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Page 2
A few years passed by, and their earthly comforts were not diminished;
they still occupied the cottage their own hands had beautified, and
having won the affectionate esteem of their landlord, a good old
baker, he assured them that he would never raise their rent or suffer
them to leave it. Their son William had reached his eighth year, and
was what might be called a good boy; for, having no bad example, and
being naturally of a docile disposition, and for the most part
obedient and gentle, there was little occasion for fault-finding. To
the anxious father the thought had often occurred, "What is to be his
future lot--in what line of business is he to be brought up?" and he
mostly concluded he could never bear a separation from this boy, who
was as the very apple of his eye; he would teach him his own trade,
which, although by no means a profitable, was at least a respectable
one, and would furnish a livelihood. There were times when, looking
into the intelligent blue eyes that would be lifted up so lovingly to
meet his gaze, he would wish that he might be able to educate his boy;
but almost at once he would conquer the longing, and say to himself:
"It is God who appoints to every man his station, and I must not
murmur because my child's lot is destined to be a lowly one. There is
danger in high places, and I ought rather to rejoice that our poverty
removes him far from the temptation he would meet with in a more
exalted station."
One evening, it was a dull and cloudy one near the close of December,
George Raymond came home seeming more than ordinarily cheerful,
greatly to the delight of his good Margaret, who did not like to see
him too thoughtful. "Times seem to grow better, wife," he said, after
he finished his supper; "I have had plenty of work at seal engraving
this last fortnight; it seems my work has been approved in the city."
"We have always had enough for the supply of our daily wants,"
answered Margaret; "and we are told not to be too anxious about the
goods of this world."
"I am not very anxious," said Raymond; "at least not on my own
account; but sometimes I think if I should be called away, what would
become of you, Gretta, and little Will?"
"The Lord would provide for us, George, as he has ever done," was the
wife's reply; "he is ever faithful to his promise, and he has declared
that those who wait on him shall not want for any good thing."
"That is very true, Margaret; but we must use lawful means to provide
bread for our families," said Raymond; "but where is Will? I have not
seen him since I came in; neither did he come to meet me as usual."
"I am here, father," said a sweet childish voice; and creeping from a
dark corner between the cupboard and the wall, a little boy came forth
and stood at his father's knee, and, without speaking, looked up into
his face with an expression of more than ordinary meaning. Slight and
delicately made, he was easily raised to his usual seat on his
father's knee, when, kissing him affectionately, he inquired, "What
have you been doing all day, Will? I believe you have had no school."
"Wait, father, and I will show you," replied the boy, as he slid down
from his father's knee; and running to the corner from whence he had
come at Raymond's call, he returned almost immediately with two or
three half-sheets of paper in his hand. "I have been drawing," said
the little boy, as his father took the sketches and examined them with
a grave look. "Please do not be angry, for I did not take your
pencils."
"And how did you draw without pencils?" asked his father. "Let me see
what you have here;--a table, a chair, ah yes, and a house with trees!
Very good, William; but I would rather you did not draw any more."
The boy would have asked why, but taught that the parental wish was to
be regarded as a law, he tried to conquer the emotion which would
arise in spite of all efforts to restrain it. It seemed hard to be so
disappointed: he expected praise, and now, if he had not received
censure, certainly not the slightest approval was accorded.
Accustomed, however, not to question, but submit, the little fellow
threw his arms embracingly round his father's neck and bade him good
night, and having done the same with his mother, retired to bed rather
to shed his tears unseen than to sleep.
And he did weep! Poor little fellow, his grief was very great; and
although our readers may smile because he regarded the matter in such
a serious light, they must remember that this was almost, if not
altogether, his first sorrow; and we are far from believing the sorrow
of a child the trivial thing it is generally considered, and perhaps
but the beginning of other and severer trials.
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