Amos Huntingdon Read online

  CHAPTER SIX.

  MISAPPREHENSION.

  Miss Huntingdon was not the only person in the family at Flixworth Manorwho entertained a deep affection for Amos Huntingdon, and highly valuedhim. Harry the butler loved him as if he had been his own son. The oldman had been inherited with the estate by its present owner, whoremembered him almost as long as he could remember anything, and had asincere regard for him, knowing him to be one of those old-fashioneddomestics who look upon their employer's interests as their own.Harry's hair was now snowy-white, but he retained much of his vigourunimpaired, the winter of his old age being "frosty, but kindly." So hehad never gone by any other name than "Harry," nor wished to do so, withhis master and his master's friends. However, in the kitchen heexpected to be called "_Mr_. Frazer," and would answer to no other namewhen addressed by boys and strangers of his own rank. When the firstchild was born Harry took to her with all his might. He knew that hismaster was disappointed because she was not a boy, but that made nodifference to Harry. Nothing pleased him better than to act now andthen as nurse to Miss Julia when she was still in long clothes; and manya peal of hearty and innocent mirth resounded from the kitchen premisesas the servants gazed, with tears of amusement running down their faces,at _Mr_. Frazer, by the nurse's permission, pacing up and down a sunnywalk in the kitchen garden, with steps slow and grotesquely dignified,holding the infant warily and tenderly, affirming, when he gave her backto the nurse, in a self-congratulatory tone, that "little miss" would bequiet with him when she would be so with no one else; which certainlymight be cause for some wonder, seeing that he would usually accompanyhis nursings with such extraordinarily guttural attempts at singing aswere far better calculated to scare any ordinary baby into temporaryconvulsions than to soothe it to rest when its slumbers had once beenbroken. And how the old man did rejoice when the little thing couldtoddle into his pantry! And no wonder that she was very ready to do so,for Harry had an inexhaustible store of plums, and bonbons, and suchlike enticements, which were always forthcoming when little missgladdened his heart with a visit. So they were fast friends, andthoroughly understood each other.

  When, however, a son and heir was born, and there was in consequence aperfect delirium of bell-ringing in the village church-tower, Harry byno means entered heart and soul into the rejoicings. "Well," he saidwith a sigh, "there's no help for it, I suppose. It's all right, nodoubt; but Miss Julia's my pet, and so she shall be as long as my name'sHarry." The new infant, therefore, received none of the attention athis hands which its predecessor had enjoyed. When pressed by thehousekeeper, with an arch smile on her good-natured face, to take "baby"out for an airing, he shook his head very gravely and declined theemployment, affirming that his nursing days were over. The name also ofthe new baby was a sore subject to Harry. "`Amos,' indeed! Well, whatnext? Who ever heard of an `Amos' in the family? You might go as farback as Noah and you'd never find one. Mr Sutterby might be a verygood gentleman, but his Christian name was none the better for that."And, for a while, the old man's heart got more and more firmly closedagainst the young heir; while Amos, on his part, in his boyish days,made no advances towards being on friendly terms with the old servant,who yet could not help being sometimes sorry for his young master, whenhe marked how the sunshine of love and favour, which was poured outabundantly on Miss Julia, came but in cold and scattered rays to herdesolate-hearted brother.

  This kindly feeling was deepened in Harry's heart, and began to showitself in many little attentions, after the death of Mr Sutterby. Hecould not avoid seeing how the father's and mother's affections weremore and more drawn away from their little son, while he keenly feltthat the poor child had done nothing to deserve it; so in a plain andhomely way he tried to draw him out of himself, and made him as free ofhis pantry as his sister was. And when Walter came, a few years beforeMr Sutterby's death, putting Amos into almost total eclipse, Harrywould have none of this third baby. "He'd got notice enough and tospare," he said, "and didn't want none from him." And now a new cordwas winding itself year by year round the old butler's heart--a cordwoven by the character of the timid child he had learned to love. Hecould not but notice how Amos, while yet a boy, controlled himself whencruelly taunted or ridiculed by his younger brother; how he returnedgood for evil; and how, spite of sorrow and a wounded spirit, there waspeace on the brow and in the heart of that despised and neglected one.For he had discovered that, in his visits to his aunt, Amos had foundthe pearl of great price, and the old man's heart leapt for joy, for hehimself was a true though unpretending follower of his Saviour.

