Bertie and the Gardeners: or, The Way to be Happy

"It is my intention to make myself so important to you, that you will never part with me. I already feel almost as much interest in Woodlawn as if the deeds stood registered in the name of Albert Dodge."

"I'm glad of it," answered the Squire, laughing, "and to prove my confidence in your ability, I will ask you what I shall do with this little creek; it spreads itself out very awkwardly just at this point where it ought to be most graceful."

"I have it, sir," said Dodge after a careful survey. "I should clear the stream which runs muddy in this place by throwing pebbles to the bottom; widen it twenty feet more; make a pretty little egg-shaped island in the centre, upon which I should plant a few shrubs and perhaps a weeping willow, which would thrive admirably in this wet soil."

"Good! good! It shall be done! When shall you be ready to go to work?"

"To-day, if Grant can come with his oxen. I can postpone one visit I wish to make till winter."

The next morning Bertie came riding to the spot on Whitefoot's back. Buck and Bright were there, the wagon backed down to the very edge of the water, while Star and Spot were dragging off a load of mud scraped or scooped up from the bed of the shallow brook.

"Where is papa?" inquired Bertie, after he had sat awhile watching the operations.

"Gone with the new gardener to buy some trees," answered Tom, laughing. "The Squire's up to all sorts of improvements. Shouldn't wonder a mite if he should take down yonder mountain to give him a view of the city."

"I think this will be very pretty when it's done," remarked the child. "How long did they say they should be gone?"

"Didn't say in my hearing. Bertie I wish you'd ask the Squire if he'd like a load of beach pebbles, 'cause if he does, I'll bring him a load to-morrow morning. Those are the kind to make this water run clear."

"Oh, there they are!" shouted the boy, trotting off to meet them. "Have you bought the trees, Papa?"

"Yes, and brought them home, don't you see them?"

"What, those little things?"

"Willows grow very fast, my son. They will thrive better than if they were larger."

"But, papa, how can we get to the island? Shall we have a bridge?"

"You must ask Dodge, Bertie. He is the author of this plan."

"I'll tell you what would be better than a bridge," explained Dodge, laughing. "You must learn to row a boat; and then you can land at any place, you know. But our island is more for ornament than for profit. We don't expect to have a settlement there."

"Why wouldn't it be pretty to have a little house for the swans on it? Joe Allen told me they could be taught to come on shore for their feed."

"We will consider that proposal, my dear, when the island is in existence," answered papa; "in the meantime you may think of a pretty name for it."

CHAPTER VII.

PAT'S VISIT HOME

I hope my readers have become so much interested in Pat Riley that they will be as glad to hear from him as Bertie was.

We left him, as you know, in Mrs. Taylor's back chamber, making tops for the children. In a few days he was able to go down stairs. The first use he made of his liberty was to make a reel for Mrs. Taylor to wind her yarn on.

Wishing to keep the boy employed, the good woman had borrowed a reel of a neighbor, and set him to work winding thread. The contrivance greatly delighted him. He examined it with the utmost care, pushing it up and down, to fit it for a larger or smaller skein, much to the amusement of the good woman.

"Did you never see one before?" she asked, smiling.

"No, ma'am, but it's very nice."

No more was said on the subject, and she never noticed that he examined it again; but the third day after he was released from the chamber he followed her one day into the pantry, and presented her a new one made by his own hands.

"You won't have to borrow again," he said, his face all in a glow of pleasure. "I'm going to try it now. I saved one skein on purpose."

Mrs. Taylor carried it out and exhibited it in triumph to the family.

"Did you do it all yourself?" asked Mr. Curtis, smiling his approbation.

"Yes, sir; but I had seen the one up stairs. I made more holes though, 'cause that was too large for some skeins and not large enough for others."

"You are a genius, Pat. I have no doubt you'll succeed, now that you've resolved to try your best."

The day before he left for the school, Pat asked Mrs. Taylor's permission to go and bid his father good-by. It was some weeks since the old man had been there, though he promised to come in a day or two. The good woman consented, though she told him the air was rather chilly for a boy who had been so sick.

On his way he passed the spot where Bertie had first talked with him. He stopped and sat on the top of the stone wall, where he had listened to the first kind words he ever remembered to have heard addressed to him. I trust no little boy or girl who reads this will think the worse of him, when I tell them that his breast began to heave, and the tears gushed to his eyes.

