The Basket of Flowers Part 8

REPARATION.

The Count, the Countess, and the guests who were at the castle, were a.s.sembled in the drawing-room when Amelia and Mary entered. The worthy minister had arrived before them, and had been reciting to a deeply-interested audience, the story of James and Mary and their life at Pine Cottage. He had painted in a touching manner the conduct of the good old man during his residence at Pine Farm, emphasising the love and respect which he bore to the Count and his family. He told of Mary's activity, of her filial piety, and her patience and modesty, until tears streamed from the eyes of his hearers.

At this moment the Countess Amelia, holding Mary by one hand and in the other the basket of flowers, entered the brilliantly-lighted room. Mary was welcomed by all, and loaded with congratulations. The Count himself took her kindly by the hand, and said, "Poor child, how pale and thin you look. It was our hasty judgment that brought your misery upon you, and we must now spare nothing, that happiness may once more be restored to you, and that the faded flowers may once more bloom on your young cheeks. You were driven from your father's house, but in future you shall have it for your own property."

The Countess kissed Mary, pressed her to her heart, called her her daughter, and, taking from her finger the ring which had caused so many misfortunes, she said, "Here, my dear child, although your piety is a great deal more precious than the large diamond which sparkles in this ring, you must accept this present as a feeble compensation for the wrong you have suffered, and as a token of the sincere attachment and maternal tenderness I feel towards you."

With these words she held out the ring to Mary, who was almost overcome with so much kindness and ready to sink under the weight of the benefits she had received. Her tears flowed freely, but they were tears of joy.

"Poor child," said one of the guests, "take what the Countess offers you. G.o.d has given the Count and his wife fortune, but He has given them something more precious--hearts which know how to make the best use of riches."

"Why do you flatter us?" said the Countess. "This is not a _generous_ action, it is an act of _justice_."

Still Mary hesitated about accepting the valuable gift, and turned with streaming eyes towards the minister, as if to ask his advice.

"Yes, Mary," said the venerable man, "you must keep the ring. You see, my good child, how G.o.d is blessing your filial piety; for whosoever sincerely honours his parents shall be better for it. Take the valuable present with grat.i.tude, and as adversity found you resigned to the Divine will, so in prosperity show yourself grateful to your heavenly Father--grateful to His dear name, benevolent and kind."

Mary put the ring on her finger and attempted to express her thanks, but tears checked her utterance, and were thus the best expression of her grat.i.tude. Amelia, who sat by her with the basket of flowers in her hand, was delighted with the generous proceedings of her parents. Her eyes shone with affection for Mary; and the minister, who had often observed how envious children generally are when their parents exercise their benevolence towards other people, was deeply touched by this disinterested love of Amelia. "May G.o.d," said he, "reward the generosity of the Count and Countess. May all that they have done for the poor orphan be rendered to them a hundredfold in the person of their own dear daughter!"

CHAPTER XVIII.

PINE FARM REVISITED.

The Count and his family were just on the eve of leaving for Eichbourg, and next morning at break of day all was bustle in the castle, preparing for their departure. In the midst of all the preparations, however, Mary was not forgotten, and each one vied with the other in the attentions they paid to her.

Mary's clothes, which she had bought during her residence at Pine Farm, were made of the coa.r.s.est material and of the plainest cut. But one of Amelia's friends, a young lady of the same age and size as Mary, at Amelia's request presented Mary with a complete outfit, which, without being extravagant, was more in keeping with her new situation. In answer to Mary's modest protest against donning what seemed to her, extravagantly grand garments, