied, and no one thought of complaining
because Deacon Esty closed the exercises
with prayer.
There was to be a vacation of one week
before the new term commenced. Miss At-
wood had received several invitations for this
vacation, but she chose to accept that of Mr.
Benson. Madge could then continue her
studies without interruption, and the children
promised themselves "all sorts of a good
time," as Tom said. Under her genial in-
fluence the father relaxed his usual severity,
and found himself interested in her conversa-
tion. She had a ready tact, and knew how
to adapt herself to the different characters
with whom she was brought in contact.
Mrs. Benson wished Madge could enter the
O
248
OLD SUNAPEE.
seminary in the spring with Miss Atwood,
and 'mentioned the subject to her husband.
To her surprise, he received the proposition
favorably, notwithstanding it was a school
where, the truths of the Bible were made a
special study, and religious training was a
marked feature in the course. Three months
before, he would have objected on this ac-
count; but he had no disposition to do so
now. He thought about it, talked about it,
and finally decided that Madge should go.
Nell was greatly troubled. "I sha'n't
know how to behave or what to say, when
you are gone. Sheep without a shepherd,
we younger ones shall be; and I can't think
what mother'll do. She'll never trust me as
she has you, though I'm as old as you were
once. What do you suppose the neighbors
will say about a girl only fifteen years old
being sent away to school?"
"I shall be fifteen before I go," replied
OLD SUNAPEE.
249
Malge, with a laugh at the serious picture
and the still more serious face of the delin-
eator.
Ralph, of whom we have nearly lost sight
in our interest in older people, almost wished
the teacher had never come, if she was going
to take away his sister.
"You can't go and leave little me sister
Madge. What shall I do then?
"I'm not going for a long time, Ralph.
We won't talk about it now." This didn't
satisfy him. "Pretty soon you'll be a large
boy, and can take care of yourself and sister
Madge, too."
"But. I ain't a big boy yet; I want you all
the time till then.
"Nell will be here when I'm gone, and
you love her."
""
"Yes, I shall be here, and I do hope
my importance will be acknowledged then.
People think a good deal of the moon when
the sun don't shine."
1
!
?
250
OLD SUNAPEE,
Light-hearted, laughing Nell. Living less
on the surface than she seemed, the days
were coming when, to use her own expres-
sion, she would be fully appreciated.
Vacation week passed quickly, work and
study filling up the hours. An evening visit
at Uncle Joe's was one of its pleasures. It
was perfect sleighing, the moon was at its
full, and the clear, cold air was as exhila-
rating as champagne drinkers claim their
favorite beverage to be.
"Here we are, Uncle Joe," said Nell, as
the old man came to the door at the sum-
mons of the sleigh-bells.
"And you are welcome," was his reply,
as he grasped the extended hands.
"You go in, Uncle Joe, and I'll take care
of the horse.”
2
"Yes, indeed; we'll go in and enjoy our-
selves by the fire. But stop a minute,
1
there's another body to go in with us."
OLD SUNAPEE.
251
۱.
"I should like to know where, Nell. I
don't see anybody," said her sister.
"Probably not, as it's pretty well covered
up in that basket under the seat. You know
very little of what has been going on in the
kitchen to-day.".
The basket was carried into Aunt Sarah's
pantry, and the contents placed upon the
shelves. When their guests had departed,
the old people found a large addition to their
store of good things.
They were glad to learn that Miss Atwood
was to remain through the winter, and help
to carry on the work she had begun. All
the encouraging signs in their community
were discussed, and Madge counted the new
attendants at the church with as much inter-
est as Aunt Sarah herself.
"If we could only have a minister," said
the old lady, "I do believe su uething might
be done now.
G
I
252
OLD SUNAREE.
}
"Better get Madge to collect the moncy,'
said Nell. "I've no doubt she could do it,
if she tried."
"I wish I could. My will is good enough.
If I should be here in the spring, I intend to
invite every child in town, who isn't now a
member of any Sabbath school, to join ours."
"That would be a great deal to do,
Madge. You'd need the services of a horse
before you got through."
"Perhaps I should, but I'd do it at some
rate. I never thought what heathen we are
till lately. I've no doubt there are some
children down at the south end of the town,
who don't know when the Sabbath comes.
The men meet somewhere, and smoke and
play cards all day, and the older boys do no
better."
1
"It's a terrible state of things," replied
Uncle Joe, but I don't know how the peo-
6
ple are to be reached. Mr. Mervin went
OLD SUNAPEE.
253
down there once, but was treated so, he
never went again."
"They can't be past hope," said Miss
Atwood. "There is some good in every
heart, and if appealed to, it never fails to
respond."
"I suppose that is true in one sense.”
"Isn't it true in every sense, Uncle Joe?
Did you ever see a person who had no good
qualities? We are all sinful in the sight
of God, but I believe no one is so wholly
given to evil as to place him beyond the
reach of good influences.”
"I guess
Uncle Joe never saw any one so
bad but he found a way to their hearts, if he
tried much."
"I don't know as I ever did, Madge; but
it has been pretty hard work sometimes.'
"Then," resumed Miss Atwood, "there
must be a way to reach the hearts of the
people at the south end, and I hope some
one will find it.”
">
O
↓
254
OLD SUNAPEE.
**
1
Į
"But some of them burnt up their Bibles,'
said Aunt Sarah; "and they ordered Mr.
Mervin out of their houses. I don't believe
Madge would dare ask them to send their
children to Sabbath school."
"
"I should begin with the children. But I
don't think Uncle Joe would be turned out
of any house down there."
"Perhaps not; but I haven't been there
for several years. We used to have meet-
ings there, once in a while, in the school-
house, but there was so much disturbance we
gave them up. Talking had no effect on the
young people, and now they have grown up,
they certainly are no better."
"They need a missionary," said Miss At-
wood, "who understands both human and
divine nature. One who can talk to them
about everything, from the great object of
life to their every-day farming duties. Suck
a man might do them good."
OLD SUNAPEE.
255
१९
Pleasant visits come to an end ail too
soon; and it was so with this.
"I want to have you read a chapter in the
Bible, Madge, before you go," said Aunt
Sarah. The old book, so rarely used, was
brought forward; and the low, sweet tones
gave an additional charm to the words of
truth. The prayer of Uncle Joe was such as
comes from the heart, and reaches the ear of
him who sits in the upper temple.
"Well, Miss Atwood," said Mr. Benson,
as he joined the group around the stove,
after putting the horse in the stable; "they
have had a fuss in school at the south end.
They got into a regular fight. Some of the
large boys dragged the master out, and
buried him in a snow-bank."
Miss Atwood looked up with an amused
face.
They are nothing but a set of heathen
any way," said Nell.
"
સ
↑
256
OLD SUNAPEE.
"You didn't go there to get recruits for
your Sabbath school, did you, Madge,” said
her father.
i
"No, sir; but I hope somebody will go
there."
"It would be a good thing to get them
into any decent place, and civilize them a
little."
wood.
"Christianize them, too," said Miss At-
"Perhaps so," was the unexpected reply.
"If there's anything in the world that can
improve them, I should like to see it."
"I hope you may," thought his wife.
A cloud gathered on his brow as he real-
ized the concession he had involuntarily
made. He had never been much of a hypo-
crite since the first year of his marriage,
and it was not easy for him to be one now.
He would not have acknowledged, even to
himself, in his most solitary moments, that
1
OLD SUNAPEE.
257-
*
there was any truth in the Bible and reli-
gion; but he did acknowledge that he could
give no proof to the contrary. He had re-
solved upon silence with either friend or
foe; and when addressed upon the subject
by his infidel neighbors, made himself so
unapproachable that they were glad to leave
him..
School began and prospered. Every
member had joined the Sabbath school, ex-
cept Charles Proctor and three other large-
boys. Madge didn't give them up. She
"agitated the subject," and they finally asked
her who they could have for a teacher.
She had no plans for this.
They told her, at last, they would go if
they could have Miss Atwood for a teacher.
"But she has a large class of girls now,
and we can't spare her."
"Then we can't go," was the reply and
they thought the matter was settled. But
!
W
17
258
OLD SUNAPEE.
they were mistaken. Before the Sabbath
Madge told them Miss Atwood would give
up her class, and teach them. There was
no help for it; their word was pledged; and
they took the question books she had been at
some trouble to procure for them, and tried
to learn their lessons.
?C
Pretty fix we're in," said one. "If we
don't get laughed at now, I'm mistaken."
"I presume we shall; but, as Madge said,
It's more respectable than playing cards at
Old Sim's.'" This was the reply of Charles
Proctor, who had never been caught there
since be was thus censured.
"That's a fact," said another. "There is
no disgrace in being taught by Miss Atwood,
Sundays or week days. I'm going, and folks
can say what they want to."
This was the first real sacrifice Madge had
made in the cause, and it cost her more than
she was willing to acknowledge. She had
OLD SUNAPEE.
259
consulted all the members of the class except
two, and after much persuasion they agreed
to the plan, and promised to be satisfied with
the best teacher they could get. One after
another was proposed, until they decided
upon a lady who had not been long in the
town, and was said to be "an intelligent
Christian." Miss Atwood had heard Deacon
Esty say this, and promised to see her, and
interest her in the class.
Sabbath morning the four new scholars
were met at the stove by their teacher, and
invited to some seats. They had a poorer
lesson than they had ever recited to her, and
told her so. "It is new business to us, and
we don't understand it yet.'
"But you will, very soon," was the smil-
ing reply. She gave one look at the class
of girls, and seeing their eager faces, knew
they were interested. She could then give
her undivided attention to those before her.
0
260
OLD SUNAPEE.
f
About a quarter of an hour after the school
was opened, three boys, or, perhaps I should
say, young men, came in bashfully, and
looked around, as though not quite sure they
were in the right place. They were coarse-
looking, and coarsely dressed, though they
had evidently come in their best. Miss At-
wood asked who they were.
"Some of the south-enders," was the re-
ply.
Deacon Esty went to them, shook hands.
with each one, and invited them to join the
school.
We thought you had a meeting," said
one.
1
"So we do, in the afternoon. In the
morning we study the Bible. There's Miss
Atwood's class; just the place for you. I
know you'll be interested."
"Is that the Sleepy Hollow teacher?"
"Yes; and she's a good one, too."
OLD SUNAPEE.
261
►
They hesitated. One thought they'd bet
ter go home; but the oldest, who had been
the ring-leader in putting the master out of
doors, came there on purpose to see the
woman who had her school under her thumb,
and he was going to stay.
Deacon Esty introduced them. They took
their seats, and for the rest of the morning,
had only eyes and ears for Miss Atwood.
She had seven scholars who knew almost
nothing of the Bible. One from the south
end confessed that there was no such book
in the house.
"I'll give you mine," said she, "if you'll
come next Sabbath and bring it."
"I'll do that," was the emphatic reply.
These three young men stayed through the
afternoon. Perhaps it would be too much
to say that they were interested in all the
exercises, but they gave good attention, and
went home having learned some lessons they
would not soon forget.
f
262
OLD SUNAPEE.
"God grant me grace and wisdom," was
the earnest prayer of the missionary teacher,
as she thought of those who had listened to
her instructions.
3

две везде
Nest

CHAPTER IV.
Out from the mountain shadow,
Out from her childhood's hom
Into the far to-morrow,
She goeth forth, alone.
Strong in a noble purpose,
Warmed by the fire of youth,
She crosses o'er the threshold,
And questions, "What is truth?"
!
HE winter had passed, school
closed, and, at Mr. Benson's,
preparations were making for
Madge's departure. Nimble
fingers plied the needle; there was no
stinting in the outfit, and, at length, all
was completed.
There was no necessity for giving coun-
*
C

263
264
OLD SUNAPEE.
--
sel in regard to the improvement of time,
Madge Benson would be sure to gather up
the golden sands with care. She was so
elated at the prospect before her, that she
almost forgot how much she was leaving
behind. Her home duties, the loving care
of her mother, and the sweet confidences of
sister and brothers; all these she would miss
in the busy life that awaited her. She
would miss, too, the Sabbath school, which
she loved not only for its own sake, but for
the efforts she had made in its behalf; the
old church on the hill, also, where the people
met each Sabbath, and where they hoped a
pastor would soon "break unto them the
bread of life."
Miss Atwood had gone, leaving her class
in the care of Deacon Esty. She had re
ceived a promise that each member would
be present when possible, and more than
that they would have promised to one whom
1
OLD SUNAPEE.
265
1
they so much esteemed. She had six schol-
ars from the South End, and there were
none who missed her more than these rough
boys. She had found a way to their hearts
and also to their homes.
She spent one Saturday in that part of the
town, and had no reason to complain of her
reception. Her scholars knew she was com-
ing and had prepared for her. She found a
fire in "the best room," old ladies with their
whitest caps, the children had clean hands
and faces, and some of the men even took
the trouble to make themselves presentable.
"Han some as a pictur, ain't she,” said one
old lady, after she was gone.
Now Miss Atwood made no pretensions to
beauty, and her best friends would never
have thought of calling her handsome; but
the old lady saw a light in her face that ·
beamed from a loving heart within, and gave
it the best description in her power.
ង
266
OLD SUNAPEE.
Will Beals, who had been so anxious to
sce her the first of the winter, and whose
father was a well-to-do farmer, claimed her
as his guest for supper. And such a sup-
per!
Only the sight of it would have
frightened a dyspeptic into a fit of sickness.
Happily, Miss Atwood possessed good health
and a keen relish for creature comforts, so
that she was able to do something like jus-
tice to the good things spread before her.
She's just the one to go there," said
Aunt Sarah, afterwards. "They couldn't
help liking her."
One thing is certain. They didn't help
liking her, and she was so much interested
in them that she would gladly have made a
longer visit.
But all these things were in the past. By
the middle of April, Madge had joined her
friend and teacher, and been assigned her
place in the seminary. Here a new life
re
OLD SUNAPEE.
267
}
""
opened before her. All were engaged, nom-
inally, at least, in the same pursuits as her
self; many far in advance of her in attain-
ments, yet still pressing forward. She took
the opportunity, during the first few days,
to look about her, taking in with a rapid
glance the peculiarities of both teachers and
cholars.
"Well, Madge dear, how do you like?"
asked Miss Atwood, when they had been in
their new home a week.
"I like it thoroughly," was the reply.
"But
"But what?”
"I can't think what some of the girls are
here for. They get over their lessons as
easily as possible, and are, even now, look-
ing forward to the close of the term."
"You know there are always some drones
in the hive, and this is no exception to the
general rule."
3
268
OLD SUNAPEE.
1
Eyes, if not lips, made answer that there
would be one working one.
So her teachers found; and a few weeks
served to place her high in their estimation.
She not only never failed in a recitation, but
she accomplished more than was required of
her. She loved study for its own sake, and
when cautioned against excessive application,
replied laughingly, "When I am tired, I
shut my eyes and repeat Latin rules. That
always rests me."
"A queer way of resting," some of my
readers will say. But it was a good way
for her. What was most wearisome labors
to others seemed mere pastime to her; and
she assisted some of the pupils in mathemat-
ics, who were two years in advance of her in
their course.
There was one young lady in school, sev-
eral years Madge's senior, who had, for the
last year, ranked higher than any of her
OLD SUNAPEE.
269
}
companions; but she did this at the expense
of most exhausting study. She was the
only child of a widow, and was preparing
herself for more successful teaching, by
which she hoped to support herself and
mother. She always carried to her recita-
tions a tired, wan face, strikingly in contrast
with the eager, sparkling countenance of the
new scholar.
She was a great favorite with both teach-
ers and scholars. Her thorough scholarship
claimed their admiration, and her ardent
piety won their love and esteem. An carn-
est, devoted Christian, she performed her
school duties with a conscientious regard
for the future, never sparing herself any
application necessary to accomplish ber pur
pose.
"Delia Bryant must look to her laurels, or
Madge Benson will despoil her,” said one of
a group of young ladies engaged in dis-
。
270
OLD SUNAPEE.
cussing the respective merits of their com-
panions.
But if laurels were to be transferred,
there was no rivalry. The older scholar,
attracted by the enthusiasm of the younger,
soon sought her acquaintance, and a close
intimacy sprung up between them. There
was a strength and gladness in every word
and act of Madge that refreshed her friend,
and a few words in regard to a difficult les-
son made labor lighter and success more
certain.
It was a wonder to our young student
how one could be so tired with study. "I
don't understand it," said she to Miss At-
wood. "There is hardly a good scholar ir
the seminary but looks worn and nearly
sick. They make hard work of the most
delightful employment in the world."
You make hard work of nothing, Madge.
Do you ever consider how much good you
*
OLD SUNAPEE.
271
"""
ought to do in the world, with your strength
of body and mind? "Where much is
given, much will be required.'
The only reply to this was a questioning
glance.
Ce
'I know, my dear young friend, that you
are always ready to help others, and never
shirk labor of any kind; but there are so
few strong workers in the world, compared
with the need, that your responsibility is
very great."
It may seem strange that up to the pres-
ent time Miss Atwood had never addressed
Madge upon the subject of personal religion.
Many would have done so, and felt it a sin
to be silent; but she had learned much in
regard to her feelings from Uncle Joe, and
judged it best to wait until she should see
more of religious character, and understand
better the wants of her own heart.
"Sho has been brought up under strong
*
272
OLD SUNAPEE.
1
and conflicting influences. For a time I was
afraid she would take her father's belief, but
she is different now."