"I wouldn't be 'thieving Pat' again," he said, doubling his fist, "no, not for – not for – " At this moment his eye rested on the handsome new edifice at Woodlawn; and he added with an impressive gesture, "no, not for the Squire's new house. I'd rather starve again and have mammy push me down stairs or anything rather than go sneaking round hiding behind the walls, and feeling so ashamed to look any body in the face. No, no, I'll stick to the new Patrick, as Mrs. Taylor tells about, let what will come, I'll never lie to Bertie, and go back to my old ways."

He felt stronger and better after this resolve, and walked on rapidly until he reached the tree into which he had climbed to watch for Bertie. The sight of his old home just beyond, had excited him a good deal; and he laughed at the recollections of his fear that the Squire had sent Joe Allen to take him to jail.

Then he stepped up to the door and looked within. All seemed deserted. A few half-burnt brands had broken and fallen apart on the wide, old-fashioned hearth, the low wooden chair usually occupied by his father was vacant; a piece of crust, mouldy with age, lay on the table, and a broken pipe beside it.

Pat stood a moment gazing around, his face growing every moment more sad, then suddenly ran up the old creaking stairs to his own chamber.

"She's done it. I knew she would," he exclaimed, angrily. "She always did everything she could to spite me!"

He picked from the dirty floor two or three tail feathers of a tiny yellow bird which he had saved from the jaws of a cat, though not until it had received it's death wound; and which after a fashion of his own he had stuffed.

This, almost his only treasure, his drunken step-mother had deliberately pulled to pieces, scattering the feathers on the floor.

One tiny feather he put into his pocket as a memorial of the life which had forever passed, and then hurried away from scenes which recalled such bitter memories.

"Dad is gone," he exclaimed aloud, walking a short distance from the house, then turning back for another last gaze; "and perhaps I shall never see him again."

CHAPTER VIII.

LETTER FROM PAT

Before this he had been glad to meet no one; but now he felt a keen desire to ascertain where his father had gone; and resolved to return by the way of Tom Grant's, though a flurry of snow filled the air, and inquire whether Mr. Riley had been seen of late. Mrs. Grant, Tom's mother, was getting dinner, while Jerry was at work cutting wood in the back yard. The old lady knew how hard Pat had tried to reform, and greeted him in a most cordial manner.

"Why, Patrick!" she exclaimed, catching hold of his arm, "Come right in out of the snow. So yer going off to school, I hear my son say, well it's a lucky chance for ye, and I wish ye well. Sit right down now. Thomas will be at home soon, and he'll be glad to see ye."

"I must be going in a minute," Pat answered, "twirling his hat, I only wanted to know when you've seen Daddy. I've been to the old place, and there's no sign of anybody living in it."

"Haven't ye heard? Well, I s'pose ye haven't. Yer daddy's cleared out, bag and baggage. I don't s'pose he had to hire much of a team, either, to carry off what was left at the old place; but he took his pipe and a change of clothes; and I don't believe there is enough left in the shanty, to make it dangerous to leave the door open o' nights. Folks as heard him talk, do say he was clear discouraged with yer mammy's drinking and quarrelling; and he's gin her up entirely. But I can't tell nothing how that is."

"Do you know where he's gone?" asked Pat.

"La, no; I don't s'pose he knew hisself. He had a stick over his shoulder, and his bundle hung on the end on't, and that's all I can tell ye."

The boy turned without a word, and walked away. He knew now why his father came to the farm again so soon after his first visit; and why he consented so easily that the Squire should send him to school. He had resolved to quit his old home forever.

All this he told Mrs. Taylor that night, and ended with a sigh.

"I don't suppose he and I shall ever see each other again. He wasn't so bad till mammy came."

About a week after he reached the school, his teacher wrote Mr. Curtis,

"Patrick Riley arrived here a few days after the term commenced, and has conducted himself in such a manner as to win the approbation of all his teachers. I agree with you, that he will make a smart man; and from present appearances, I hope also, a useful one. I mentioned to him that I intended to write you, and was gratified to notice that he is not destitute of gratitude for all you have done to improve his condition. He requested me to express his thanks, also to your son, who he says first awoke in him a desire to become an honest boy, and likewise to Mrs. Taylor. Patrick is taking hold of his lessons with a will, and hopes to write you soon.