  So Harry's attachment to his young master grew stronger and stronger,and all the more so as he came to see through the more attractive butshallower character of Walter, whose praises were being constantlysounded in his ears by Mr Huntingdon. And there was one thing aboveall others which tended to deepen his attachment to Amos, which wasAmos's treatment of his sister, who was still the darling of Harry'sheart. Walter loved his sister after a fashion. He could do a generousthing on the impulse of the moment, and would conform himself to herwishes when it was not too much trouble. But as for denying himself, orputting himself out of the way to please her, it never entered into hishead. Nevertheless, any little attention on his part, spite of hisbeing so much younger than herself, was specially pleasing to Julia, whowas never so happy as when she and he could carry out by themselves somelittle scheme of private amusement. Harry noticed this, and was farfrom feeling satisfied, observing to the housekeeper that "Master Walterwas a nasty, stuck-up little monkey; and he only wondered how Miss Juliacould be so fond of him." On the other hand, Amos always treated hissister, even from his earliest boyhood, with a courtesy andconsideration which showed that she was really precious to him. And, asshe grew up towards womanhood and he towards mature boyhood, the beautyand depth of his respectful and unselfish love made themselves felt byall who could value and understand them, and among these was Harry. Hecould appreciate, though he could not explain, the contrast between amere sentiment of affection, such as that which prompted Walter tooccasional acts of kindness to his sister which cost him nothing, andthe abiding, deep-seated principle of love in Amos which exhibiteditself in a constant thoughtful care and watchfulness to promote thehappiness of its object, his beloved sister.

  So Harry's heart warmed towards his young master more and more,especially when he could not help noticing that, while Amos neverrelaxed his endeavours to make his sister happy, she on her part eitherresented his kindness, or at the best took it as a matter of course,preferring--and not caring to conceal her preference--a smile or word ortwo from Walter to the most patient and self-denying study of her tastesand wishes on the part of her elder brother. The old man grieved overthis conduct in his darling Miss Julia, and gave her a hint on thesubject in his own simple way, which to his surprise and mortificationshe resented most bitterly, and visited her displeasure also on Amos bycarefully avoiding him as much as possible, and being speciallydemonstrative in her affection to Walter. Amos of course felt itdeeply, but it made no alteration in his own watchful love to hissister. As for Harry, all he could do was to wait in hopes of brightertimes, and to console himself for his young mistress's coldness bytaking every opportunity of promoting the happiness and winning thefuller confidence of the brother whom she so cruelly despised.

  But then came the crash; and this well-nigh broke the faithful oldservant's heart. She whom he still loved as though she were his own,following her own unrestrained fancies, left her father's house to uniteherself to a heartless adventurer before she had reached full womanhood,and thus closed the door of her old home against her. Then followed afrightful blank. An allusion by the old butler to "Miss Julia," whenthe squire and he were alone together, was met by a burst of violence onhis master's part, and a threat that Harry must leave if he ever againmentioned his old favourite's name to her father. So his lips wereclosed, but not his heart; for he waited, watched, and prayed for bettertimes, even after a still
heavier cloud had gathered over the family inthe removal of poor Mrs Huntingdon, and all the love he had to sparewas given to his poor desolate young master, whose spirit had beencrushed to the very dust by the sad withdrawal of his mother and sisterfrom his earthly home.