This was said to the teacher the first Sab-
bath she spent in Aunt Sarah's kitchen, and
from that day she had never ceased to pray.
for the influence of the Holy Spirit upon the
heart of her pupil. It had been a self-denial
to refrain from pleading with her to become
a Christian, but she thought, and rightly,
that this would rouse an opposition that
would be difficult to overcome.
At an early stage of their acquaintance,
she found that Madge had been accustomed
to think of Christians as very good sort of
people, but not remarkable for intelligence.
There was reason for this; her father had
said so, and she accepted it as truth before
she had learned to doubt him. Worship-
ping intellect and intellectual attainments, it
was necessary she should learn her mistake
}
盏
​OLD SUNAPEE.
273
by actual observation under more favorable
circumstances, and by an acquaintance with
religious literature.
On a Sabbath afternoon in summer sho
was introduced to my readers; she had de-
cided that she was able to obey the com-
mandments, and if that was all that was
necessary to insure salvation, she could not
come short of it. Like many another self-
confident soul, she had entirely overlooked
the first and great commandment: "Thou
shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy
heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy
mind."
It was only an outward service she pro-
posed to render, not an offering up of the
heart, that would hallow every thought and
act of her life.
For the last six months before leaving
home, she had been so engrossed with her
studies and her efforts to help Uncle Joe
3
:
18
274
OLD SUNAPEE.
and Miss Atwood in their plans for the good
of others, that she had nearly lost sight of
the great question that was to be settled.
Coming now into association with so many
strangers, giving her time and strength so
entirely to her immediate duties, she had no
disposition to trouble herself about a future
world.
Nearly all around her had been taught
from their earliest childhood to reverence the
Bible; and, whether obeying its precepts or
not, they recognized it as the word of God,
and would have been shocked to know there
was one among them who could for a mo-
ment doubt its divine authority.
Madge could not but realize this, when-
ever she gave the subject a thought; but
nothing had occurred to call forth an expres-
sion of the feelings she had in regard to the
subject. In her Bible lessons she was ready
and correct. She prepared them with the
OLD SUNAPEE.
275
}
same fidelity she did those in any of the sci-
ences; and, it must be confessed, its truths
came no nearer her heart. Miss Atwood
watched her with increased interest. Sev-
eral of her companions attempted to speak
to her of her soul's salvation. They were
treated courteously, but given to understand
that she was not yet ready to attend to the
subject. She avoided every allusion to
religion, and sometimes took refuge in a
reserve almost as forbidding as that of her
father. The time had not yet come.
Her letters from home were frequent.
Nell was her principal correspondent, —" the
news editor," and little of interest trans
pired in the town that was not forthwith
recorded for her sister's benefit.
About the middle of May there was "a
new minister;" a young man from a theo-
logical seminary, who wished to spend a few
months among the hills for the benefit of his
t
帽
​0
276
OLD SUNAPEE.
health, and whom a kind Providence had
sent to "the church on the hill." When his
coming was announced in Mr. Benson's
family, the children clapped their hands, the
mother expressed her sincere joy, and the
father said nothing. He was still anxious to
sell his "Blue Hill farm," and, knowing that
Mr. Doane had not yet bought one, he hoped
the presence of Mr. Veeny, the young min-
ister, might induce him to change his deci-
sion of the autumn before.
The first Sabbath Mr. Veeny preached, the
church was nearly filled with attentive hear-
ers. They went back to the old order of
exercises. The people wished to hear two
sermons, and they heard them; short, prac-
tical addresses to heart and conscience.
"The minister" remained through the Sab-
bath school, in which was gathered nearly
every member of the congregation.
Fortu-
*
OLD SUNAPEE.
277
L
nately, there was no "horse-shed class" con-
nected with this society.
The class of young men interested him
particularly, and he stopped to give them a
word of encouragement. Deacon Esty was
doing his best for them, but with his numer-
ous duties, he found it impossible to bestow
upon them so much attention as he wished,
or so much as they needed. When Mr.
Veeny was first expected, he hoped he would
be willing to take this class, and having heard
him preach, "the deacon" was still more anx-
ious to resign his charge.
During the week that followed, "the new
minister" was the universal topic of conver-
sation. Everybody who had heard him
preach liked him, and everybody who had
seen him out of the pulpit pronounced him a
gentleman. He spent most of the time in
the open air, and "thought out " his sermons
on the hill-tops or beside, the murmuring
*
}
278
OLD SUNAPEE.
brooks. In his walks he accosted all whom
he met, and learned much of the habits of the
people from these chance encounters.
Uncle Joe's cottage was one of the first
houses he entered, and there he heard of the
formation of their Sabbath school, the judi-
cious efforts of Miss Atwood and the untir-
ing labor of Madge Benson.
"If you could only get at Mr. Benson's
heart," said Aunt Sarah, "it would be the
best thing you could do here. Mr. Mervin
never used to go there when he was at home,
and I don't suppose he'll allow you to.
to. He
hates ministers."
"I intend to call upon every family in
town," was the reply. "It will not be my
fault if I don't see the men, as well as the
women and children.”
"I'm afraid, you'll be sorry if you see Mr.
Benson; but I wish you could get acquainted
with him."
OLD SUNAPEE.
279
"You may be sure I shall try."
"And he'll make out," said the old lady,
after he had left. "He's just the one. The
Lord has sent us the right man."
The second Sabbath, he took the class of
young men under his care; and from that
day their hearts were divided between him
and Miss Atwood. They thought his first
question a strange one, but they remembered
it all their lives after, and the memory was a
constant reminder of duty.
He asked if all the class were Christians.
There was no reply. Then, commencing
with the young man nearest him, he asked
each one the direct question, "Are you a
Christian?"
Every one answered in a decided negative,
until he came to Will Beals. His cheek had
alternately flushed and paled while others
had replied to the question; but when he
himself was asked, he hesitated for a mo-
L
280
OLD SUNAPEE.
ment; then said in a trembling voice, "I'm
afraid not; but I wish I was."
\
Every eye was fixed upon him, yet he saw
only the sympathizing face of his teacher,
and thought only of his wish to be a disciple
of Christ. A few well-timed words to him,
a short appeal to the class, in which the
claims of religion were distinctly set before
them, and he proceeded with the lesson.
At the close of the afternoon service he
found an opportunity to speak again to Will
Beals, and promised to see him during the
week, and talk with him upon the subject
in which they were both so much interested.
He was going down to the South End,
"this missionary who understood both hu-
man and divine nature.'
""
"Well, Benson, what do you think of the
new minister?" asked one of the neighbors,
some time during the second week of his
sojourn among the hills.
OLD SUNAPEE.
1
281
९९
"I don't think anything about him. I
have not seen him, and don't want to," was
the short reply.
Well, I've seen him, and I like him. I
don't care anything about what he preaches,
and I told him so; but I must say that I
like to hear him talk. He's a farmer's boy,
brought up down in Massachusetts, near
the sea.
He don't know much about the
hills, though I guess he'll find out if he goes
tramping round all summer the way he has
begun. I told him I never paid anything
towards a minister's salary, but if he'd come
down and stay with us a week or two, he
should be welcome to our fare, and we
should be glad to see him."
"You can do as you please, Mr. Chase.
For my part, I don't want a parson in my
family."
"I guess you won't be obliged to have
him. There are enough who will be glad
of his company."
99
0
982
OLD SUNAPEE.
"And they can have it, for all me."
This conversation occurred Wednesday
morning, as Mr. Benson was starting to
look after a flock of sheep, in a hill pasture
some distance from his house. On his way
he overtook a young man, who walked leis-
urely, stopping occasionally to gaze upon
the fine prospect around him. As Mr. Ben-
son came up, the stranger greeted him with
a hearty "good-morning," that made him
fancy for a moment he had come across an
old friend.
They were going up a steep hill, and as
the pedestrian kept pace with the horse, he
continued talking in an easy, familiar way.
When they reached the summit of the hill,
Mr. Benson stopped and asked his compan-
ion to ride.
"If you are going my way, I shall be glad
of your company."
1
"I hardly know which way I am going.
OLD SUNAPEE.
!
283
;
I've heard of some peculiar rocks somewhere
in this direction, and have a fancy to see
them."
"I know what you mean. I'm going with-
in a quarter of a mile of them, and will carry
you along, if you'll ride with me."
The offer was accepted, and the two rode
on together. Mr. Benson did feel a little
curiosity to know who the man was on the
seat beside him, but as be was never much
given to asking personal questions, the
stranger was permitted to ride without be-
ing subjected to the usual catechism.
The farmer thought at first that he might
be the minister, but a wide-awake hat, a
most unclerical-looking knotted stick, with
which he aided his steps, and the stout boots
that encased his feet, soon put that idea out
of his head. Whoever he was, he could
listen as well as talk, and he learned many
facts in regard to the formation of the moun-
ain that interested him.
·
}
2
284
OLD SUNAPEE.
"I'll leave you here," said Mr. Benson, as
they stopped at some bars. Keep on
straight to that blasted pine yonder, then
turn to the right, and you'll soon come to
the rocks. I'm going on about a mile far-
ther, to salt some sheep, and when I get
back, I'll come over there. I should like to
hear what you have to say about them.
There's one thing sure, they are not like any
other rocks about here."
Ce
Mr. Benson went on to his pasture, and
the other to the rocks. They were huge
boulders, seeming to rest so lightly upon the
ground, that a single touch of the hand might
move them, yet in reality as firmly fixed as
though deeply embedded in the soil.
Wonderful, ain't they?" said Mr. Ben-
son, coming up an hour after he had di-
rected the stranger to these obiects of
interest.
"Wonderful, indeed," was the reply. "It
1
९९
OLD SUNAPEE.
285
#
must have taken a mighty force to place
them there."
Mr. Benson had never read a word of
geology, and hardly knew there was such a
science; but he was familiar with the dif-
ferent varieties of rocks belonging to the
soil about him. These boulders had always
interested him, and it was a great pleasure to
listen to one who understood the theories by
which scientific men account for what the
unlearned call "freaks of Nature."
The sun had nearly reached its height
when they left these old rocks.
"Where are you going now?" asked Mr.
Benson, when they reached the bars where
his horse was tied.
"I have no plans for the day, except to see
all I can, and drink in as much as possible
of this pure mountain air."
"Then ride home with me and eat a farm-
er's dinner, if you have a taste for anything
of that kind.”
✔
286
OLD SUNAPEE.
"I always have a taste for a good dinner,
and I count a farmer's among the very best.”
"Then we'll take a short cut home, and
surprise my wife with company."
"It may not be a pleasant surprise. Some
house-keepers don't like an unexpected guest
to dinner."
"Such things never trouble my wife. She
always has enough for all guests, and gives
them a welcome, besides."
Once, he would have added something
about being "master" in his family, and
doing as he pleased in his own house. But,
some way, he didn't use these phrases so
much as formerly.
Pleasant conversation enlivened the way,
and they drove up to the farmer's door, at
the old-fashioned dinner hour of twelve.
Some one calling at that moment to see
Mr. Benson on business, he desired his guest.
to excuse him, and go in by himself; which
he was perfectly willing to do.
OLD SUNAPEE.
257
+
Mrs. Benson met him in the hall. "Your
husband assured me that you always had a
welcome, even for an unexpected guest, and
invited me to dine with him; although I am
quite sure he hasn't the most remote idea
who I am."
}
"My husband's friends are always wel-
come, and surely no one could be more so
than our minister."
"So it was the minister, after all," I fancy
some one is saying.
९९
Yes, it was Mr. Veeny," as his host
learned when introduced to him by his
wife.
"Pretty piece of business," thought Mr.
Benson, and for a moment he was quite an
gry. But there was no withstanding the
genial smile and hearty words of his guest,
and he yielded with but little hesitation.
"I suppose you know I don't like minis-
ters, any way and never ask them to my
$
288
OLD SUNAPEE.
1
house." This was said laughingly, and his
wife drew a sigh of relief.
"But you have once asked a minister, and
I flattered myself that you rather liked me."
"Well, I do," was the reply, as he gave
Mr. Veeny a hearty shake of the hand, "or,
rather, I like the man who rode with me this
morning."
"And as I am the very man, it follows that
you like me, and I am happy to assure you
that the liking is returned."
'
Upon this, Mr. Benson capitulated with-
out terms. Having invited the minister to
his house, although by mistake, he treated
him with respect. At his request, Mr.
Veeny asked a blessing at the table.
The farmer could talk very well upon
some subjects, and his guest seemed to know
exactly what those subjects were. They
talked until the children all asked to be ex-
cused, and Nell began to think she should be
OLD SUNA) EE.
289
obliged to wash dinner and supper dishes
together.
At length Mr. Benson started up.
must go now.
go now. I should like to talk all the
afternoon, but I must go over Blue Hill to
look after some men I have at work there.
I'll leave you with my wife, and as she's one
of your kind of folks, you won't be sorry
for the exchange."
११
After he had gone out of the room he
turned back to say, "As long as the minister
has been here once, he may as well come
again, whenever he finds time."
"Which will be pretty often," said Mr.
Veeny.
"The oftener the better."
The minister staid for an hour longer, and
found Mrs. Benson, as her husband had said,
one of his own kind of folks, a true-hearted
Christian, carrying religion into her every-
day life. He talked with each of the chil-
10
|
290
OLD SUÑAPEE.
dren, who did credit to their mother's
training.
"You haven't seen us all," said Ralph.
"Sister Madge has gone away to school."
"Tell me about her, can't you?"
Ralph didn't know exactly what to say at
first. "I love her, and she tells us stories."
"What kind of stories?"
1
"All kinds. She tells me about the angels
sometimes; but I do not think she knows
them so well as mamma does, and I'm afraid
she don't pray to God."
This last was said with a serious shake of
the head.
"I never heard her," he added.
"Do you pray to God, my darling boy?"
"Yes, sir, every day."
And what do you pray for?"
"Everything but what mamma gives me.
Then I ask God to forgive me when I'm
naughty and make papa a good man. Some-
times I ask him to keep my wings for me."
OLD SUVAPEE.
291
:
"I believe you have one child within the
fold," said Mr. Veeny, as he shook hands
with Mrs. Benson at parting.
પર
"I trust I have, and pray they may all be
there."
I
"God grant it," was the fervent response.
Well, Uncle Joe, would you believe it?
I invited the minister home to take dinner
with me, to-day, after having spent most
of the forenoon in his company."
"I'm glad to hear it, Mr. Benson."
"I don't know as I'm sorry, though I
shouldn't have done it if I'd known who he
was. He didn't look or talk a bit like a
minister, and I thought he was somebody
looking round to see what he could see."
"He was looking about, and I presume
was very glad to see you."
"Glad or not, he's seen me. I wish in
future you'd label your ministers, so I
needn't get caught so again. Mr. Veeny
ff
"9
C
292
OLD SUNAPEE.
cheated me pretty well, though I don't
know as he's to blame for it."
"He probably came from a part of the
country where ministers are considered as
good as anybody, and never thought of be-
ing avoided on account of his profession.
Pretty sharp speech for uncle Joe,"
thought Mr. Benson as he drove on. There
was nothing for him to do but to laugh at his
mistake, put a bold face on the matter, and
carry it through the best way he could.
As soon as Nell had finished the dishes,
she sat down to write to Madge of the minis-
ter's visit. She didn't know the whole story,
but she knew enough to give ample scope for
her powers of description. "It must be a
terrible trial to father to like a minister, but
he was caught this time before he knew it."
It took a very long letter to contain all the
news, and the writing of it occupied the lei-
sure time of two days.
Ce
""
}
I
OLD SUNAPEE.
293
•
?
"There
One item of interest we will copy.
has been a suspicious odor about the large
barn for some time, reminding us children of
an incident that occurred last summer. Tues-
day, when all the men were at work, over
Blue Hill, the Sunday hay' was pitched into
a cart, carried to the west field, and spread or
the ground. Father did this all alone, not
even having the boys help him. Comments
are unnecessary."
This feat of Mr. Benson's had been the
cause of a great deal of merriment among
his workmen and the neighbors generally.
George and Tom shouted at the top of their
voices, when after having made a tour of ob-
servation, to discover the whereabouts of the
offending hay, they reported the result to
Nell.
"I'm glad of it," said George. "Glad of
it. Better do as mother says next time."
"Yes," said Tom. "He'd better remem-
294
OLD SUNAPEE.
ber the commandments. You tell Madge all
about it. I know she'll laugh."
She did laugh till her room-mate looked at
her in astonishment. She always read the
general news of her letters to Miss Atwood,
and the account of Mr. Veeny's visit at her
father's she counted among the general news.
"I know mother was glad," said Madge,
as she closed her letter.
"And wouldn't you have been glad if you
had been there?"
"Yes, indeed, I should. I hope now fa-
ther will never do again as he has done."
This was the first time Madge had ever
spoken of her father in that way to Miss
Atwood. Her sense of propriety forbade it,
although she knew her friend understood his
character.
"I don't see how the minister can ever get
salary enough to live on. Mr. Mervin was
starved out, and I'm afraid Mr. Veeny will
OLD SUNAPEE.
295
be. Father ought to pay a hundred dollars.
a year to a minister. He is able to, and I'd
do it if I were in his place, whether I believed
what he preached or not."
"I wish he would go to hear what he
preaches. The men of that town are so in
the habit of finding fault with a minister, that
they do it almost without thinking."
"And without knowing, either. The meet-
ings we had last winter accomplished a great
deal of good. No one can deny that."
"Oh, Madge, you ought to be a Chris-
tian,' said Miss Atwood. "Then you can
tell them, not only how good a thing it is to
hear, but how infinitely more blessed it is to
obey."
"Don't talk to me about that, Miss At-:
wood. I can't be a Christian, and I don't
wish to think of it.”
Madge's lips quivered with unspoken emo-
tion as she said this, and her eyes were dewy
with unshed tears.
Q
296
OLD SUNAPEE.
"Remember, there are many praying for
you," said her friend, as she went out, leav-
ing a warm kiss upon the brow of the young
girl. "Words fitly spoken, like apples of
gold in pictures of silver." Madge could
not but remember them.
Delia Bryant came to her room that even-
ing to obtain some assistance in the solution.
of a mathematical problem that troubled her.
Sume hasty strokes of the pencil, with a few
words of explanation, made everything clear.
"What are you going to do, when you are
through school, Madge?" asked Miss Bry-
ant closing her book and looking earnestly in
the face of her companion.
"I haven't thought much about that yet.
I should like to study for the next ten years,
and then I shouldn't know half I wish to.”
"And then what would you do?"
"I don't know," replied she, with a per-
plexed look. "I've always done the work
OLD SUNAPEE.
297
Ce
set before me, and suppose I shall when 1
get through school. I've three little brothers
at home, whom I wish to have grow up to be
noble, intelligent men. It will be part of
my work to help them."
"You have a great responsibility, Madge."
Why, more than any one else?"
|
'Because you are able to accomplish more.
You are stronger. What fatigues me almost
to positive illness is only pleasant exercise
for you. You ought to do a great deal of
good in the world."
"That is what Miss Atwood says. If any-
body will tell me what to do, I'll do it with
my might,” replied Madge in a light tone.
"I wish I might tell you what to do," said
her friend seriously.
I'll con-
"You may tell me and I'll do it, if it is
within the bounds of possibility.
strue Latin, write an Essay, or solve mathe-
matical problems by the dozen. I haven't
J
?
1
298
1
OLD SUNAPEE.
studied enough to-day, and need something a
little extra to tone down my spirits."
"It is nothing of this kind that I wish you
to do now."
"What then?"
ર
Something requiring more of the heart
than the intellect. I would have you conse-
crate all your rare talents to the service of
God."
Madge bowed her head upon her hands and
was silent, while her companion prayed that
the words she had spoken might not be in
vain.
After a few minutes Madge raised her
head. "You believe the Bible, don't you,
Miss Bryant?"
"Certainly I do."
"Did you ever hear it ridiculed, and did
you ever hear religion called superstitious
nonsense, fit only for ignorant people?"
Ce
'No, I've never heard it," replied Miss
OLD SUNAPEE.
1
299
1
Bryant, with surprise. "I've been sur-
rounded with religious people, who never
question one word of the Bible."
Ce
But I have heard religion ridiculed all
my life. I can't remember when I didn't hear
the Bible spoken of with contempt."
"Isn't your mother a Christian?" The
tone in which Miss Bryant asked this ques-
tion, implied, that, in her estimation, to have
a mother who was not a Christian, would be
a great calamity.
"Yes," replied Madge. "My mother is a
Christian, but my father is not."
Madge's usual reticence failed her that
evening, and she allowed her friend to look
into her home, and see some of the influences
that had made her what she was. "I always
loved and obeyed my mother," said she, “but
there was something about my father's inde-
pendent way of thinking and speaking on
these subjects, that fascinated me. He said
1
300
OLD SUNAPEE.
1
"
the Bible wasn't true, and I half believed
him, despite my mother's reverence for it.'
"You believe now that the Bible is true,
don't you?"
"I feel sometimes that it must be. I almost
know it is; but I shrink from accepting it
with my mother's faith."
१९
'Why should you? It is the light of the
world. Without it, we should be no better
than heathen. Don't you wish your brothers
to believe it?"
"Indeed I do. It would kill me to have
them grow up to be such men as those are in
our town who reject it. They must believe
it, whether I do or not.”
"Then don't tell them that you doubt its
truth."
How those words grated upon her ears.
Did she really doubt its truth? Was she
ready to say that she could not accept the
Bible as a divine revelation? Instantly the
OLD SUNAPEE.
301
ce
characters of her father and mother appeared
before her, in contrast.
"I can't say that I really doubt it; I only
am not ready to accept it."
"Then the trouble is with your heart,
rather than your head, isn't it?'
""
Perhaps so; but the truth is, I don't
•
wish to think anything about it. It tires me;
I'm not ready to decide yet." She said this
wearily. "I don't know why I've talked
with you so, and told you so much of my
home. I know my father is all wrong, but I
don't like to condemn him. I may be very
sorry for what I've said to-night."
"I trust not. You shall not find your con-
fidence misplaced. No one else will know
what has passed between us; I shall only love
you the better, and pray for you all the more
earnestly."
"I wish they wouldn't talk so to me,"
thought Madge, after she was left alone.
-
Q
I
302
OLD SUNAPEE.
"I'm not ready to think about it-I can't;"
and with this conclusion, she laid aside the
subject.
The next day, after her lessons were pre-
pared she was restless, and told one of her
teachers she had too much unoccupied time
on her hands.
"You might take up a course of historical
reading. I can't recommend it, for you are
already doing more than belongs to your
class; but it would be a great advantage to
you."
Madge was delighted with the suggestion,
and commenced directly. This was to her
mere recreation, and she read so rapidly that
her room-mate could hardly believe she un
derstood it.
1
How many pages of history have you
•
1
4
read to-day, Madge?"
"I haven't looked in a history till I cam
in a little while ago."
OLD SUNAPEE.
303
"Well, how many pages have you read
since then?”
"Ten."
"Why, Madge Benson, I couldn't have
read half so much. But do you really know
all about what you've read?"
"I think I do. You can take the book
and see. "
"Commence," said her companion after
she had looked over the first page.
Madge did commence, and soon satisfied
her questioner that she was not ignorant of
what she seemed to skim over so lightly.
"Admirable, Miss Benson. You are a
genius; but I don't know as I envy you, if
what my mother says is true."
"What does she say?"
"She says we are accountable for every
talent we possess, and the more we know,
the greater is our responsibility. I know
she is right, for the Bible says so; but it is
not a very pleasant thought."
と
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OLD SUNAPEE. ›
1
"I don't think it is pleasant to feel any
responsibility."
"I don't know as it is, but I never thought
about it. It would be a strange thing to
live without feeling responsible, wouldn't it,
Madge?"
"Yes," replied her companion, absently.
ec
ソ
​'What are you thinking about now? Your
eyes look as though they could see a great
way into the future.”
I've no desire to do that. I was think-
ing of what your mother said."
"Were you trying to number the talents
for which you are accountable?"
A shake of the head was the only reply to
this question. The history was resumed,
but Bell Sanborn noticed that the leaves
were not turned so rapidly as before, and
there seemed to be more of thinking than
reading.
Very unwelcome thoughts filled the young
OLD SUNAPEE.
305
student's mind, and after a few minutes she
thre, down her book, and started for a long
welk up the hill.
"There's nothing like walking in the face
of a strong wind to get rid of the blues,"
she had said a short time before, to a group
of young ladies who were complaining of
those troublesome guests.
She wished, when she started, that the
wind was blowing. But there was only the
balmy breath of June, a clear, blue sky
above, and a landscape of exceeding verdure
and beauty. She went out of the village
into the open country, not stopping until she
reached the summit of a hill two miles dis-
tant from the seminary. There she sat down
upon a rude stone bench, and endeavored to
fix her attention upon the scenery which sur-
rounded her.
Only a few days before, she had told one
of her classmates it was as possible to control
20
306
OLD SUNAPEE.
1
one's thoughts as one's actions. She had a
rare faculty of concentrating all the powers
of her mind upon one subject. This evening
the power failed her. Try to forget, as she
might, "responsibility" seemed written upor
every object around her, and the song of
the birds echoed the word, laden with stil!
more solemn meaning, "accountability." Her
mother's counsels mingled with these words,
and she almost resolved to settle there the
great question of her life.
One with more timidity of character, and
less of self-reliance, would have hesitated on
account of her father's prejudices; but not so
Madge Benson. She knew she must answer
for her own sins; that to her own Master
she must stand or fall.
During the last few months she had jooked
forward to the time when she should attain
the age of eighteen, as a proper season tơ
decide what was truth. She had fancied it
OLD SUNAPEE.
· 307
would take much study and laborious re-
search to satisfy her mind in regard to this.
1
Sitting there alone on the hill-top, moved
by a conviction that had been gradually gain-
ing strength, she yielded a full, intellectual
assent to the truth of the Bible; acknowledg-
ing that there had been no good reason why
she should have doubted it.
The sun was veiling its face with the cur-
tains of night, when she started on her
return. She walked slowly at first, but
gradually quickened her pace as she neared
the village.
During that walk, she deliberately decided
that she would wait for a more convenient
season to make her peace with God. "I will
become a Christian while I am yet young,
but not now," she said to herself.
"Why didn't you let me go with you?"
asked a young lady whom she met in the
hall.
2
1
#
1
308
"I walked farther than you would care to
go, and, besides, I had some thinking to do,
that would have made me an unsocial com-
panion.
"If I could have persuaded you to think
aloud, I should have been edified. When
shall you give us the benefit of your solitary
musings?"
Ce
OLD SUNAPEE.
""
Never," answered Madge, with a laugh,
as she passed on, glad to escape to her own
room.
School progressed, days and weeks went
by, bringing their joys and duties, and the
summer vacation was near. Every one was
busy; even those who had been idle during
the first of the term, were striving to make
amends for the wasted time.
Madge's services as "general helper" were
in constant requisition. She had no extra*
studying to do for herself. Having once
learned her lessons thoroughly, they were
OLD SUNAPEE.
309
not forgotten. She had accomplished more
during the term than she had anticipated.
She had taken high rank as a scholar, and
her ambition was gratified. During the last
week preceding the examination, she had
little to do, as she told Miss Atwood, "but
long for the sight of Old Sunapee, and look
on while others work."
"What will you do, Madge, while you are
at home?"
"Help my mother. I'm afraid she has
sadly needed me. Then my little brothers
have a great many things waiting for sister
Madge to do, and I must give Nell a rest
from her cares."
ee Uncle Joe and Aunt Sarah will expect
to see you, the Jones boys will claim some
attention, and your help will be wanted in
the Sabbath school. You know you didn't
invite all the children before you left."
"I expect Mr. Veeny has done that, so
there will be no visiting left for me.”
O
310
OLD SUNAPEE.
"You may be obliged to collect his salary;
and, in that case, I fear you will find the
purses of the men more firmly closed than
the hearts of the children.'
""
"I know their purses are close, and their
hearts hard; but I hope Mr. Veeny will find
a way to open both."
"I had hoped, dear Madge," at length
said her friend, "that you would go home a
Christian, prepared to use all your influence
in favor of religion."
"I thought I had used all my influence in
favor of religion, for the last year. Haven't
I?"
The question was asked seriously, and as
seriously answered.
"Not all your influence, my friend. You
did more for our Sabbath school than any
one else. Indeed, I doubt if it could have
been formed without your help. Yet one
may be a Sabbath-school scholar through a
}
OLD SUNAPEE.
311
long life, and not be a Christian. Mere
study of the Bible will never save a soul.
By it, the way of salvation is learned; but
one must walk in that way, or the celestial
city will never be reached. You induced
many to join our school, who, I hope, will
be saved; but it is possible after all that you
may lose your own soul.”
Miss Atwood watched the face of her
young friend narrowly, while she thus ad-
dressed her. The time had come when she
felt constrained to place her duty plainly
before her, and, if possible, induce her to
perform it. Madge would soon be at home,
where, in the little circle that so trusted
her, every word and act would be treasured
as worthy of imitation.
"You will pardon me, dear Madge, if I
have seemed severe. You must know I have
done it for your soul's good."
"I know you have," was the reply; "and I
wish I was a Christian."
312
OLD SUNAPEE.
1
"Then you surely will be."
"I cannot be one now."
"Why not now? Why delay your first
great duty?"
"I am not ready yet."
"When will you be, my friend?"
"When I am older. When I am eighteen
years of age, I intend to be a Christian."
"And you propose to spend three years
longer in sin. Three years more you will
live in utter disregard of God's law. It is
not like you, Madge, so to neglect what you
know to be a positive duty."
"I know it. I know it; but I cannot do
this now."
The heart of Madge responded to every
word of the appeal thus solemnly made; and
but for her resolution to postpone the great
work, she might have yielded. The impor
tunity of her friend tortured her; but she
could not be angry with one whose consist-
OLD SUNAPEE.
313
ent, intelligent Christian life gave additional
power to her words.
The tempter whispered, "Don't be moved
from your purpose. Another time will do as
well.
There is no need of haste; take time
for considération."
Miss Atwood added, "You don't know how
many are waiting to see what you will do.
The fate of many souls may he resting on
your decision."
"We must all answer for ourselves. I
certainly am accountable for no one else."
"You may be; but, granted that you are
not, who has given you a three years' lease
of life? Are you certain that your eigh-
teenth birthday will find you still in this
world? Long before then, your body may be
resting in the little yard at the foot of Old
Sunapee; and your soul,-oh, Madge, it
cannot be. I cannot bear the thought.”
Not another word was added. Miss At-
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314
OLD SUNAPEE.
;
1
wood went to her room to pour out her heart
in prayer for the soul that thus defied the
first great command of its Maker.
Alone, with the shadowy wings of the
dark angel enfolding her, Madge Benson
again decided that she would wait for a more
convenient season. There was life and
health in every pulsation of her heart,
strength and vigor in every movement of the
flexible muscles. It could not be, that ere
three summers' suns should wane, these
pulses would be stilled, and these muscles
rigid in death. Yet the question of Miss
Atwood recurred to her. Her lease of life,
1
she held it only at the pleasure of him to
whom she refused obedience.
Very welcome was the entrance of one who
came to claim her attention, and left nc
opportunity for further reflection.
The remaining days of the term passed
in the haste and confusion incident to the
OLD SUNAPEE.
315
close of a large school. Plans for meeting
during the vacation, anticipations of reunion
in the coming autumn, the last "good by's
of the graduating class; all these added to
the excitement of the examination exercises,
occupied every moment of time, and en-
grossed every thought.
"You will write to me, Madge," said Miss
Atwood, as they were about to separate.
"Tell me everything that will interest me.
I shall wish to hear from the old people and
the children, and especially from my Sab-
bath-school class."
""
I fancy your interest will include the
whole town, and I shall need to keep a
journal for your benefit. What I can't
write, I'll remember till I see you."
"Remember one thing more, dear Madge,
-your duty to your own soul."
The injunction was needless. She could
uot forget it, and the thought of this unper-
ご
​7
316
OLD SUNAPEE.
formed duty threw a shadow over the heart
that otherwise beat so joyously, in anticipa-
tion of soon meeting the loved ones at home.
"There's Old Sunapee," said one traveller
to another, as they came in sight of the
mountain.
"Then I must take a good long look at it,
for my father's sake. It was one of the
pleasures of my boyhood to listen to his
stories of events that clustered around Old
Sunapee; and I believe that in the last of
his life he pined for the sight of its rough
peaks.'
"Here is the best view you will get of it
on the road. It isn't a famous mountain, but
it has enough of picturesque beauty to make
it attractive to one who has pleasant associa
tions connected with it."
""
"Then it 'must attract me. My first wish
for a gun was inspired by listening to my
father's description of a wolf-hunt on this

SETU
"There's Old Sunapee."- Page 316.
P
OLD SUNAPEE.
317
mountain; and I was greatly disappointed
when he told me the wolves were all exter-
minated."
Old Sunapee had greater attractions than
these to the young school-girl, who wel-
comed the sight of it as the face of a friend.
The rumbling of the stage in the distance
was heard by Ralph, and announced to the
waiting family, who gathered on the piazza
to meet the expected daughter and sister.
Mrs. Benson stood there, her face a shade
paler, but the old love-light in her eye,
looking a little anxiously to observe what
changes the first months from home had
wrought in her child. The father was seat
ed in his arm-chair, some of the wrinkles
smoothed from his brow, and a smile of
gratified pride on his lips, as he looked again
on his peerless Madge.
Warm embraces for all, returned the words
of welcome that greeted her.
318
OLD SUNAPEE.
"You haven't seen us all, sister Madge,"
said Ralph, as soon as he could afford to use
his lips for the purpose of talking.
Who is it I haven't seen? Uncle Joe?"
"He's down in the field. But the min-
ister is up stairs. You want to see him,
don't you?"
Madge looked in utter astonishment at her
father, who burst into a hearty laugh. "It
is the strangest thing in the world," said he;
"but your mother has taken the minister
home for two or three weeks."
"Mother didn't know he was coming, till
you brought him," said George.
"That didn't trouble her," was the reply.
"The truth is, he boarded with Mrs. Dins-
more. She was taken sick, and there didn't
seem to be any where for him to go, so I
asked him down here. We all like him so
well, I shouldn't wonder if we kept him a
while."
OLD SUNAPEE.
319
"You must have changed your mind about
ministers since you wished there wouldn't
another minister come into town for the next
ten years," said Madge, as she passed her
hands caressingly over her father's face.
"Perhaps so," was the reply. "But I
didn't have anything to do with this man's
coming into town, and I took quite a liking
to him before I knew who he was. Any
way, he is here." So that subject was dis-
posed of.
Madge was the centre of attraction. She
answered the questions of her brothers, lis-
tened to their stories, and promised all de-
sired assistance, until Nell claimed her share
of attention.
"Here I've been hard at work all summer,
looking forward to your arrival as a bright
day in my history; and now I'm just set
aside as of no consequence. I don't believe
you've looked at me yet."
»
320
OLD SUNAPEE.
:
"Looked at you?
you? Indeed I have, my
darling sister, and by and by I hope these
boys will give me a chance to hear you. I'm
going to give you and mother a rest, while
I'm at home. I shall iron, bake, and brew,
while you enjoy the fruit of my labors."
"Seth Doyle said he was afraid you'd be
so stuck up, you wouldn't speak to him.
You will, won't you, Madge? He goes to
meeting every Sunday, and is a real good
boy now."
Ce
Quite a long speech for you, brother
Tom. I don't look very much stuck up, do
I?"
:
ee
Nothing but your hair," was the reply;
which raised a shout of laughter, during
which Madge managed to make her escape.
She found her mother in the kitchen, pre-
paring for supper. Nell followed. "Such
cooking as there has been in the house for
the last two days, in honor of the minister,
1
OLD SUNAPEE.
321
+
Ce
and our other expected guest.
Mother's
quite worn out, and as for myself, I'm only
a shadow."
Pretty substantial shadow," said Madge,
as she kissed the plump cheeks of her
sister.
"Substantial!' I ought to be. The work
of this family could never be done without
me."
"I appreciate you, Nell, and am ready to
give proof of it."
"I don't expect it," was the reply, as Nell
danced into the dining-room, where the clat-
ter of dishes soon testified to her presence.
Haven't you
"Are you well, mother?
needed me?"
These questions were asked in a breath.
CC
I missed you constantly, my daughter,
but the thought that it was best for you,
reconciled me to your absence."
"I've thought of you, mother, almost
O
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21
322
OLD SUNAPEE.
}
every hour of the day, and felt sure you
must want my help. I'm going to do the
work this vacation, and you shall be a lady."
"You may not like kitchen-work now."
"Like it or not, I can do it, I may be a
little awkward at first, but I shall soon learn
again."
"You have enjoyed your school, Madge?"
"Yes, mother, and improved it, too, I
hope."
"Miss Atwood?"
"Is well, and just as good as ever. She
ought to be a missionary."
"She was a missionary, here. I wish she
could go to church with us one Sabbath, she
would feel repaid for all her labor.'
"Do many go to church now?”
"Yes; and some who never went before.
Mr. Veeny has called upon every family in
town, and hasn't had an unkind word sail
to him."
""
OLD SUNAPEE.
323
1
"Father doesn't go, does he?"
"No," answered her mother, with a sigh.
"He likes Mr. Veeny, but says he don't wish
to near him preach. I think he feels differ-
ently from what he used to, but he don't say
anything about it."
"I'm glad, for your sake, mother."
"And more glad for his own, I hope, my
daughter."
re
"I guess you don't want to see sister
Madge, Mr. Minister," said Ralph to their
guest, as he came down stairs just as tea
was ready.
ee
Why do you think so?”
"Because you waited so long. She's been
here a good while."
"I do wish to see her, very much."
"I'll call her," said the happy boy, "Sis-
""
ter Madge; sister Madge.'
"What do you wish, little brother?"
"Wish you to come here. The minister
wants to see you.”
*
324
OLD SUNAPEE.
"Come right in, Madge," said her father,
who entered at that moment.
She obeyed the summons, and was pre-
sented to Mr. Veeny.
"He is one of the
family now," said her father.
"It is time
you were acquainted.'
"I'm afraid Miss Benson will consider me
an intruder in her home."
"None of my father's friends are ever in-
truders," was the smiling reply.
"I am glad to be reckoned among your
father's friends, but hope some time I may
be counted among your own.
Mr. Benson replied for his daughter, "You
will be good friends. There'll be no trouble
about that."
>>
Mr. Veeny did not tell her that he had
been wishing to see her since the first day he
came into town. Such, however, was the
case. Madge was equally desirous to see a
clergyman who could so far overcome her
OLD SUNAPEE.
325
father's prejudices as to be treated by him
with respect. She looked at him only long
enough to see that he was young, enthusias-
tic, and good-looking in the highest sense of
the phrase.
What he thought of her, as she stood be-
side her father, was written late that even-
ing in his "Notes on Character": "Proud,
gifted, and self-reliant, with a world of love
and tenderness pervading her whole nature.
- God bless her."
P
A blessing was asked before partaking of
the bounties of the table, but the presence
of "the minister" seemed no restraint upon
the enjoyment of any one, except Madge.
She was a little sorry to find him there, and
not quite ready to adopt him as one of her
home circle. Her father's evident pleasure
in his society somewhat reconciled her to
his presence. She had seldom seen him so
social, and she left them still talking, after
326
OLD SUNAPEE.
the rest of the family had gone from the
room.
"Mother, you and Madge can sit down
and talk now, while I officiate in the kitch-
en," said Nell. "My time will come some
time to-night, and I can wait.'
"2
Mother's room! How pleasant it was to
be there again. Madge then found an op-
portunity to inquire for Uncle Joe, Aunt
Sarah, and many of her particular friends.
"I thought Ralph said Uncle Joe was
here."
"He has been here all the week, but your
father carried him home this afternoon. He
wants to work in his garden to-morrow. He
is well, and seems perfectly happy. There
is a good time coming for all of us,' he said
to-day. Mr. and Mrs. Jones are earnest
Christians, Mr. Doyle's family attend church
constantly, and several of the South Enders
are ther in good weather. Mr. Veeny
1
OLD SUNAPEE.
327
thinks Will Beals is trying to live a godly
life, and his example has a great influence
upon those about him."
"I must tell Miss Atwood of that," said
Madge, with great animation. "She will be
very glad to hear it."
"And well she may be. He dates his first
serious impressions to her words of warning.
It is worth the labor of a life-time to be in-
strumental in the salvation of one soul.
Some other members of the class are very
thoughtful. I wish she would come here to
see them this vacation."
"She says her wishes lead her here, but
duty calls her elsewhere; and duty is a para-
mount consideration with her.”
"As it should be with every one. The
persor. who performs every known duty can-
not go far wrong."
"I wonder if any one has ever reached
such a state of perfection as that.”
J
C
1
328
OLD SUNAPEE.
i
"Didn't you ever see such a person?"
"I suppose I have. But when you first
spoke of it, it seemed quite impossible.
There are Uncle Joe, Aunt Sarah, and Miss
Atwood. I am sure they intend to do their
duty. There were some very conscientious
girls in school; and I have had an example
always before me in my mother. I wish I
was as good as you are.
"
"I hope you will be better, my daughter.
I shall have lived to little purpose, if my chil-
dren are not Christians."
"It will be no fault of yours, if they are
not, dear mother."
"Whose fault will it be?"
"Their own."
"Your own.
shall you be judged."
"Glad to be at home, Madge," said her
Then by your own words
father, coming in.
"Yes, sir, indeed I am. There's no place
like home."
OLD SUNAPEE.
329
·
"Not even school?"
"That's a good place to stay for awhile,
but living must be done at home."
"I'm glad you haven't got any grand
notions while you've been gone. I wasn't
much afraid of it, but there's no telling what
may happen. I guess your mother has
missed you. I wanted her to have some
help this summer, but she and Nell thought
they'd get along alone."
"They'll have help while I'm at home."
"You'll want a few days for visiting before
you begin to work," said her mother.
"I can work and visit together. I shall
spend the mornings in the kitchen. Have
you sold the Blue Hill farm, father?"
"No; that is still on my hands. Mr.
Doane thinks he will buy it, if they settle a
minister in town."
""
"Then you'd better take hold and help
do it."
330
OLD SUNAPEE.
"Guess it won't do to make any promises
about that; I've broken too many already."
"Don't make any bad promises, father. I
expect in two years from now you'll pay the
largest minister's tax of any one in town."
Madge looked to see if she had gone too
far in her half-earnest assertion, but there
was no anger in her father's voice, as he
replied, "You may be mistaken in your ex-
pectation."
"You didn't say much to Mr. Veeny," he
added, after a pause.
"I haven't seen him much yet. The rest
of you like him so well, it won't be necessary
for me to be very demonstrative."
"I hope you'll like him. He thinks as
much of books as you do, and everybody
says he's a smart preacher.'
"Have you heard him preach, father?"
"No, Madge; you know I have something
else to do."
""
OLD SUNAPEE.
331
There spoke out the old spirit, but Madge
was not silenced.
"What else, father?"
"I hardly know, but it isn't in my line to
I stay at home and keep
hear preaching.
house, while the rest go. Besides, Mr.
Veeny hasn't asked me to go. He has in-
vited everybody else, but I suppose he thinks
I'm too far gone. The men have come; I
must go and see what report they bring,"
he added, as a lumber-wagon drove into the
shed.
""
"Do you trust those men over Blue Hill,
alone?"
"Yes," was the reply. "Jones is as faith-
ful as Uncle Joe."
"Since he became a Christian," said Mrs.
Benson.
Madge was acquainted with the workmen,
and went into the kitchen to speak to them.
They were glad to see her; glad, too, that
332
OLD SUNAPEE.
she had come back with the same frank man-
uers that had always characterized her.
"I don't see as you've changed any," said
Mr. Jones, "unless you've grown a little
handsomer."
"Handsome is, that handsome does,'
Aunt Sarah says; so you must wait a while
before you decide that."
"I can wait for that; but my boys think it
is pretty hard work to wait much longer
before they see you. They wanted to come
up here this afternoon, but I told them to
wait till to-morrow."
>>
"You'll see strange doings here," said Mr.
Doyle. "We all go to meeting as regular as
so many priests.”
1
"I am glad to hear it," was the reply. "I
expect every child in town goes to Sabbath
school."
"Not quite all, but they'll come soon, if
Mr. Veeny stays. He's a tip-top minister
Your father likes him."
1
1
f
OLD SUNAPEE.
333
"Here, Madge, those men won't eat their
supper to-night, if you stay out there talking.
Better give us your company," said her
father.
"I wonder if she is a Christian yet,"
thought Mr. Jones, as she went out of the
room. He was one of the many who re-
membered her at the throne of grace.
The family gathered in the sitting-room,
when the work of the day was over.
"I will resign my office as reader, to you,
Miss Benson," said Mr. Veeny.
"Yes, Madge," said her father.
want to hear you read again.
George placed the Bible before her, and
she understood that she was expected to read
from it, although she could hardly credit the
testimony of her own senses, to the fact that
her father was waiting to hear her.
She read the fifth chapter of the gospel of
John, and the touching pathos of her voice
""
"We
the day. In those
334
OLD SUNAPEE.
}
moved every heart. Ralph testified his emo-
tion, by coming to his sister's side, and
placing his hand in hers. The young min-
ister gave utterance to his in the prayer that
followed.
The first evening he had spent there, Mrs.
Benson had asked him to lead their evening
devotions. "My husband will not wish to
be present," she had said, in reply to an
inquiry made respecting him.
To her astonishment, however, he came in
after the reading commenced, and took his
seat. No one had spoken to him in regard
to it, and he had vouchsafed no explanation.
The two succeeding evenings he joined his
family, but otherwise gave no sign that he
was interested.
In 'repeating his evening prayer, Ralph
added the petition for his father; his mother
echoed it with a sigh, and another, in the
strength and fervor of manhood, laid the
·
OLD SUNAPEE.
335
same petition at the feet of the All-Mer-
ciful.
But the erring man prayed not for himself.
He knew there was a God, whose mercy he
had outraged. He believed in the truth of
the Bible he had blasphemed, and believing,
trembled. Yet there was no repentance in
his heart. His children might be Christians;
he sometimes hoped they would; but he
could never be other than he then was. If
he had made a mistake, it must be forever.
No word of prayer should ever pass his lips.
He repeated these decisions to himself
again and again, but they brought him no
peace.
God pity and save him!
}
:
?
1
1
{

CHAPTER V.
Confessed at last; no question now
Of what is truth or duty;
God's word is sure; the heart must bow
To its eternal beauty.
The darkness past, the shifting clouds
Reveal a silver lining;
From mountain-peaks the misty shrouds
Reflect the day-star's shining.
to her greeting.
1
ERY early the morning after her
arrival, Madge appeared in tne
kitchen. No one was there but
her father, who replied warmly
1

836
"I'm glad to have you back, Madge; and
I don't see how I'm going to spare you to
go away again."
;
OLD SUNAPEE.
337
"I guess you will, father. I've only bc-
gun to study. It would be a pity to stop
now."
"So it would; but when you get through
school, I shall keep you at home. No going
off to teach, or do anything of that sort.
Remember it, will you?" he said, laying his
hand upon her shoulder.
"Yes, sir; I must stay at home then, and
let Nell go to school.”
"Or teach her yourself, which would be
better."
"We can decide about that when the time
comes. Now I must attend to the break-
fast. Oh, mother, I wanted you to rest this
morning."
At this moment Nell appeared. " Pretty
well, if I'm to have my place usurped in this
manner. Clad in full regalia, too. Long,
high-necked apron, short dress, and short
sleeves. Clean linen collar, smooth hair,
22
338
OLD SUNAPEE.
and a smiling face. Quite an attractive
picture."
"Without the high-heeled shoes."
"Which I always wear myself," added
Nell.
The old kitchen rung with the laughter
of the sisters, in which the parents joined.
Mrs. Benson was growing cheerful. The
passing summer was the happiest she had
known since she was first married. Her
husband treated her with more considera-
tion; was less stern with his children; and
in every relation in life was more kind and
genial. He seldom used profane language,
and said nothing against religion or the
Bible.
1
"I'm going to let the meeting-people take
care of their own business," he said to one
"I've troubled myself
of the neighbors.
about that long enough."
A wise conclusion, which, sooner made,
OLD SUNAPEE.
339
might have saved much unhappiness. He
had received another lesson, so severe, he
was not likely soon to forget it.
He was passing one of the poorest houses
in the south end of the town, when a woman
called after him, desiring him to stop. He
wondered who she was, and what she could
want of him. As he entered the house, he
recognized her, as the wife of a young man
who had once worked for him several
months.
"Mr. Benson, you remember my husband."
He assented.
"When he worked for you, you told him
the Bible was a pack of lies. He was killed
two years ago. Did you tell him the truth?
Is the Bible a lie?"
Confounded at the question, he made no
reply.
"Two weeks ago," continued the woman,
"the new minister called here. He asked
340
OLD SUNAPEE.
for a Bible. I hadn't one in the house, and
I told him so.
He gave me this," said she,
pointing to a new Bible, that laid open on
the table. "He told me every word of it was
truth. I've been reading it since, and if it is
true, my husband has lost his soul. Is it
true, Mr. Benson?”
"I don't know," he answered.
"But you told Robert it wasn't."
"I've changed my mind since then,” said
the wretched man, in a husky voice. "It is
the safest way to believe it."
The poor woman burst into tears, and sat
wringing her hands in hopeless agony.
"What shall I do?" she said, at length.
"What will become of these children?"
A boy and girl were playing in another
1
room.
"Are you poor?" asked Mr. Benson.
"Poor enough, God knows; but I wasn't
thinking of that. My children have souls.
·
OLD SUNAPEE.
341
The minister wanted I should send them to
Sabbath school, but they haven't clothes.
decent to wear, and I've no money to buy
*them."
Mr. Benson took a ten-dollar bill from his
pocket-book and handed it to her.
She refused to take it. "I never beg. I
can work; but I can't take charity."
"It isn't charity. I owe you more than
this, for the wrong I did your husband; but
I believed what I said."
CC
Oh, Mr. Benson, never say it again."
"I never will," he said to himself, as he
left the house. Getting into his wagon he
drove off, not caring where he went, if he
could only fly from the accusing words.
Vain effort! Conscience still echoed them.
Robert Randall was not the only one who
had listened to his infidel belief.
"I wonder if I have ever done any good in
my life." He said this aloud, as he stopped
342
OLD SUNAPEE.
at the bars that led into his mountain pasture.
He fastened his horse, walked on a short
distance, sat down in the shade of a largo
tree, and resolved, for once, to look the
truth fairly in the face.
His thoughts went back to the time when,
a poor boy, he was dependent for a place to
lay his head. No one loved him then; even
his food was grudgingly given. He remem-
bered, oh, how distinctly, those fireside talks
that had influenced his whole life, and made
him a hater of the Bible. He had wished
for money, and it had been granted him.
Mary Dinsmore! It seemed almost
strange to him now, that she had ever loved
him, yet he was sure she did when he first
took her to his home. Was that love still
his?
He had almost forgotten this happy Mary
in the years that followed.
The mother of his children. What had he
OLD SUNAPEE.
343
done to lighten her labors, and make her
pathway less toilsome? It had never
occurred to him before to question the
endurance of his wife's love. He had
accepted her devotion as his right, forget-
ting that their obligations were mutual.
What help had he rendered in training his
children for usefulness? Had he not left
undone all that he should have done, and
wasted his energies in leading others astray?
He did not spare himself in the self-exami-
nation, and, humiliating as was the result, it
was honestly accepted.
It was nightfall when he reached home,
and his supper was waiting. The children
stopped talking when he came in, and soon
went away by themselves, leaving him alono
with his wife.
The noise of the children had always
troubled him, and he wanted them to be
quiet; but that evening their silence was a
344
OLD SUNAPEE.
reproach. He longed to hear the sound of
their voices.
The house he had entered at the South
End was before his eyes, and the voice of
the widowed woman ringing in his ears.
"Never say it again, Mr. Benson." He had
been accustomed to say many things that
must never be said again.
From that day, he made a great effort
to control his unhappy temper, and to win
the confidence of his children. He was mor-
tified that Mr. Veeny should have heard such
a report of him; but neither by word or
act did he give sign of it.
To the credit of Mrs. Randall, it should be
said, that she never repeated her conversa-
tion with Mr. Benson. She read her Bible,
and there learned a lesson of forgiveness.
She was not forgotten by her husband's
employer. He intended to interest Madge
in the children, and thus make some amends
OLD SUNAPEE.
345
for the injury he had done the father. Ac-
cordingly, the day after her arrival, he said
to his daughters. "I want you to go over to
the South End soon, and call on Robert
Randall's widow. I went by there a few
weeks ago, and, from the looks of the house,
I think they must be very poor. She has
two children. Perhaps you can get them
into the Sabbath school, and do them some
good. Robert was an industrious young
man, and I should be sorry to have his fam-
ily suffer."
Saturday was crowded with its duties and
pleasures. A busy day, closing the labors
of the week. A happy day, too, in which
loving hearts prompted loving words and
deeds.
Ralph was a little troubled that the minis-
ter and his favorite sister seemed to make so
little progress towards an acquaintance; and
the older brothers could not understand why
she did not talk with him.
346
OLD SUNAPEE.
ܚܪ
"He knows as many stories as Uncle Joe
does," said Ralph.
"Yes, he does," added Tom, "and can tell
them as well, too."
Madge had overheard one of his stories
to the boys, and could subscribe heartily to
their opinion, that he was a good story-teller.
His story had a moral, which moral was en-
forced by some home questions, setting duty
and responsibility plainly before the mind.
She knew he was an earnest worker, and
judged rightly, that he would consider it his
duty to address her upon the subject of re-
ligion, when a suitable opportunity should
She resolved that the opportunity
should be wanting.
occur.
She was glad to have her brothers under
his influence, glad that her father listened to
his prayers; but she wished to avoid all
appeals to her own heart.
After breakfast, Sabbath morning, she
inquired who was going to church.
OLD SUNAPEE.
347
"You can all go," said her father, pleas-
aly "I'll do all that is necessary to be
d me at home.”
"I can stay at home with you," said
Madge. "I never knew you to stay alone."
"But I have, this summer, and can again
to-day. I want you to hear Mr. Veeny
preach; and then you'll see more of the
people in the meeting-house than you could
in a week anywhere else. I guess they'll
want you back in Sabbath school, too, by
this time."
"What is the matter with father, Nell?"
asked Madge, as soon as she found time to
speak to her alone.
"I don't know as there is anything the
natter with him. What makes you ask
such a question?"
Because he doesn't secm natural."
"You mean he don't scold all the time.”
"He seems happier than he used to,” said
348
OLD SUNAPEE.
Madge, evasively, not quite liking her sis-
ter's manner of speaking.
"I don't think he is happy. He looks
very sad sometimes, but he isn't cross."
"Well, what has made him so?"
"I'm sure I don't know. Perhaps he has
seen the error of his ways,” replied Nell,
laughing. Any way, he is much more
agrceable, and mother is a great deal hap-
pier. I guess Mr. Veeny has something to
do with it. He makes everybody do just as
he wants them to, and they don't know it,
either."
66
1
Madge knew there was a radical change
in her father. Mr. Veeny might have had
something to do with it, as Nell said, but
whatever was the influence, she was con-
vinced that it had reached his heart. She
wondered if he read the Bible. She could
only wonder. If he had become a reader
of the Word, it was in secret. She under-
OLD SUNAPEE.
349
stood her father's character well enough to
be sure of that.
The first load that started from Mr. Ben-
son's that Sabbath morning, consisted of
the minister, Nell, George, and Tom. Mr.
Veeny and the boys proposed to walk, but
"there was no need of it. The horse could
go twice, as well as once.'
George came back for his mother, Madge,
and Ralph, who loved to go where he could
ec
'hear about God and the angels."
Mr. Benson watched them until quite out
of sight, then went in and sat down, wishing
that he, too, could hear Mr. Veeny preach.
Half an hour later, he was reading the Bible
for almost the first time in his life. He
turned over the leaves, reading here and
there a few verses, sometimes of history then
of prophecy; first in the Old Testament,
then in the New, until he opened to the
last chapter of Revelations, which he read
quite through.
"9
350
OLD SUNAPEE.
A
He was careful when he replaced the book
upon the table, that it should be in the same.
position in which he found it, so that no one
need suspect its having been moved. Here
we will leave him to his own reflections, and
the upbraidings of his conscience.
Deacon Esty was watching for Mr. Veeny
that morning, when he drove up.
"I didn't hear until yesterday that Mrs.
Dinsmore was sick," he said, after they had
exchanged the first salutations. "If I had
known it sooner, I should have come down
to look after your welfare."
"I have been well cared for. Mr. Benson
invited me to stop at his house for a week or
two."
"There has been a wonderful change in
that man. A year ago he would hardly
speak to a minister."
"I have faith to believe he will be a Chris-
tian yet."
OLD SUNAPEE.
351
:
"I hope he will," was the reply. "If that
time ever comes, he will owe it all to his
wife."
"She is a noble woman," said Mr. Veeny.
"You may well say that. She has lived
a consistent Christian life, and brought up
her children in the fear of the Lord, in spite
of her husband's opposition. It is what few
women can do, and what I wonder any one
ever attempts."
"Do you mean that in such cases the
husband's will should supersede the law of
God?" asked the young minister.
"Never. The trouble lies back of that.
I don't believe in such marriages."
"There's a broad field for discussion on
that point."
"I know it; but I've seen enough to con-
vince me beyond all question."
Good Deacon Esty felt strongly on this
subject, and he never went around among
*
352
OLD SUNAPEE.
}
•
the members of their little church for the
purpose of raising, money, without feeling
fortified in his conviction.
Sabbath morning was no time for a pro-
longed conversation. Mr. Veeny went to
his boarding-place to wait for the ringing of
the last bell. From his closet he passed to
the pulpit, his heart full of love to God and
man. The words that fell from his lips,
prompted by this love, reached the hearts
of all who heard him. Some might call his
sermon talking, rather than preaching; but
it was the right kind of talking for his audi-
ence, calculated to make them mindful of
their duty.
Madge Benson sat where she could com-
mand a view of the congregation, and occu-
pied herself, at first, with studying their
faces, to note the effect of the preacher's
words.
Gradually her own attention was
arrested until she had no thought for those
1
OLD SUNAPEE.
353
A
around her. It seemed to her that she alone
was addressed. The danger of delaying the
work of repentance was faithfully portrayed,
the sermon closing with the fearful lamcnta-
tion, "The harvest is past, the summer is
ended, and we are not saved."
The Sabbath school was large and interest-
ing; the library had been enlarged, by the
efforts of Mr. Veeny, until it was attractive
to both old and young.
Uncle Joe's class had increased until he
had more boys than he could well look after.
He had kept them only because they were
unwilling to leave him. They thought no
one else could be so good a teacher. Some
of the older boys walked three and four
miles to be present, and, going home with
their books and papers, after the services of
the day were over, felt well repaid for their
long walk.
"I can't hear all your lessons, to-day,"
23
354
OLD SUNAPEE.
said the old man, as he noticed that his class
was larger than ever. "Who will volunteer
to recite to some one else?"
The Jones boys were willing to have
Madge Benson for a teacher, and five others
were easily induced to join them. But Dea-
con Esty found some trouble in persuading
her to take charge of them.
She could hear their lessons, and explain
them, but this was only a small part of a
teacher's duty. Miss Atwood realized her
ideal of what a teacher should be, and, as
Nell said, "she always preached to her
class."
1
This preaching constituted not only her
power, but her attraction as a teacher, and
was never forgotten. She asked no more of
her scholars than she practised; and the con-
secration she urged upon them, was daily
practised by herself. Madge felt her weak-
aess here, but the boys were in earnest, and
sbe yielded.
OLD SUNAPEE.
355
2
"I can't talk to them as you do, Uncle
Joe," said she.
"No," said the old man, with a smile. "I
know you can't. You are young, and I am
old. Only remember that each one of the
boys has a soul that will live forever, and
you cannot fail to do them good."
She did not forget it. Those who listened
to her could not have supposed it possible
that the way she so clearly pointed out to
others, was one in which she refused to walk.
Q
"Well, Madge, how did you like the
preaching?" asked her father, that evening.
"Mr. Veeny is a good preacher."
"Then you liked him, of course."
"I didn't dislike him," was the reply.
"Uncle Joe said he never heard him preach
so well as he did to-day," said Nell. "He
told Deacon Esty when they came out, that
no one who listened to him could he igno-
rant of their duty."
356
OLD SUNAPEE.
"It is one thing to know your duty, and
quite another to do it," said Madge. "There
isn't much trouble in finding out what it is;
the difficulty is in making up one's mind to
do it."
"I didn't know anything was hard for you,
Madge," said her sister, seriously.
"You are mistaken there, Nell. Some
things are very hard for me, and so I leave
them undone, coward that I am."
"I should like to know what you leave
undone," said her father.
"A great many things," was the careless
reply. "I don't wish to confess all my short
comings." Neither would she confess that
she was leaving undone the one great duty
of life, though every day strengthened her
conviction of guilt in so doing.
It was not a pleasant subject, and she was
glad to turn from herself to her brothers.
They claimed her help in preparing their
OLD SUNAPEE.
357
}
:
ee
lessons for the next Sabbath.
Later in the
evening Mr. Veeny came in, and taking
Ralph in his lap, joined them in their study.
When the last question had been an-
swered, George reminded Mr. Veeny of a
promise he had made, to tell them something
of the countries where the people are pun-
ished for reading the Bible."
"Tell us now, if you please," said Nell.
"Yes, do, Mr. Minister," added Ralph.
"We are all waiting to hear you.”
Perhaps it is so old a story to your sis-
ter, that she may not care to hear it repeat-
ed," was the reply.
"I guess she never knew it," said Ralph;
"she never told me about it. I know she
wants to hear it; don't you, sister Madge?"
"Yes, little brother, I should like to hear
it very much."
Thus assured, Mr. Veeny commenced,
relating more than he had promised. He
i
358
OLD SUNAPEE.
;
told them of the time when the Bible was
scarcely known to the common people; when
few copies were found, except in monasteries
and old churches, where they were chained
to the altar. Then later, when it was better
known, but when to read it was counted a
crime, to be punished with torture or death.
He told them, also, of the secret meetings
of Christians in the fastnesses of the moun-
tains, and in concealed caves, where they
listened to the reading of God's word at the
peril of their lives.
"Couldn't they have a Bible at home, as
we do?" asked Ralph, whose eyes dilated
with wonder at the strange recital.
"No, my dear boy. If they had Bibles
they were obliged to hide them, and read
them in the night when they wouldn't be
seen."
"Where did they hide them?" asked
Tom.
OLD SUNAPEE.
359
Ce
"Sometimes under the hearth-stone; any-
where the priests wouldn't be likely to look
for them. When any Bibles were found they
were burned."
What did they do with the folks that had
them?"
"They were burned sometimes, unless
they promised never to read the Bible any
niore. It required a great deal of self-denial
and courage to be a Christian then.”
Doesn't it now?" asked Madge, invol-
untarily, without thinking to what the ques-
tion might lead.
"They don't kill Christians now," said
George. "Everybody likes them. I heard
Mr. Doyle say the other day, they were the
only folks fit to be trusted.”
"Do you think it requires much courage
to be a Christian, Miss Benson?" asked Mr.
Veeny.
"I don't know," she answered frankly.
*
360
OLD SUNAPEE.
+
"I ought to have replied to your question
before asking another. In one way it re-
quires self-denial to be a Christian now, and
in another the self-denial is practised by
those who refuse to become Christians."
Madge looked up inquiringly.
"Is it not a self-denial to choose the evil
rather than the good, and to sacrifice an
eternity of bliss for a momentary gratifica-
tion? Does it not require great courage to
disobey the commands of God, and brave
the anger of him who holds our eternal
destinies in his hands? It is possible to
make a fatal mistake here."
"It is easy to make mistakes," said Madge
coldly. It was evident that she did not wish
to prolong the conversation, and Mr. Veeny
was too wise to insist upon it.
The children had many questions to ask
about what they had heard, which were
cheerfully answered.
OLD SUNAPEE.
361
There was another listener in an adjoining
room; silent, but none the less interested.
In that hour Mr. Benson had learned more
of the history of the Bible, than he hal be-
fore known. It was a profitable Sabbath
evening lesson, and when Madge read a
chapter from the sacred pages to the assem-
bled family, it had a deeper significance, as
they thought of the many who had sacrificed
their lives to preserve this great treasure.
Madge's vacation from school was by no
means a vacation from work. She took her
old place in the kitchen, doing everything
quickly and easily, giving her mother and
sister an opportunity to rest. She found
time to call on Mrs. Randall, whose children
she helped to make ready for Sabbath
school, while the mother was induced to
attend church. She made two or three
visits to Uncle Joe's cottage, where she de-
lighted Aunt Sarah with a history of her
362
OLD SUNAPEE.
THA
school life. The old lady was glad to hear
from Miss Atwood, and to know she was not
forgotten by her.
Towards the close of one of these visits,
as Uncle Joe sat looking earnestly at the
young girl he said,-
"You will be a great scholar, Madge.
"I hope so. It is the strongest desire of
my life."
"What if this was denied you?
Then there would be nothing worth liv-
ing for."
:
99
""
1
"But there is a great deal to be learned
besides what is found in books."
"I know it," was the reply. "I have
learned many lessons here that I shall never
forget."
"If you are wise, you will learn them all
the way through your life. But there is one
lesson, the crowning glory of all wisdom,
that can be learned only in one place and
of one teacher."
OLD SUNAPEE.
363
1
"What is that?" asked Madge, with ani-
mation.
"It is the lesson learned at the foot of the
cross, and our Saviour is the teacher.
Will
you learn it, my dear girl."
She had been so much absorbed in thoughts
of school and study, that the old man's words
did not suggest to her what the lesson might
be, until he told her distinctly. She needed
no explanation. She understood well what
it was; the lesson that all must learn, the
noble and gifted, as well as the poor and
ignorant, or life be worse than a failure, and
all knowledge but a curse.
The question was most unwelcome; but
asked, as it was, by one whom she so loved
and reverenced, and who seemed to her
standing on the very threshold of heaven,
she could not refuse to answer.
"I hope to learn it," she said brokenly.
The faces of the aged Christians lighted
364
OLD SUNAPEE.
up at these words. "Perhaps you lave
learned it already," said Aunt Sarah.
"Oh, no," she answered, "that is all in the
future."
"Then let it be so no longer," said Uncle
Joe. "The place may seem humble, but the
teacher is the King of the world, conde-
scending to our low cstate.”
What could she reply? She acknowledged
the truth of all that had been said, but her
Not yet
heart still cried out for delay.
would she listen to the voice of the Great
Teacher, not yet consecrate herself to his
service.
"We shall always pray for you," at length
added the good old man, and she could not
but thank him for the assurance.
1
Go where she would her duty was brought
before her, and do what she might it haunted
her sleeping and waking hours. At home
she so persistently avoided Mr. Veeny as to
OLD SUNAPEE.
365
1
attract general notice. Her mother thought
she understood the reason, but her father
tried in vain to account for this strange
freak, and remonstrated with her in regard
to it.
It was quite enough for her to listen to his
pointed sermons, and but for her influence
upon the younger members of the family,
she would have found an excuse to absent
herself from church.
She observed, after the first excitement of
her being at home had passed, that Nell was
more serious than usual, had long talks with
her mother, and spent some part of every
day alone.
She supposed, for a few days,
that some family matters were being dis-
cussed and arranged, but as time went on
she was convinced that something more im-
portant engrossed the attention of her young
sister.
She had never before had a secret from
366
OLD SUNAPEE.
Madge; nothing was undertaken without her
advice and assistance; but now confidence
was neither sought nor given. The elder
sister was at no loss to account for the
change in her companion; she felt sure she
was learning the lesson from which she her-
self had resolutely turned.
Here she could not aid her; she could
only stand aloof while others counselled and
encouraged. She was thankful her own
example was not imitated; and, if she had
dared to pray, she would have sought the
blessing for her sister she would not ask for
herself.
During this time the young minister was
getting quite settled in his new home. He
could not yet return to his old boarding-
place, and Mr. Benson told Deacon Esty it
wasn't best for him to change again; he was
welcome to stay as long as he would. The
children were glad to have him remain, and
OLD SUNAPEE.
367
4
their mother felt that his influence more than
repaid her for all her labor.
Of course, so strange an arrangerment could
not fail to call forth many comments. A few
expressed their indignation and astonishment.
at the defection of their strong man in a
torrent of abuse and profanity. Some con-
tented themselves with sneers of ridicule;
others, who had the good of the community
at heart, were glad the infidel farmer was
growing more tolerant; while the little band
of Christians thanked God anew and took
fresh courage.
It was of no use to talk to Mr. Benson
about this. He had always prided himself
on doing as he pleased, and was not now
disposed to consult the opinions of others.
Ho liked Mr. Veeny, and had no hesitation
in saying so. He had never heard his
preaching, which was sufficient reason why
he should say nothing about it.
368
OLD SUNAPEE.
!
1
Ralph said, it seemed like having a meeting
all the time, when the minister and Uncle
Joe were there. If praying "makes a meet-
ing," he was certainly right, for of that there
was no lack.
Haying went on rapidly, with no necessity
for Sabbath labor. The farmer had probably
found hay to be rather an expensive fertil-
izer. At any rate he was careful to have all
his work finished up on Saturday. Even the
neighbors felt the influence of the minister;
and those who would not attend upon his
ministrations in the church were unwilling to
be seen by him in the fields.