"Respectfully yours,"Johnathan Haven."

This letter was read with great interest by all the family; but there was no one who rejoiced so much at Pat's good conduct as Bertie.

Mrs. Curtis was greatly affected the night following to hear the little boy thank God for helping Pat to be good and obey the commandments.

About a fortnight later, Whitefoot stopped at the village post office, and Bertie jumped from his carriage and ran in with a package of letters for the mail.

"Look here!" exclaimed the girl, who delivered letters. "Is this for you?"

The child glanced at it, laughing and blushing. It was a curious shaped epistle, almost square, without an envelope, the name being a rough imitation of printing, and spelled Birty Kertis, Oxford; care Squier Kertis.

"I think it must be intended for you," said the girl, with an arch glance. "It is post-marked Lexington."

"Oh, yes, it's mine!" exclaimed the boy. "It's from Pat Riley, I guess he wrote it himself."

It was indeed from Patrick. I do not think my readers could decipher it, if I copied the curious spelling, I shall, therefore, give it as Mrs. Curtis, after considerable study, read it to Bertie.

"Dear Friend: – There's a big boy here as knows how to write tip-top. I and Tip (that's his name) are the most popular boys in school. He's agreed to write this letter for me, 'cause I want ye to know how I'm getting on; and there's something I want to tell ye awful bad, 'cause I know ye'll like it. You was the first one that ever spoke encouraging to me, and I'll never forget it of ye as long as I know myself, nor then either. I'm going to try and be a Squire like your pa; and then I'll take all the little thieving fellows I can find, and help 'em to be good. Rich folks don't know how hard 'tis for poor ones to keep from stealin' when their stomach is as flimpsy as a rag. I know how to pity 'em, for when mammy locked me up till I'd agree to steal again, there was such a gnawing and gnawing, that I should have give in, if it hadn't been for you.

"Every time, I'd say to myself, I can't stand it no longer; then I'd see you a-sitting in your donkey carriage, looking at me with such sorry eyes.

"But that isn't what I was going to tell yer; and Tip is getting tired writing such a lot of stuff. I've begun to be a soldier, I don't wear any uniform except a little blue star on my coat; but everybody knows by this, that I'm trying to fight against all my old habits. It's hard work I tell you. 'Tisn't as if I was at Mrs. Taylor's, with everybody helping me, and nothing to make me cross. There's lots of bad boys here, who won't join the company of soldiers, and they do everything they can to hinder and bother us. I'm most afraid to tell yer one thing, for fear ye'll think Tip and I are better than we are. We've begun to pray God to help us, and it does come a sight easier to do as we oughter.

"If ever ye see anything of my poor old father, I'd like him to know that I pray for him whenever I do for myself. I shouldn't wonder if I should get so I could forgive mammy sometime. Perhaps she didn't know any better.

"Your true friend,"Patrick Riley."

CHAPTER IX.

BERTIE'S SPELLING MATCH

Early in November, Mr. Curtis removed his family to Woodlawn; and Bertie commenced attending school. It was too far for him to walk, and now he found Whitefoot a greater convenience than ever. Close by the schoolhouse lived a farmer by the name of Camp, who readily agreed with Mr. Curtis to allow the donkey to stand in his barn during school hours.

Miss Esther Taylor, his former teacher, welcomed him back with great pleasure, for she had learned to love him like a brother. His health had now greatly improved by so much exercise in the open air, and he resolved to study hard through all the winter months.

I suppose there are many children more forward in their lessons than he was; but he had laid a good foundation for an education. He could read correctly, and with expression, and had begun Colburn's Mental Arithmetic. In geography he had only learned the general divisions of the globe, and had begun to draw upon his slate, islands, lakes, capes, peninsulas, etc., which greatly helped him to understand the explanations in his book.

In spelling, Bertie was rather backward, not being quick to learn the sounds of which the word was composed.

Miss Taylor was resolved her pupils should excel in arithmetic and spelling. In order to excite their ambition she allowed them twice a week to have what is called a spelling-match.