  Walter too was, of course, grieved at the loss of his sister and mother,but the blow was far lighter to him than to his brother, partly from hisbeing of a more lively and elastic temperament, and partly because hedid not, being so young a boy when the sad events took place, so fullyunderstand as did his elder brother the shame and disgrace which hungover the family through his sister's heartless and selfish conduct. Hisaunt soon came to supply his mother's place, and completely won theimpulsive boy's heart by her untiring and thoughtful affection. And onelesson he was learning from her, which was at first the strangest andhardest of lessons to one brought up as he had been, and that was, torespect the feelings and appreciate, though by very slow degrees, thecharacter of his brother. His own superiority to Amos he had hithertotaken as a matter of course and beyond dispute. Everybody allowed it,except perhaps old Harry; but that, in Walter's eyes, was nothing. Amoswas the eldest son, and heir to the family estate, and therefore the oldbutler took to him naturally, and would have done so if he had been acow without any brains instead of a human being. So said Walter, andwas quite content that a poor, ignorant fellow like Harry, who couldhave no knowledge or understanding of character, should set his regardson the elder son, and not notice the otherwise universally acknowledgedbodily and intellectual superiority of his more worthy self. No wonder,then, that pity more than love was the abiding feeling in Walter's hearttowards his less popular and less outwardly attractive brother. And itwas a very strange discovery, and as unwelcome as strange, which hisaunt was now leading him gradually to make spite of himself, that inreal sterling excellence and beauty of character the weight, which hehad hitherto considered to lie wholly in his own scale, was in truth tobe found in the opposite scale on his brother's side of the balance.Very slowly and reluctantly indeed was he brought to admit this at all,and, even when he was constrained to do so, he by no means surrenderedat discretion to his aunt's view of the matter, but fought against itmost vigorously, even when his conscience reproved him most loudly. Andthus it was that a day or two after his conversation with MissHuntingdon on the moral courage exhibited by Colonel Gardiner, he wasrather glad of an opportunity that presented itself of exhibiting hisbrother in an unamiable light, and "trotting him out with his shabby oldhorsecloth on," as he expressed it, for the amusement of himself andfriends. It was on a summer evening, and very hot, so that MissHuntingdon, her two nephews, and two young men, friends of Walter, wereenjoying tea and strawberries in a large summer-house which faced asloping lawn enamelled with flower-beds glowing with masses of richlytinted flowers. Mr Huntingdon was not with them, as this was Benchday, and he was dining after business hours with a brother magistrate.Walter, full of life and spirits, rattled away to his heart's content,laughing boisterously at his own jokes, which he poured forth the morecontinuously because he saw that Amos was more than usually indisposedto merriment.

  "By-the-by, Tom," he said suddenly to one of his companions, "what aboutthe boat-race? When is it to come off?"

  "In September," replied his friend. "But we are in a little difficulty.You know Sir James has lent us the Park for the occasion, and a capitalthing it will be; for we can make a good two miles of it by rowing roundthe ornamental water twice. It is to be a four-oared match; fourCambridge against four Oxford men, old or young, it doesn't matter. Itis to be part of the fun on the coming of age of Sir James's eldest son.I rather think he was born on the eighth. Young James is a Cambridgeman and a capital oar, and I'm of the same college, and so is Harrisonhere, as you know, and we shall have no difficulty in finding a fourth;but we are rather puzzled about the Oxford men. We can calculate uponthree, but don't know where to look for the fourth. I wish, Walter,you'd been old enough, and a member of the university."

  "Ay, Tom, I wish I had been. But, by-the-by, there's no difficultyafter all. Here's Amos, an Oxford man, and a very good oar too--he'sjust the very man you want."

  It was quite true, as Walter said, that Amos had been a good rower atthe university. Rowing was one of the few amusements in which he hadindulged himself, but he had never joined a racing boat though oftensolicited to do so.

  "What do you say, Amos?" asked his young companion. "Will you join us,and make up the Oxford four complete? We shall be really much obligedif you will; and I'm sure you'll enjoy it."

  "Thank you," replied Amos; "it's very kind of you to ask me, I'm sure.I should have liked it had I been able to undertake it, but I am sorryto say that it cannot be."

  "Cannot be!" exclaimed Walter. "Why, what's to hinder you?"

  "I cannot spare the time just now," said his brother quietly.

  "Not spare the time!--not spare half-an-hour one fine afternoon inSeptember! Dear me! you must be oppressed with business. What is it?It isn't farming, I know. Is it legal business? Have you got so manyappointments with the Lord Chancellor that he can't spare you even forone day?"

  "It will not be only for one day," replied Amos quietly. "If the raceis to be a real trial of skill and strength we must train for it, andhave many practices, and I cannot promise to find time for these."

  "Oh, nonsense! Why not? You've nothing to do."

  "I have something to do, Walter, and something too that I cannot give upfor these practisings."

  "What! I suppose you think such vanities as these waste of precioustime."

  "I never said nor thought so, Walter; but I have a work in hand whichwill prevent my having the pleasure of taking a part in this race, forit really would have been a pleasure to me."

  "Ah! it must be a precious important work, no doubt," said his brothersatirically. "Just tell us what it is, and we shall be able to judge."

  Amos made no reply to these last words, but turned first very red andthen very pale.

  "Humph!" said Walter; "I guess what it is. It's a new scheme for payingoff the national debt, by turning radishes into sovereigns and cabbage-leaves into bank-notes; and it'll take a deal of time and pains to doit." He laughed furiously at his own wit, but, to his mortification, helaughed alone. There was a rather painful silence, which was broken bythe gentle voice of Miss Huntingdon.

  "I think, dear Walter," she said, "that you are a little hard on yourbrother. Surely he may have an important work on hand without beingengaged in such a hopeless task as attempting to turn radishes intosovereigns and cabbage-leaves into bank-notes. And does it follow thathe despises your boat-race because he prefers duty to pleasure?"

  "Ah! that's just it," cried Walter, in a tone of mingled excitement anddispleasure. "Who's to know that it _is_ duty? I think one duty isvery plain, and I should have thought you would have agreed with mehere, and that is to give up your own way and pleasure sometimes, whenby doing so you may help to make other people happy."

  "I quite agree with you in that, Walter," said his aunt. "It may be andoften does become a duty to surrender our own pleasure, but never surelyto surrender our duty."

  "True, aunt, if it's really duty; but some people's duty means merelytheir own fancy, and it's very convenient to call _that_ duty when youdon't want to be obliging."

  "It may be so, Walter; but, on the other hand, if we have seen causeeven to impose upon ourselves something as a duty, we are bound to carryit out, although others may not see it to be a duty and may call itfancy; and certainly we should at least respect those who thus followwhat they firmly believe they _ought_ to do, even though we cannotexactly understand or agree with their views of duty. So you must bearwith Amos; for I am certain that he would not say `No' to you about therace if he were not persuaded that duty stands in the way of his takinga part in it."

  "Ah, well! happy Amos to have such a champion," cried Walter, laughing,for he had now recovered his good-humour. "I suppose you are right, andI must allow brot
her Amos to have his duty and his mystery all tohimself. But it's odd, and that's all I can say about it. Such short-sighted mortals as I am can't see those duties which are up in theclouds, but only those which lie straight before our eyes."

  "And yet, Walter, there may be the truest and noblest heroism insacrificing everything to these self-imposed duties, which _you_ callduties up in the clouds."

  "O aunt, aunt!" exclaimed Walter, laughing, "are you going to be downupon me again about moral courage? You have not crossed your hands thistime, and yet I daresay it will do us all good, my friends here as wellas myself, to have a lesson on moral courage from you; so listen all tomy dear aunt. She is teaching me moral courage by examples. Who isyour hero, dear auntie, this time?"

  "Shall I go on?" said Miss Huntingdon, looking round on her hearers;then seeing an expression of interest on every countenance, shecontinued, "Well, I will, if you wish it. My hero to-day is JohnHoward."

  "Not a soldier this time, Aunt Kate."

  "Not in your sense, Walter, but one of the truest and bravest in mine."

  "Pray, then, let us hear all about his exploits, dear aunt."

  "You shall, Walter. His exploits just consisted in this, that heimposed a great duty on himself as the one object of his life, and neverlet anything turn him from it, though obstacles met him in everydirection such as nothing but the highest sense of duty could havenerved him to break through. In the first place, he was of a weaklyconstitution, and might therefore well have excused himself from anyunnecessary labours, and might have indulged in luxuries which mightalmost have been considered as necessaries to one whose appetite was notstrong. He could well have afforded such innocent indulgence, for hewas a man of good fortune. He was, however, remarkable for hisabstemious habits; and having been led, when high sheriff of his county,to look into the state of Bedford jail, he was so shocked with themiserable condition of the prisoners and their being crowded together ina place filthy, damp, and ill-ventilated, that he set himself to make atour of inspection of all the county jails in England, and sooncompleted it, and was examined before the House of Commons on the stateof our prisons. And here he had to suffer from that misrepresentationand misunderstanding which are too often the lot of those who have setthemselves to some great and noble work. It seemed so extraordinary tosome members of Parliament that a gentleman, out of pure benevolence,should devote himself to such a painful work, and run the risk ofcontagion, that they could hardly understand it; and one gentleman asked`at whose expense he travelled,'--a question which Howard could scarcelyanswer without some indignant emotion. You see, they could notappreciate such exalted heroism; and surely it required no little moralcourage to persevere. But he did persevere, and his work grew upon him.