Madge Benson's avoidance troubled him a
little until he divined the cause, when he
was troubled for her rather than himself.
He saw but little of her at home, but found
traces of her visits in many of the families
he was trying to bring under the influence.
of religious instruction. Uncle Joe had told
M
OLD SUNAPEE.
369
/
ker of some children he thought she could
induce to join the Sabbath school.
"I know Mr. Veeny has asked them, but
they haven't come yet. You had better go
to see them, and finish the work you began
last winter."
She needed no urging to do this. She
was ready to do her duty to others, and glad
to help the young minister in his labors.
"She's a real Sabbath-school missionary,"
said Aunt Sarah to Mr. Veeny. "It's
strange she don't give her whole heart to
the cause of the Saviour. I wish you could
talk with her, and find out what it is that
keeps her back."
"It seems I am not the one to do that,"
was the reply. "I can only pray for her."
"I don't know as any one can say much to
her; she don't seem to like to talk about it.
Brother Joe says she's very proud, but I
can't see it."
24
*
OLD SUNAPEE.
370
What was hidden from Aunt Sarah's eyes,
was plain to the vision of the young minister.
He recognized a pride and strength of will
rarely seen in one so young. He was think
ing so earnestly of the subject of their con-
versation that he made no reply to this last
remark, and the old lady commenced talk-
ing again of her favorite.
"Her father almost worships her. He has
been a hard man in his family; but he isn't
the same he used to be before Miss Atwood
came here. I do believe if she was a Chris-
tian she'd take her father and all the childrer
with her."
ee
Ralph has not waited for her, and her
sister is thinking very seriously. She may
be the last, after all," said Mr. Veeny.
She might be. God's ways are not our
ways, and he often disappoints our most
cherished plans.
Meanwhile, vacation was nearly at an end.
:
371
OLD SUNAPEE.
7
!
Madge Benson had finished her home work;
made all the calls suggested by Uncle Joe,
and so far as outward duties were concerned,
had little to regret. She had accomplished a
great deal, and was ready to go back to her
studies. Yet the last evening at home was
a little sad. Her father had no advice to
>
give; he trusted her implicitly; he saw that
she was well provided with money, and there
his care ended. Not so with the mother;
her anxiety for her daughter reached beyond
this short life. Her words were such as
Madge expected.
"You know, my daughter, that my highest
hope and greatest desire for you, is that you
may be a child of God. Great learning will
avail you nothing at the judgment seat.
You are only increasing your responsibility.
You said more than a year ago, you should
some time decide about these things for
yourself. Have you decided?"
1
372
OLD SUNAPEE.
3.
F
Ce
I know that the Bible is true, and relig-
ion is necessary for all."
"I thank God that you have reached that
point; but a mere intellectual belief will not
save you. Something more than that is
""
1
necessary.
"I want you to pray to God, sister
Madge," said her little brother, as she gave
him a good-night kiss.
He was not easily quieted without a direct
answer, and it required all his sister's ingen-
uity to divert his attention.
Twice, that evening, she was reminded of
her duty. Her brothers George and Tom
never dreamed that she needed reproof or
counsel; in their eyes she was perfect, and
to receive her commendation was their high-
est ambition. They were good, conscien-
tious boys, trying to do right, looking
forward to the time when they should be
men. y
-
1
OLD SUNAPEE.
373
"You will be good men," said Madge, as
she looked down into their honest eyes, and
thought, with a shudder, that they might
stain their lives with guilt.
}
"I am going to be just such a man as Mr.
Veeny is," said Tom. "He talks to me
about it 'most every day, and says I never
must go to sleep at night without asking
God to forgive me for all the wicked things
I've done. He says he does."
"I haven't forgot it since we promised;
have you, Tom?" asked George.
"No, indeed," was the reply, "and I don't
believe I ever shall."
ت
Was it possible that her father and herself
were the only members of the family who
were living without prayer? She who
should have led the way for her sister and
brothers was indeed the last. The thought
was almost overwhelming. It was with dif-
ficulty she controlled herself to read the
374
OLD SUNAPEE.
evening chapter. At its close she longed to
take her father by the hand, ask him to kneel
down with her, and by one act of consecra
tion to their Heavenly Father forever end
the strife in their hearts.
It required all her pride, all her strength
of will, to restrain her impulse and conceal
her emotion. But she succeeded. Again
the dark angel triumphed.
When the last article had been packed in
her trunks and everything was ready for the
early morning start, too much excited to
sleep, Madge went out upon the piazza, as
she said to Nell, "to have a good look at the
mountain by moonlight. I want to carry
away a pleasant picture of Old Sunapee."
This was true. She did wish to enjoy the
moonlight, but she wished more to be alone.
She had not enjoyed this long when Mr.
Veeny stepped from the hall door and stood
before her.
*
1
OLD SUNAPEE.
375
ee
Pardon me, Miss Benson," said he. "I
could not let you go without thanking you
for the aid you have given me in my parish
duties."
"No thanks are necessary," was the reply.
"If I have aided you, I am glad. I hardly
know how I have done it."
"The new class in the Sabbath school
speaks for itself. It was nothing new for
you to do, but it was a great deal for me to
have it done."
"It was a pleasure to me," she said at
length, more to break the silence, which was
getting awkward, than from a desire to pro-
long the interview.
"If it was not selfish, I should wish you
were to remain at home this autumn. I
should hope for your assistance in carrying
out some further plans for the good of this
people before I leave."
*Before you leave!" echoed Madge, now
really interested,
376
OLD SUNAPEE.
*
/
·
"Yes," said he with a smile. "You did
not suppose I was to remain here long, did
you?"
"I had scarcely thought. I was afraid,
however, they wouldn't pay you enough to
keep you."
"Pay has been of little consequence to
me yet. I came here to recruit my health;
hoping at the same time to do some good.
The first object I have accomplished, and I
hope my labors have not been entirely in
vain."
"Indeed they have not," said his compan-
ion. "You have done a world of good. If
you could have seen us last fall after Mr.
Mervin went away, you would have thought
we were quite heathen."
"There is a great deal yet to do,” said the
minister, thoughtfully. "The work is caly
begun."
"Then don't go away and leave it all
OLD SUNAPEE.
377
""
There is money enough in town to support
you, and there must be some way to get it.
Father
She was going to express her opinion in
regard to his duty in the matter, but stopped
to thank her companion for the good he had
done in her father's family.
"A blessing came with him," Uncle Joe
had said, and Madge realized it.
"Your father has my best wishes, my
prayers, and my silent labors," said Mr.
Veeny, in reply to her acknowledgment.
"I hope he will yet be a Christian."
"If he only would," said Madge. She
was thinking of what a home she should then
have, how happy the smile that would illu-
mine her mother's face, and how wise would
be the training of her brothers.
Thinking of this, she did not notice the
perplexed expression upon her friend's face.
He was leaning against one of the pillars of
the piazzà, looking down upon her.
378
OLD SUNAPEE.
"There is one question I have been wish-
ing to ask you ever since you came home.
May I ask you now, Miss Benson ?”
"Yes sir," said she, rousing herself.
"Do you love the Saviour?" He waited
for an answer, but none was given.
"Are you a Christian?"
"No sir; but don't talk to me about it,"
she said, with her eyes full of tears.
He hesitated, but could not long keep
silence. "You know your duty?"
"Too well."
I
"No, not too well; that cannot be. It
must be learned in this world or another.
Oh, if you know it, do not hesitate. What
hinders you from being a Christian now?"
At these words, she sprang from her seat
and went into the hall. Her first impulse
was to go to her room, but, upon second
though, this seemed so gross a piece of
incivity, that, after mastering her emotion,
OLD SUNAPEE.
379
she went back to the piazza
Veeny standing where she had left him.
"I have come back, to bid you good-night
and good-by," she said, as she took his
proffered hand.
"And you will not answer my question?"
er
'I have no answer to give."
"You don't wish to think about it.”
"I do not," she said, honestly.
You must think of it some time; but I
will not detain you longer now," said he,
relinquishing her hand with a kind good-
night.
She found Mr.
"You saw something in the moonlight be-
sides old Sunapee, didn't you?" said Nell to
her sister.
"Yes, I saw your minister, or rather, he
saw me. I didn't look at him much," she
replied, with an effort at cheerfulness.
"I'm willing he should be my minister. I
only hope we can keep him."
1
}
380
OLD SUNAPEE.
"I hope so, too; but he said something
to-night about going away.'
"Oh dear," said Nell, "then we shall all
go back to heathenism. I wonder how much
money it will take to keep him. Did you
ask him?"
""
"No, I didn't go into particulars so deep
as that."
"I wish you had. I'll ask him myself,
to-morrow."
"Then what will you do?"
"I can't tell yet. I know what ought to
be done. I wish father would do his part."
"Perhaps he will."
After talking the matter over for a while
longer, Madge volunteered to introduce the
subject the next morning, if possible.
Accordingly, as she sat down to her
breakfast, so early that only her father and
mother were up, she asked if she should find
Mr. Veeny there, when she should come
home, for her next vacation.
OLD SUNAPEE.
381
"That will be as your mother and he can
agree," said her father.
"If he remains in town," added Madge.
"Has he said anything to you about going
away?" asked her mother.
"He mentioned it incidentally. It seems
a great pity to have him go, but I don't see
where his salary is coming from.'
"There's money enough in town," said
Mr. Benson.
""
"Yes, sir," was the reply; "everybody
knows that, but the men would rather keep
it in their pockets than give it to a min-
ister."
"I guess you might persuade them to give
some of it to Mr. Veeny."
"I should begin at home, and ask for a
generous donation."
"What do you think I ought to give?"
asked her father.
"One hundred dollars a year," replied
Malge, quickly.
382
OLD SUNAPEE.
1
:
"And board him besides?"
"Yes, sir, and you'll be a richer man for
it."
Mr. Benson was silent. His wife feared
he would resent what seemed somewhat like
dictation, and Madge was not quite sure she
had spoken wisely. This was no new sub-
ject to her father. It had been often in his
mind during the last few weeks. He was
anxious to have Mr. Veeny remain in town.
Two motives influenced him here. It was
for his pecuniary interest. He had learned
that fact by experience, and now that the
scales of ignorance and prejudice had fallen
from his eyes, he was not blind to the fact
that his presence was a strong power for
good in the community.
It would take a respectable salary to re-
tain his services, and Mr. Benson was will
ing to give generously, but he was not quite
willing to make so public an acknowledg-
}
OLD SUNAPEE.
383
Re
ment of the change in his sentiments. It
would be virtually saying that his whole life
had been a mistake; a most humiliating
confession for the proud man.
"Well, Madge," said her father at length,
"I'll board Mr. Veeny as long as he'll stay
with us, anl your mother may give what she
pleases towards his salary."
"Where will she get the money to give?"
"From me, of course. I'll pay whatever
she says."
Ce
Say one hundred dollars, won't you,
mother?"
"I can't tell yet," was the cautious reply.
By this time, the children were up to sec
their sister off, each one with some last word
tọ say; but she found time, in the general
confusion, to make a report to Nell of the
result of her efforts. "Tell Uncle Joe about
it, and ask him to have the subscription
paper sent here."
2
384
OLD SUNAPEE.
"Nell's cycs dunced," as Tom said. He
knew she was hearing something that made
her glad.
How still the house was after the stage
coach had come and gone! Ralph was glad
to go back to bed for another nap, while
Tom was soon fast asleep on the lounge.
Mrs. Benson and Nell went about their
work, but it was too early for the general
breakfast, and time dragged rather heavily.
"You didn't bid sister Madge good-by,"
Ralph said to Mr. Veeny when he saw him.
for the first time that day.
"I said good-by to her last night.'
And would it keep all night,” asked the
child, with an earnestness that provoked the
laughter of all who heard him.
"I think it did," was the reply.
""
·
i
Perhaps it did; but Madge was a little
disappointed not to have seen him again that
morning. In her kng stage ride she had
1
OLD SUNAPEE.
385
→
ample time to review the events of the past
few weeks, and the changes in her home.
She believed the children in that home were
all walking heavenward, and trusted she had
done nothing to retard their progress.
She had written two long letters to Miss
Atwood during the vacation, but when they
met there was yet much to be told. The
welcome news was cheerfully repeated, and
most gladly heard. The probability of Mr.
Veeny's remaining was discussed. Madge
thought it would require quite an effort to
keep him, but was sanguine as to the result.
The school term opened pleasantly for her.
She took up her former studies, adding to
them the study of Music. This was done at
her father's request. She had no great mu-
sical talent; but she wished to please her
father, and resolved that application should
make up for all natural deficiency. These
additional lessons, with the prolonged prac-
1
25
386
OLD SUNAPEE.
་
tice she imposed upon herself, left her little
leisure.
+
}
This constant occupation pleased her.
Time for thought and self-examination was
what she most dreaded. But despite her
efforts, conscience would sound its notes of
warning. She tried sometimes to flatter her-
self that she was in the right way, but her
good sense soon drove her from this refuge.
She had learned the commandments when
a child, and remembering the first, with the
Saviour's intense rendering of it, she knew
that no love for neighbor, however disin-
terested, no mere morality, however pure,
would be accepted in place of the heart's
consecration.
Delia Bryant, who had such an admiration
for her talents, made several attempts to talk
with her upon this subject, but found her-
self baffled. Others, both teachers and
scholars, met with no better success; even
}
a
1
OLD SUNAPEE.
387
Miss Atwood found it impossible to gain her
confidence, or elicit from her any expression
of her feelings. It came to be generally
understood throughout the seminary that
Madge Benson would not converse upon the
subject of personal religion. Social, com-
panionable, ever ready to give her assistance
when desired, and rendering all service with
evident pleasure, here she would listen to no
counsel, and brook no reminders of duty.
At first, she enjoyed this isolation; it was
pleasant to be relieved from the apprehen-
sion that some unwelcome question might be
asked. But after a few weeks, the silence
of her companions became almost intolera-
ple, a constant rebuke.
Towards the close of the term, there was a
general religious interest in the school.
Prayer-meetings were held every evening;
and out of study hours the young ladies
might be seen in groups, all engrossed with
one subject.
388
OLD SUNAPEE.
*རྩ་
!
Yet not one word was said to Madge.
She had neither part nor lot in this matter.
She devoted herself more exclusively to
study, filling up every spare moment with
the reading she had commenced the term
before. She was popular as a scholar; it
could not be otherwise; yet many, at that
time, avoided her society.
During these weeks, her letters from home
were almost entirely filled with accounts in
some way connected with the interests of the
church, and not even Miss Atwood was more
interested in these than was Madge herself.
"If it was possible for a person to be a
Christian without loving God supremely, I
should believe Madge Benson to be one. I
don't know that she ever prays for the con-
version of others, but I am sure that she
earnestly desires it.'
""
This was said by Miss Atwood, after listen-
ing to her expressions of thankfulness that
OLD SUNAPEE.
389
i
Mr. Veeny was to remain in her native town
during the winter.
With this news, came a message from
Uncle Joe, thanking her for what she had
done to help bring it about. Nell, too, had
done her duty, and Deacon Esty was duly
apprised that it would be well to consult Mr.
Benson in regard to keeping the minister.
After ascertaining that Mr. Veeny could
be induced to remain for a certain amount,
it was decided, with the advice of some mem-
bers of the church, that every man and
woman in town should be invited to con-
tribute to his support.
"Commence at head-quarters, then, with
the man who is the best able to give," said
Uncle Joe.
©
"And the least willing," added another.
"You can't be sure of that until you have
asked him," was the reply.
Soon after this, Deacon Esty appeared at
1
390
OLD SUNAPEE.
3
Mr. Benson's, and was so fortunate as to find
him at home. He stated his errand at once,
with some fears as to the result.
*
I've nothing to do about it," said the rich
farmer. "I don't belong to your church."
"Your wife does?"
"Yes, and she can give just what she
pleases. It's nothing to me."
Deacon Esty was about to replace the sub-
scription paper in his pocket, feeling quite
disheartened, when Mr. Benson spoke again.
ec
Why don't you hand your paper to my
wife? I guess she'll sign something, and
you know I'm obliged to pay her debts.”
Mrs. Benson took the offered paper, signed
one hundred dollars, and passed it to her
husband.
He looked at it, and returned it to Deacon
Esty, saying as he did so, "Wait a minute,
and I'll hand you the money."
He counted out one hundred dollars, which
¡
OLD SUNAPEE.
391
!
Deacon Esty received as the first subscrip-
tion towards Mr. Veeny's salary for the year.
"In behalf of the whole church, I thank
you," said the deacon.
"You needn't thank me. My wife gives
that. It is all I can afford to do, to board
your minister," replied Mr. Benson.
"I was coming to that. Mrs. Dinsmore
thinks she shall be able to do the work for
him soon, so he can go back there."
"What's the need of his going back at all?”
asked Mr. Benson. "Why can't he stay here
just as well?"
"The people could make no objection, ex-
cept that it is a little one side of the town,
and he could not be quite so easily reached
as at the centre."
"That won't make much difference until
winter," said Mrs. Benson.
Mr. Veeny was satisfied to remain where
he was, if he would not be burdensome; so
392
OLD SUNAPEE.
1
1
Mr. Benson was likely to do his part towards
the support of the minister. The subscrip-
tion paper thus headed, was carried through
the town, and a liberal salary secured. An
installation followed, and the little church
once more rejoiced in a pastor.
Everybody was proud of him; even those
who never heard him preach, boasted that
they had "the smartest minister in the
county."