Two boys or two girls among the best spellers were chosen alternately by vote of the scholars, and these called out from among their mates the names of those they wished on their side. Of course each one wished the best spellers, in order that his side might win the prize, and as poor Bertie generally failed, he was left out.

After this had occurred two or three times, the little fellow began to feel mortified; and one night said to his mamma, —

"Will you please buy me a satchel? I'm going to bring home my spelling-book every night; and I can't carry it very well on Whitefoot's back, without it's in a satchel."

Mrs. Curtis left the room, and presently returned with a small leather bag, to which a strap was attached.

"Will this do?" she asked.

"Oh, yes, mamma! that is just what I wanted."

After this, mamma, and papa, and Mrs. Dodge, and Nellie, and Bertie, and Nancy had a great many spelling-matches, the rule being that every one who pronounced the word must do so with the greatest distinctness, so that every letter as far as possible should be articulated.

Before the winter was past, Bertie's dislike to his spelling-book was wholly conquered, and he was called as often as any scholar to try for the prize in the spelling-match.

This was the first winter the children had ever passed in the country. When the snow began to fall, Winnie was delighted, and went out to catch the flakes on a piece of paper.

Their house was of a June temperature, while the new conservatory furnished bouquets and cut flowers in abundance.

It was not the intention of Mr. and Mrs. Curtis to keep aloof from the villagers. Indeed, by this time, the Oxford people well understood that the Squire and his wife were ready to befriend them whenever they were in distress.

The gentleman taught a class in the Sabbath School, composed of married ladies who had never before been members.

Mrs. Taylor, who was one of the class, often remarked she would arise long before light rather than to lose the opportunity of hearing the Bible explained in the simple, practical way the Squire performed the service.

It was a happy day for the good pastor of Oxford when Mr. Curtis purchased his farm at Woodlawn. From their first introduction, the hearts of these truly Christian persons were drawn toward each other. They were working in the same cause to win souls to the Saviour whom they loved. One was rich, and the other comparatively poor; but both had consecrated themselves and all that they possessed, to the Saviour, who had bought them with his precious blood; and both desired so to live and to train their families, that when lying on the bed of death, they might say with Paul, – "I have fought a good fight; I have finished my course; I have kept the faith; henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness."

CHAPTER X.

BERTIE'S PRESENTS

Christmas Day dawned clear and cold. As soon as it was light enough to see across the chamber Bertie crept from his bed toward the window, where on one of the knobs belonging to the shutters, he could see a huge stocking tied by a string, and stuffed to its utmost capacity.

The little fellow laughed heartily as he felt of the stocking, to ascertain what was within it. Then he jumped on a chair, trying to take the sock down, but with a sudden thought, —

"Winnie would like to see me take the things out," he leaped into bed again, and began in his childish way to guess what presents he had received, and who they were from.

"I wonder whether I shall have a new Bible," he said half aloud, "I had a Bible last year from mamma; but no, I don't think she'll give me another, because she said she hoped that one would last me for a long time."

Presently he heard some little feet pattering along the hall, and then Winnie's bright face peeped into the room.

"Dit up, Bertie," she said, laughing, and showing all her white teeth. "Dit up, and have a merry Tismus."

"Oh, Winnie darling, I hope you'll have many merry Christmases! Now let's go and see papa and mamma, and then when Nancy has dressed you, I'll show you my presents."

"Law!" exclaimed Nancy, raising her hands, "you don't mean to say you haven't taken down your stocking. What would Saint Nick say?"

"I know who Saint Nick is," Bertie answered, with a merry laugh. "It's mamma, I saw her last year come creeping softly into my room in the city, and hang it up. I'd rather have mamma than anybody, because she knows what I would like."

"Well, dear, hurry and dress. Your mamma isn't awake yet; and then you can show us your presents."

"Did you give me anything, nurse?"

"I! what a question!" she exclaimed, in pretended horror.

"But I think you did, because when I went to the nursery of a sudden last night, you threw your apron over something you was working, and you looked ever so queer."

"Why, Bertie, I never thought you watched me so, I must be careful what I do. Well, supposing I did, what should you like best?"

"A ball for Winnie and I to play in the house with. One that would not break the windows, I mean."

Nurse laughed and looked wise, and then left the room. Soon after Bertie finished dressing, and ran to wish mamma and papa a "Merry Christmas."

"Well, my son, has St. Nick crept down your chimney?" asked papa directing an arch glance at his wife.

"My St. Nick has," was the boy's answer, as he kissed his mamma.

"What was in the stocking, then? I think it's very strange no one hung a stocking for me."

"What is that over yonder, Lawrence?" asked the lady, laughing.

"Ah, a stocking for me! that is more than I expected. Well, now I'm satisfied that's a joke; and I shall find nothing in it but paper."

"I'll run and get mine, and then we'll look over our presents together," said Bertie, in great glee.

Winnie now came in bringing a doll almost as large as herself. It was made of kid, with a porcelain face, and had dresses which could be taken off or put on at pleasure. This was given her by Mrs. Dodge and the clothes by Nelly.

With a loud shout Bertie pulled out a small box in which was a gingerbread man riding on a donkey. "I know where that came from very quick," he said. "It smells just like Mrs. Taylor's gingerbread. Oh, isn't it funny?"

"It is a very striking resemblance of you and Whitefoot," remarked papa, trying to look grave, at which everybody laughed heartily.

Next came a small package tied with red cord, which contained – what do you imagine? Why, a nightcap, with cook's compliments.

It was found to be a perfect fit, and mamma told him it would keep his hair from being so snarled in the morning.

A pretty ball, just such as Bertie had caught a glimpse of under Nancy's apron was next brought to view, which so much delighted him that he dropped the stocking and began to toss it at once.

There was a gift from Miss Lerow of a beautiful pair of reins, knit of bright worsted and ornamented with little bells. But what pleased him perhaps more than everything else, was a jack-knife from Edward Torrey with the words, "To the forgiving boy," marked on the inside of the pasteboard box.

Old Mrs. Grant had not forgotten to add her gift, which was a pair of warm mittens, done up with a nice, knit comforter from Mary Jerrold Monsey.

Altogether it was a great success, and everybody felt very happy.

CHAPTER XI.

THE HEART AND HAND

Why don't you open your stocking, papa?" inquired Bertie, when he saw the gentleman about to leave his chamber.

"I'll leave that to mamma," he said laughing.

"But really, Lawrence," she answered, "you might see for yourself. You'll regret it if you don't."

"Oh, of course, Cecilia, and spoil your joke!" He hesitated a moment but catching a glimpse of Bertie's anxious face, he turned back suddenly, and took down the stocking from the hook.

Putting his hand cautiously into the top, as if he were afraid of being bitten, at which the children shouted with laughter, he pulled forth a nicely rolled package, the outside of which he most carefully examined with his fingers.

"Very fine!" he exclaimed, with a quick glance at his wife. "It is a doughnut, I presume."

"Doughnuts are not to be despised when they are given to express affection," she answered, gravely.

"Well," he said, laying the package on his knees, "I'll see what else there is. I may find a solitary raisin enveloped in a pound or two of paper."

"Oh, papa, you're too funny!" shouted Bertie.

"Quick, Lawrence, the bell will ring for breakfast presently."

He drew cautiously from the stocking a small box, tied and sealed with wax.

"All very grand," he began, with a shrug of the shoulders, when his wife caught it from his hands.

"Open the other, first," she said.

He tore off the paper, and presently came to a note addressed to "Lawrence Curtis, Esq." in a beautifully neat hand. Opening it cautiously, he glanced at the bottom, and saw the names of his entire class, when his countenance changed at once.

"Really," he said, "I had no idea of this," reading aloud, "'Will our dear teacher please accept the enclosed slippers as a trifling token of our gratitude?'

"They are beautiful! very tasteful; exactly what I wanted! I must have them made up at once. Oh! here is the cash for that purpose! Well, my friends, I'm very grateful. Now I'm encouraged to try again," taking up the box, and quizzically glancing into the blushing face before him.

It contained a watch-chain of exquisite workmanship, manufactured of hair and gold, attached to which was an ornament in the shape of a heart, and a key in the form of a hand.

"My heart and my hand are all I have to give," she whispered, kissing his forehead, while a tear glistened in her eye. "The chain was made from the hair you cut from my head when I was so very sick."

He raised the precious token to his lips, exclaiming with great tenderness, "I shall wear it as long as I live. What would the world be to me, Cecilia, without your heart and hand?"