  "From England he went abroad, and visited the prisons on the Continent,devoting his time and fortune to the great work of discovering, and, asfar as might be, remedying, the abuses he found in these sad places ofmisery and often cruelty; and though he was introduced to the noble andthe great wherever he went, he paid no visits of mere ceremony, butspoke out most fearlessly, even to the most exalted in rank, about theabuses he found in the prisons under their control. He had set himselfone great work to do, and he did it. Suffering, toil, hardship wereendured without a murmur. Ah! was not this true heroism?

  "And now I come to a point which I want you, dear Walter, specially tonotice. Howard might have spent a portion at least of his time whenabroad in visiting the beautiful picture-galleries and other works ofart in the towns to which his great work led him, but he never sufferedhimself to do so. He would not even read a newspaper, lest it shoulddivert his thoughts from the one great purpose he had in view. I am notsaying for a moment that he would have been wrong to indulge himselfwith relaxation in the shape of sight-seeing and reading the news; butsurely when he made everything bend to his one grand self-imposed duty,we are constrained to admire and not to blame, far less to ridicule, hismagnificent heroism. Yes; he never swerved, he never drew back; and,best of all, he did his work as a humble and earnest Christian, carryingit on by that strength and wisdom which he sought and obtained byprayer.

  "I cannot give you a better summing up of my hero's character than inthe words of the great Edmund Burke. I have them here." Saying whichshe opened a small manuscript book containing extracts from variousauthors in her own handwriting, which she kept in her work-basket, andread as follows:--"`He has visited all Europe, not to survey thesumptuousness of palaces, or the stateliness of temples; not to makeaccurate measurements of the remains of ancient grandeur, nor to form ascale of the curiosities of ancient art; not to collect medals, nor tocollate manuscripts: but to dive into the depths of dungeons, and toplunge into the infection of hospitals; to survey the mansions of sorrowand pain; to take the gauge and dimensions of misery, depression, andcontempt; to remember the forgotten, to attend to the neglected, tovisit the forsaken, and to compare the distresses of men in allcountries. His plan is original, and it is as full of genius as it isof humanity. It was a voyage of discovery--a circumnavigation, ofcharity.' Such was Burke's true estimate of my hero. And surely neverwas a nobler heroism--it was so pure, so unselfish; for when they wouldhave erected a monument to him in his lifetime, and had gathered largesums for that purpose during his absence abroad, he at once put a stopto the project on his return home.--Am I wrong, dear Walter, in takingJohn Howard for one of my special moral heroes?"

  "Not a bit of it, dear aunt. I confess myself beaten; I give in; I handover the laurel crown to Amos: for I see that Howard's greatness ofcharacter was shown especially in this, that he imposed upon himself awork which he might have left undone without blame, and carried it outthrough thick and thin as a matter of duty. Bravo, Howard! and bravo,Amos, with your duty-work!--three cheers for you both! and one cheermore for Aunt Kate and moral courage." So saying, with a low bow, halfin fun and half in earnest, to Miss Huntingdon and his brother, with arequest to the latter to learn the Canadian boat-song, "Row, Brothers,Row," at his earliest convenience, he left the summer-house, taking histwo friends with him.

  Amos, who had been silent during the latter part of the discussion,lingered behind for a moment, and rising from his seat, took his aunt'shand between his own, pressing it warmly as he said, in a voice subduedand trembling with emotion,--"Thank you, dearest aunt; I see you partlyunderstand me now. Some day, I hope, you may understand me more fully."