The second Sabbath after the ordination
services, Mr. Veeny administered the sacra-
ment to the people of his charge. The occa-
sion was one of deep interest, rendered still
more impressive by the addition of two to
their number. Mr. and Mrs. Jones im-
proved this first opportunity to make a pub-
lic confession of their faith.
There were others who entertained a
trembling hope that their sins were forgiven;
but waited for time to prove the reality of
their conversion.
1
OLD SUNAPEE.
393
}
4
The hearts of aged Christians were lifted
up, in view of the great mercies vouchsafed
to them; and Uncle Joe desired a special
meeting for thankgiving to be holden at his
house during the week.
This proposition was received with favor,
and in the pleasant room described in the
opening of my story, there was truly a meet-
ing for thanksgiving, long to be remembered.
It required one of Nell Benson's longest
letters, to give her sister an adequate de-
scription of these events. "You ought to
have seen Uncle Joe and Aunt Sarah," she
wrote. "Mother said they looked just ready
to be translated."
Madge read this letter with satisfaction,
and a sense of relief. Satisfaction in the
happiness of others, and relief in regard to
the family at home. She was not sure that
her influence over the younger members had
been all that it should be; and she was glad
394
OLD SUNAPEE.
that her own short comings should be hidden
by the pure example and wise lessons of the
young minister.
"I can think of nothing more delightful,
than that meeting at Uncle Joe's,” said Miss
Atwood. "Had I been there, I should count
it one of the brightest days of my life. We
never dreamed of this, the first Sabbath we
went there to organize a Sabbath school."
"There is one thing more needed," said
Madge; "then there will be no trouble about
having a minister.”
"What is that? What more do
you
"That my father shall be a Christian."
"Do you desire this so much, dear
Madge?"
"More than anything else, now."
"You forget yourself."
"I cannot do that, Miss Atwood. I wish
sometimes that I could."
"God would not forget you, even then.
The record of your life is ever before him."
1
ask?"
1
OLD SUNAPEE.*
395
▸
Ce
Always this." thought Madge, impa-
tiently; though she had herself led the con-
Her inconsistency was making
versation.
her unreasonable.
She was at times fully aware of this, and
blamed herself severely; but to do good and
deal justly, while she omitted the weightier
matters of the law, was beyond her power.
There were few striking incidents in
Madge Benson's life during this term. The
days went by almost unnoted, while she
made steady, rapid progress in her chosen
way. Some envied, all admired, and those
who knew her best, loved her.
With the consent of her parents, she ac-
cepted an invitation to spend the next vaca-
tion with her old teacher and friend. Here
she was thrown almost entirely into the
society of religious people. Miss Atwood's
friends were, most of them, intelligent Chris-
tians, such as perform their duties faithfully
396
OLD SUNAPEE.
and yet enjoy all the blessings God gives
them. Had Madge needed anything to
convince her that intelligence is the hand-
maid of religion, she would have found it
there. The refinement and consideration
that marked all their intercourse with each
other, presented a strong contrast to the
coarse, harsh manners of many whom she
had heard ridicule the Bible as old-fashioned
and unworthy of attention.
We will look again at the mountain that
shadowed the homes of those who would not
eceive this Book of books. It is snow-
capped now, standing cold and glittering
in the rays of the early winter sun. The
old church looks desolate, but when the
Sabbath comes, many will go up to "wor-
ship the Lord in the beauty of holiness;
and within its walls shall be heard the prayer
of penitence and the song of praise.
The young minister, beloved of all, labors
""
OLD SUNAPEE.
397
earnestly and effectually Mrs. Dinsmore's
health had not improved so that he could
return there for the winter, and, greatly to
his own satisfaction, he still found a home at
Mr. Benson's. Here his presence did much
to make amends for the absence of the oldest
daughter. He supplied her place to the
children, as teacher, confidant, and friend.
Mr. Benson did not weary of the religious.
exercises in his family; on the contrary, he
seemed to enjoy them, and quite missed the
prayer when Mr. Veeny was absent. This
had a good influence upon his boys. They
had listened to their mother's instruction,
while their father ridiculed, or, at best, kept
silence. Now, in his own house, he paid an
outward respect to the forms of religion.
and often told them, laughingly, they were
in a fair way to be smart men. "It will be
a pretty hard case, if your mother and the
minister can't make something of you."
}
?
398
"It will take more than us to make them
what they should be," said Mr. Veeny.
What more?" asked Mr. Benson.
"The grace of God, and with that, they
could do very well without our help."
They would not be very likely to get
that, without somebody's help," said the
father. Things are very different with
them from what they were with me, when
I was a boy. No one cared for me, soul or
body."
"You are mistaken there," was the minis-
ter's reply.
"I should like to know who cared for me,
then.'
ce
""
OLD SUNAPEE.
Ce
#
"Your Heavenly Father cared for you
then, as well as now, and he has given you
every blessing of your life."
"I believe you are right; but I never
thought of it in that light.”
"Did you think all things came to you by
chance?"
1
OLD SUNAPEE.
399
"I didn't think much about it. The truth
is, I've been a hard kind of a man, and I
don't want anybody to follow my example.
It's too late for me to think of being such a
inan as Uncle Joe and you are; but I want
my boys to be of your sort."
This conversation took place one evening
in the presence of Mr. Benson's family; and
the acknowledgment thus made, with the wish
to earnestly expressed, were treasured up by
his wife, as the token of better days.
He had been immediately influenced to
this by a call he had that day made upon
Mrs. Randall. He found her reading the
Bible, and trying to learn the way to Christ.
In her ignorance, she asked him some ques-
tions that he was entirely unable to answer,
and the pleading tones of her voice roused
him anew to a sense of the great guilt of his
life.
"If Robert could only have heard the min-
400
OLD SUNAPEE.
1
ister," said the poor woman, "he would have
found it all out and told me. He was a bet-
ter scholar than I. Poor Robert!
""
Poor Robert, indeed! A falsehood told
in wilful ignorance, had been the price of his
soul.
Mr. Benson had been in that poor house
often since the morning he was first invited
to enter; but money could never atone for
his sin. He could give bread to the widow
and children; but what availed this 'to him.
who was gone? He could not undo the
past, but he resolved that his influence should
lead no others down to ruin.
Mrs. Randall was most anxious for reli-
gious instruction. After the snow had fallen,
it was impossible for her to attend church,
and her children were often detained from
the Sabbath school. The only meetings she
could attend, were held once a fortnight in a
school-house not far from where she lived.
At these she was always prescut.
1
OLD SUNAPEE.
401
This was where Uncle Joe thought the
people could not be reached. Even his faith
was staggered in view of their great wicked-
ness. But Mr. Veeny had no reason to com-
plain; he had most attentive audiences here,
as well as in other parts of the town where
neighborhood meetings were held.
◇
The minister had few working members in
his church, but he made the most of these
few. Mr. Jones did good service. He was
not a man of great intelligence, but he had
good sense, with a heart full of love and
faith. He understood the character of the
people around him, and knew how to gain
their attention, while the decided change in
his life enforced his words. After a day of
hard work he would sometimes walk two or
three miles to attend a prayer-meeting, and
when there, never failed to add much to its
interest.
Uncle Joe had been twice to the South
26
;
402
OLD SUNAPEE.
End, but he was too old to go out much in
the winter evenings. He and Aunt Sarah
had prayer-meetings by themselves; and a
few times during the winter, there was a
general gathering of the church there, for
prayer and conference.
The children of the Sabbath school were
urged to attend these different meetings, and
parents who were interested, took their
families with them. The young men of Mr.
}
Veeny's class, having their homes in various
parts of the town, were some of them usually
present. Will Beals and two others had
sometimes led in prayer.
There was a new order of things. The
men, who had by ridicule and loud talking
prevented the young from inquiring into the
truths of the Bible, found themselves of but
little consequence. They met together, oc-
casionally, to talk matters over, but their
numbers gradually decreased, until they felt
}
OLD SUNAPEE.
403
themselves to be in the minority. The
coarse infidelity that had so long flourished
there, was getting unpopular. The old man,
who wished "he could git down to Sleepy
Hollow district and give 'em a piece of his
mind," wished now, that he "could git to the
meetin'-house on the hill." He was one for
whom Uncle Joe had been praying many
years.
This is a cold morning to start out,” said
Mr. Benson to the minister, the day after he
had seen Mrs. Randall.
"I know it is, but I ought to go down to
the South End and make some calls. I've
been wishing to go ever since our last meet-
ing there. I shall be gone all day, and per-
haps through the evening."
"You won't forget Mrs. Randall."
"I am going there first."
"Then I guess my wife will have some-
thing to send. I'm afraid she has a hard
time to get along."
}
404
OLD SUNAPEE.
I
1
Of course Mrs. Benson had something to
send.
"You can stop and eat dinner with her
now, if you want to," said the farmer, as he
put a well-filled basket into the sleigh. "1
know she'll be glad to see you."
The visits of that day were welcome to all
who received them, but to none more so
than to the poor woman who was groping
blindly for her Saviour. It was past noon
when Mr. Veeny left her, thankful for all the
comfort he had brought.
Dr. Thorne was beginning to think Mr.
Benson "quite a man." "The minister has
humanized him," he said to Uncle Joe.
"He ought to be willing to board him, and
give him a hundred dollars a year besides."
୧
Perhaps he ought," was the reply. "At
any rate, he seems to enjoy doing it."
"So he does," said the doctor; "and his
wife is growing young again. He don't go
to any of your meetings, does he?”
F
OLD SUNAPEE.
405
素
​你
​;
fe
We
Not yet, but I expect he will.
never see you at any of our meetings, except
at church occasionally.”
"I know it. I like Mr. Veeny and want
to have him stay; but the fact is, Uncle Joe,
I shouldn't know how to behave at a prayer-
meeting."
"I guess you havn't been to one lately,
doctor, so you can't tell. We meet at Mr.
Jones's to-morrow night. I wish you'd come
in. It would be giving your influence on
the right side, and may do you some good."
"I'll see about it," was the reply. "I
hear Jones talks like a minister."
"He talks like a Christian."
"Well, Uncle Joe," said the doctor, as he
took his leave, "if I don't come to-morrow
night, you may count on me when you have
a meeting at Benson's. I'll come then,
sure."
"Mr. Benson," said Mr. Veeny, a few
1
h
406
OLD SUNAPEE.
days after this, "should you be willing to
have a prayer-meeting here some evening
next week?"
1
It was some time before he made any re-
ply. He was thinking the matter over. At
length he said, "You must ask my wife
about that."
"I shall be very glad, if my husband is
willing."
"Your husband is willing," said the per-
son in question, as he left the room.
"I saw papa wipe the tears out of his
eyes," said Ralph, who had followed him out,
and came back to tell his mother.
The notice of a meeting at Mr. Benson's,
was given in church the next Sabbath. Dr.
Thorne was present, and looked at Uncle
Joe as though he thought this had been
brought about through his influence, and for
bis own especial benefit. He was aston-
ished; but not more so than others. It
1
1
1.
OLD SUNAPEE.
407
seemed past belief that John Benson would
have a religious meeting under his roof.
He was not only willing, as he had told
his wife; he was glad to have this meeting.
Few thought he would be present; but he
had no idea of absenting himself.
He sent for Uncle Joe and Aunt Sarah,
the afternoon before; and two happier old
people than they were, it would be difficult
to imagine.
There was a large attendance in the even-
ing. Dr. Thorne came, in fulfilment of his
promise. He watched the proceedings at
first with curiosity; but curiosity soon gave
way to interest; and at the close of the
meeting, interest had yielded to intense
emotion.
1
C
He had severely blamed those who denied
the truth of the Bible, and lived in accord-
ance with this non-belief, while he, thinking
himself far better, had acknowledged its
!
408
OLD SUNAPEE.
;
authority while he refused obedience to its
laws. He had been less consistent than
those whom he condemned.
His life passed in review before him.
What was he, that he should accuse his
neighbor? He was in the prime and vigor
of life, yet he would gladly have exchanged
places with the aged Christian, who had
numbered fourscore and two years. He was
humiliated by his deep sense of guilt, and he
could have reached out his hand to the vilest
as to a brother.
If sins of commission were counted against
him, his own sins of omission would make an
equally dark array. His path had been
strewn with neglected opportunities for doing
good; and no one walks on such a pave-
ment in the way to heaven. Dr. Thorne had
known before that he was doing wrong;
now he felt it. Conscience stood an ac-
cusing judge. He had known his duty, hut
be did it not.
OLD SUNAPEE.
409
Mr. Veeny spoke as to dying men, who
should stand with him before the judgment
seat of God. The danger of the soul and
the way of escape were both clearly pointed
out.
!
!
ņ
Mr. Benson heard all, as a man might
hear of some great good from which he was,
by his own act, forever debarred. If he
could have heard it before it was too late, it
might have availed for even him. But if too
late for himself, his children might be saved,
though he should perish.
When Mr. Jones spoke, his heart gave a
bound of joy that he had not to answer for
his soul.
After the close of the meeting, many lin-
gered to converse with the pastor; but Dr.
Thorne was impatient to go as soon as pos-
sible.
1
"I am going by your house, Uncle Joe,"
said he, "and can take you and Aunt Sarah
along, if you are going home to-night."
!
í
410
!
OLD SUNAPEE.
A
"We couldn't persuade them to stop tii.
morning," said Mr. Benson, "so George was
going to take them home, and kindle a fire."
"I can do all that," was the reply. “I'll
see them made comfortable before I leave
them."
The matter was settled, and they were so
well guarded, they scarcely felt the cold in
the few minutes they were riding.
"You needn't trouble yourself to come in,
doctor," said Aunt Sarah. "We can make a
fire."
"But I want to come in," was the reply.
The horse was fastened, and a fire was
soon blazing in the nicely-polished stove.
"You see I kept my promise, Uncle Joe."
"Are you sorry, doctor?"
"Not sorry; but I never thought so mean-
ly of myself in my life as I do to-night."
Aunt Sarah looked up in astonishment.
"I don't mean," said the doctor, "that I've
1
ÒLD SUNAPEE.
411
done anything to be ashamed of, in going to
meeting; but I've always thought myself a
pretty good sort of a man, and I find I've
been a great sinner. A great sinner," he
repeated, as he walked the room with down-
cast eyes. "I knew I didn't live as I ought
to, but I never thought till to-night that I
was very wicked."
"Pray for me, both of you," he added,
after a short pause; and the brother and sis-
ter were left alone, while the music of sleigh-
bells gave notice that Dr. Thorne was on his
way home.
"This is the Lord's doings, brother Joe.
Let us thank him," said Aunt Sarah.
:
The evening that brought such deep un-
rest to one heart, brought joy and peace to
ancther.
The old people were too happy to sleep
much that night; but wakefulness was no
weariness.
412
OLD SUNAPEE.
}
Nell Benson received the long-sought as-
surance, that she was indeed the child of
God.
Her next letter to her sister contained the
names of those who had recently devoted
themselves to the service of Christ; and
closed with these words: "Dear sister, I
hope that I, too, am a Christian. Will not
`you go with me? We all pray for you.”
More than this she could not say; and
more was not necessary.
Madge felt as she read this that there was
a great gulf between them, over which her
sister could not pass; and which she, in her
blindness, would not. She still clung to her
old resolve.
She was accomplishing all, in her studies,
that the most ambitious could desire. No
one surpassed her. Yet all this did not sat-
isfy. She lay down each night with a vague
dread of the future, and awoke in the morn-
}
OLD SUNAPEE.
413
1
ing with the consciousness of a half-for-
gotten sorrow.
Knowledge would not fill
the void in her heart, or study silence the
voice of conscience.
The letter was given to Miss Atwood.
Madge had no heart to read it aloud.
"Good news, isn't it, Madge, dear?" said
she, as she returned this record of the work
of grace.
"I am glad of it all," was the reply.
"Dear sister Nell!"
She will make a happy Christian," said
her friend, "singing as she goes through life.
Your mother is beginning to see the fruit of
her labors."
"She has waited long and anxiously," said
Madge, with emotion, as she thought of the
years in which that mother had, against all
opposition, kept fast to her duty. The
memory of this had power to move her
deeply, but it could not bring her to the
foot of the cross.
!
414
OLD SUNAPEE.
f
A new scholar had come to the seminary
at the opening of the winter term, who was,
in her way, quite an object of attention.
She was a handsome girl, about seventeen
years of age, who held a respectable rank as
scholar, being able to make a showy recita-
tion with very little thorough knowledge.
This young lady, Sarah Nason, drew around
her the less earnest members of the school,
and acquired a great influence over them;
which influence was decidedly opposed to all
serious thought.
Her parents were Christians, but owing to
a defect in their training, or her own per-
versity, she saw no beauty in religion, that
she should desire it.
She possessed a great deal of what some
people call wit, but which is really only the
power to caricature and make ridiculous
every person or object that comes in the
way. Her sallies could elicit laughter, but
•
OLD SUNAPEE.
415
ww
the laughter was always at some one's ex-
pense. She caricatured every teacher in the
seminary, and, at one time or another, nearly
every scholar. She even went so far as to
invite her admirers to a mock prayer-meet-
ing, and some were weak and wicked enough
to join her. She read a chapter with grave
solemnity, but she was not reckless enough
to lift her voice in prayer; and, to use her
own expression, "the meeting failed for
want of a parson."
There was one scholar in school whom she
rarely approached, and whom she never ridi-
culed. This was Madge Benson; and, as
might be inferred from their characters,
Madge had no respect for her. They had
but one point of resemblance. Neither of
them attended the regular prayer-meeting,
but the motives which influenced them to
this like course of conduct were widely
different.
""
!
}
"
}
416
OLD SUNAPEE.
1
}
Madge Benson absented herself because
she was unwilling to listen to another ac
cusing word; Sarah Nason, because she
despised all forms of religious worship.
When remonstrated with, she turned all
remarks into ridicule, and said she had
enough of praying before she entered the
seminary.
"You see," she said to some of her com-
panions, "they can't make me go, and Madge
Benson never goes, for all she is held up as
such a pattern of goodness. She's too smart
for that, and I've no doubt, if she would tell
the whole truth, you'd find she agrees with
me exactly."
"Madge Benson never speaks lightly of
religion," said one who overheard this re-
mark; "and you may be sure she doesn't at
all agree with you."
"Then I should like to know why she
don't go to your meetings. If I believed in
1
OLD SUNAPEE.
417
→
them, you'd see me every night; but I don't,
and I shall not go. When Madge Benson
goes, just let me know. Until then I shall
claim her on my side."
Miss Atwood heard of this conversation,
and went directly to Madge.
"Do you know that Sarah Nason claims
you as belonging to her clique ?" said she, as
soon as she had seated herself in the proffered
chair.
J
"I don't understand you, Miss Atwood. I
seldom speak to the girl, and have no sym-
pathy with her or her conduct."
"But she thinks you have," was the.reply.
"She says you never go to the prayer-meet-
ings, and she has no doubt you think about
them just as she does."
"She has no reason for that," said Madge,
indignantly. "No one ever heard me speak
against the meetings. I think they do good,
and am glad to have everybody go. How
could Sarah Nason say that of me?"
·
27
418
OLD SUNAPEE
f
!
"Because you never go yourself, and, by
your absence, give your influence against
meetings for prayer.”
There was a short silence.
"Do you
really think my influence is on the wrong
side?" asked Madge, a little sadly.
Ce I certainly do, my dear friend."
"I have never intended it should be."
"I don't think you have. I know you
would never say or do what Sarah Nason
does; but you see she quotes your example
to strengthen her own position, and so your
influence goes with hers."
This was putting her conduct in a new
light; she had never thought of it in this
connection, and long after her friend had left.
her, she thought of what she had said. The
subject was not alluded to, but the result of
her reflections was made known by her
presence in the next prayer-meeting.
Well, Sarah Nason," said one, "you will
Ce
}
OLD SUNAPEE.
419
be obliged to give up Madge Benson. She
was at the prayer-meeting last evening."
"I didn't think that of her," was the only
reply. This intelligence, with the reprimand
she had that morning received from one of
the teachers, had quite changed the aspect
of affairs for the thoughtless girl. It was
.not the first time she had been censured, but
she fancied that the wealth and position of
her parents were sufficient to shield her from
disgrace.
She had found herself mistaken in this, as
well as in the character of her schoolmate,
and she was not a little mortified.
Madge had attended the prayer-meeting,
not as a duty to herself, but to others; a
duty which she performed with great reluc-
tance. She had enjoyed the seasons of
prayer, which closed the services on the hill
when they had no pastor; but then, as now,
it was for others rather than herself.
:
i
"
420
¡
OLD SUNAPEE.
When she went from the meeting so
unwillingly entered, her mind was more at
rest than it had been for many months, and
she read a chapter from the Bible, not as a
duty, but a pleasure.
She had been accustomed to spend a short
time in thinking over what she had read as
a mere intellectual exercise, but that evening
she found her thoughts wandering from the
word to him who had spoken it. She read
again with a new joy the letter in which
Nell had expressed the hope that she was a
Christian.
:
:
Madge awoke the next morning, with a
feeling of relief. She could not tell from
what, but she was conscious of a light heart-
edness, to which she had long been a stran-
ger.
W
"How happy you look," said Delia Bryant,
as she came into her room to obtain some
assistance in a difficult lesson. "You al-
:
1
OLD SUNAPEE.
421
1
ways look bright and cheerful, ut there's a
deeper meaning than usual in your face this
morning."
"I feel happier than usual," was the laugh-
ing reply. "I don't know why, I've been
trying to think what the reason is."
"You must have had good news from
home."
}
"All news is good from there, and always
makes me glad; but this is something quite
out of the common course."
""
}
"I hope I don't envy you your talents,
dear Madge," said Miss Bryant, a few mo-
ments after; "but I do wish study was as
easy for me as for you.".
Ce
I wish it was; but as it isn't, you must
let me help you. I should like to help
everybody this morning."
In this spirit of exultation she went
through the day. Miss Atwood, who al-
ways watched her with loving interest, ob-
422
OLD SUNAPEE.
:
$
1
served the radiant expression of her face,
and wondered whence it came. Madge her-
self could not account, for it, and almost
feared to sleep, lest she should lose her new-
found happiness. But it did not vanish in
the night watches; the dawning found her
rejoicing in the preserving care of him who
had watched over her. Her heart over-
flowed with love and gratitude, for the in-
numerable blessings that had crowned her
life.
Her home seemed suddenly invested with
new attractions, and the dear ones there had
a stronger hold upon her affections. The
sun never shone so brightly, the earth was
never so fair in its mantle of white, while her
life, both past and future, had a deeper, full-
er significance.
She had written a long letter home, only
three days before, but she must write again.
She had nothing new to communicate,
1
OLD SUNAPEE.
423
and she hardly knew with what she should
fill the sheet that lay before her.
"There must be something wrong, or
Madge would not write again so soon," said
her mother, as one of the neighbors left a
letter at the door.
""
"Guess not, wife," was Mr. Benson's re-
ply. "Never anything goes wrong with her.
Perhaps the letter contains some wonderfully
good news.
"I don't see as there is any news at all,"
said Nell, who had by this time given it a
hasty glance. "She says she wrote because
she was so happy she couldn't help it."
"Then read it aloud. I should think there
must be something in it by the looks."
Mr. Veeny, who was in the room, rose to
go out.
"You needn't leave," said Mr. Benson.
"I guess there's nothing in it but what you
may hear."
1
424
OLD SUNAPEE.
Ralph coaxed him back into his chair, and
Nell proceeded.
"I suppose it's good, because Madge wrote
it," said her father, laughing; "but I don't
see much to it, any way. She seems to be
in good spirits, but that's nothing new for
her. I wish she was here. It seems a long
time since she went away," he added, mus-
ingly.
"She will be here in four weeks," said
George.
"I am glad she is so happy," said her
mother, as she took the letter to read for
herself.
They all felt that this was different from
Madge's usual letters; but only Mr. Veeny
caught the undertone of holy joy that di
tinguished it.
In the seminary, the writer was striving
to redeem the time. She was particularly
anxious that Sarah Nason should attend the
1
OLD SUNAPEE.
425
:
I
next prayer-meeting. If her in fluence had
encouraged her absence, she resolved to see
what it could do in securing her presence.
"I have a particular favor to ask of you,
Miss Nason," she said to her one day.
"It is granted before it is asked," was the
reply. "What can I do for you?"
"It is something you can do for yourself.
I wish you to go to the prayer-meeting to-
night."
;
Miss Nason looked the surprise she felt.
"Have you joined them?"
"I have been once, and intend to go this
evening."
"What changed your mind about them?"
"My mind isn't changed. I always
thought they were good."
"But you didn't go."
"No, Miss Nason, but I made a great mis
take in staying away. I hope always to go
"9
in future. Will you go with me to-night?
426
OLD SUNAPEE.
"I don't wish to," replied the young lady
"If I go, it will only be be-
thus urged. "If I
cause I promised.
"I will excuse you from your promise,"
said Madge, "but I shall be very sorry not
to see you."
"I suppose I shall go," said she to herself,
when left alone; "but won't it be queer? I
wouldn't do it for anybody else."
No one asked Madge Benson to go.
Everybody expected she would do so, but
they were astonished when Sarah Nason
came in with her. This girl, who had made
these meetings special objects of ridicule,
saw nothing, that evening, to excite her
mirth. Her levity was entirely subdued
at first, and she felt constrained to yield a
respectful attention.
Just before the closing hymn was to be
sung, a voice, never before heard in prayer,
broke the stillness. Madge Benson, proud,
-99
OLD SUNAPEE.
427
gifted, and imperious as she was, on her
knees acknowledged her allegiance to him
who claims the homage of all his creatures.
Her words seemed a spontaneous outburst
of praise, the glad tribute of a loving heart.
This prayer closed the meeting. There
was no need of measured music to add its
power.
It was too solemn a moment for common
expressions of joy, and most of those pres-
ent reserved their words of thankfulness
until they could be uttered alone to the lis-
tening ear of the Giver of all good.
Madge went to her room less moved than
those who had listened to her. The prayer
was unpremeditated, and but an involuntary
utterance of the gratitude that had given
tone to every thought and feeling of the past
week.
Of all her friends, Miss Atwood was the
only one who sought her that evening.
}
OLD SUNAPE E.
428
1
"O Madge, dear, I am so thankful,” she
said, as she clasped her hand. "My prayers
for you are answered. This will be a double
blessing to your mother, and dear Nell need
not go alone."
"I don't understand it, Miss Atwood. I
hadn't the most distant idea of praying to-
night. Do you suppose I am a Christian?"
This was asked seriously, but with no
shadow on the young face.
'Don't you feel sure, yourself, that you
are a Christian ? ”
"I have been so happy the last week, that
I haven't thought about it."
"You believe that your sins are forgiven?"
"I'm afraid I haven't thought of them
either. I know I have been a great sinner,
but I'm sure God will forgive me when I
love him so much, and his own Son has died
for me.".
Madge Benson's next letter home enclosed
Ce
1
OLD SUNAPEE.
429
a note to her father, the envelope marked
"Private."
"I guess she wants some money," said he.
"You'll let her have it, won't you, father,"
said Tom.
Ce
Of course I will," was the reply; "but
she needn't have been so secret about it.”
"Do see what it is, father," said Nell, who
was impatient to know the contents of the
private note.
Mr. Benson opened the note, put on his
glasses and commenced reading. He had
read but a few lines, when he seemed greatly
agitated, threw the note upon the table and
rushed out of the room.
"What has happened? Do read it," said
Mrs. Benson to her daughter, too much ex-
cited to read it herself.
ec
Q
Madge is a Christian; Madge is a Chris-
tian," repeated Nell, while tears of joy
streamed down her cheeks.
K
430
OLD SUNAPEE.
She had read enough, and replaced the
note in the envelope. Ralph ran up to Mr.
Veeny's study to tell him the good news,
and they came down together just as Mr.
Benson returned. His face was very pale,
and he walked with uncertain steps.
"Is it true, Mrs. Benson, that your daugh-
ter Madge is a Christian?”
"It is true," said the father, without wait-
ing for his wife to reply. "She says so her-
self. Madge a Christian! Once I should
have hated her for it; now I am very glad;
and if one so wicked as I have been could
be thankful for anything, I should be thank-
ful for this."
By this time the whole family were 'sob-
bing; and Mr. Veeny, thinking the scene too
sacred for intrusion, went out softly.
Ralph climbed into his father's lap, and
stroked the furrowed cheeks with his dim-
pled hands. Mrs. Benson was the first to
C
/
OLD SUNAPEE.
431
regain composure. "Let us pray," she said;
and, with one impulse, husband and children
knelt with her, while, as priestess of the
household, she brought their thanksgivings.
to the altar.
That night, when Mr. Benson thought all
others slept, he read all that his daughter
had written. It was more than the record
of her own experience. She implored him,
by every motive that could appeal to a
father's heart, to remain no longer at enmity
with his Maker.
3
"Dear father, we are all going to heaven,
and we cannot leave you. You must not, I
know you will not, inflict upon us this great
sorrow. I shall soon see you; until then I
shall love you and pray for you."
The father read these closing lines again
and again. "Too late, too late!" he mur-
mured; "but I will do what I can to save
others."
432
OLD SUNAPEE.
1
Į
Three weeks, and Madge Benson was at
home; a purer glow lighting up her face,
and a nobler purpose visible in all her con-
duct. Nell said "they had a jubilee at her
coming, and a feast through her staying."
There was no forbidden subject between
the sisters; together they read the word of
God, and together they prayed. Madge
encouraged her brothers, and made glad the
heart of her mother.
She lost no opportunity for urging upon
her father the duty of repentance; but his
constant reply was, "Too late!"
"If I had known this sooner, it might
have been different. It is my own, fault,
your mother could have told me, but I would
not listen, and now it is too late."
Mr. ceny remonstrated with him, point-
ing out the promises of the Bible, and calling
his attention to the long-suffering and tender
mercies of the Saviour; but all seemed in
váin.
}
OLD SUNAPEE.
433
1
"Prayer is the strongest weapon," said
Uncle Joe. "I shall trust to that. John
Benson will be a Christian yet.
"You have prayed many a soul into
heaven," said Deacon Esty, who had over-
heard this remark. "Many stars will spar-
kle in your crown."
How many, only the last great day will
reveal. For more than half a century the
good old man had prayed for that town, still
trusting in "the sure word of promise.'
Madge could make but a short visit to
Aunt Sarah, but it was long enough to re-
joice over the changes wrought by God's
spirit. She was dearer to the hearts of the
old people than ever before.
"We shall spend an eternity together,
my dear girl," said Uncle Joe, as they sepa
rated.
""
""
"What a blessing she is," said Aunt
Sarah.
28
434
OLD SUNAPEE.
The vacation was short, giving time for
only the most imperative duties and choicest
pleasures. This visit to the cottage was one
of its pleasures.
She answered the question Mr. Veeny had
asked her more than six months before, and
they became fast friends. "A very slow
acquaintance," said Nell; "I shouldn't wonder
if it was a long one."
Back again in school. It was the last
term with Miss Atwood and Delia Bryant,
Madge's best loved friends.
Sarah Nason was there, more thoughtful,
and gaining steadily in the respect of those
about her.
The long summer days flitted by, bringing
examination and the anticipated vacation.
Delia Bryant graduated with the honors she
so richly deserved, and went forth to a life
of love and labor.
Miss Atwood went home with Madge Ben-
OLD SUNAPEE.
435
son, to spend a few days amid the scenes of
her former labors. She was welcomed with
a warmth scarcely less than that with which
Mr. and Mrs. Benson greeted their daugh-
ter; and the children were at a loss to know
upon which they should bestow their atten-
tions.
€
Such riding, such hurrying through of
visits in one day which should have occupied
a week, were never seen in the little town
before. Miss Atwood must call at every
house in the district, must go down to the
South End to call on some who had been
members of her Sabbath-school class, and
she must spend one day with Uncle Joe
and Aunt Sarah.
Mr. Veeny was boarding in the centre of
the town, but he took an early opportunity
to call upon Madge, and the friend whose
praises he had so often heard.
She attended church on the hill two Sab-
1
436
OLD SUNAPEE.
baths, and a sight of the large and attentive
congregation would have repaid her for a life-
time of labor.
Mr. Benson accompanied his family. "I
don't expect your preaching can do me any
good, but if my presence will benefit you or
any one else, I will go.'
""
This was his reply to Mr. Veeny, when
urged by him to take his place in the
sanctuary.
Nell told Miss Atwood that she believed
her father stayed at home as long as he could.
"I think, sometimes, that he is a Christian
without knowing it."
It did seem impossible that any power but
grace could so have changed him, yet he still
clung to the belief that it was "too late."
The first Sabbath in September was a fes-
tival day for the church. Fifteen were
received into its communion. Among these
were Dr. Thorne, Mr. Doyle and wife, three
young men, Madge and Nell Benson.
OLD SUNAPEE.
437
1
I cannot paint the happiness of that mother
as her daughters sat with her at the table of
the Lord. All the trials and sufferings of
her life vanished in the presence of this great
blessing.
She could pray for her husband with
renewed faith He was there only as a spec-
tator. She believed the time would come
when he would eat of the bread and drink of
the wine, emblematic of the body and blood
of Christ.
In this she was not mistaken. Two years
from that Sabbath Mr. Benson cast in his lot
with his wife, "avouching the Lord Jehovah
to be his God and his chosen portion forever."
Uncle Joe lived to see this day, and to
welcome him in covenant, but the sands of
the good man's life were nearly spent. His
work on earth was well nigh completed, and
en the winter's snow had fallen he was
called up higher to receive his reward. Aunt
438
OLD SUNAPEE.
Sarah fingered but a few weeks, and then
joined her brother.
Old Sunapee has looked on many changes
since then. The children who sported at its
base and climbed its rugged sides are now men
and women, bearing the burdens and occu-
pied with the cares of-active life.
The last days of Mrs. Benson were her
best days. A simple monument in the little
graveyard marks the resting-place of herself
and husband.
Ralph, the youngest of their children, early
devoted himself to the work of the ministry,
and is, in all things, calculated to magnify
his office.
George is a Christian merchant, giving
liberally of his great wealth for the spread
of his "mother's religion."
Tom found the ark of safety after many
wanderings, and, in his home by the sea,
thanks God for "such a mother."
OLD SUNAPEE.
439
"
Nell's sunny face is unclouded. She is a
happy Christian," wearing the honors of a
high station meekly.
Mr. Veeny has long been settled over a
large church in one of our western cities,
still an earnest worker and faithful pastor.
The wife whom he honors, and who is to him
a crown of glory, is the "Sister Madge" of
our story.
Dolby
xz
De
FINIS.
2


FREE BA
****
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8120418
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BOOT.
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UNIVERSITY OF MINNESOTA
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812C418 00
Chellis, Mary Dwinell.
Old Sunapee.
3 1951 002 093 439 L
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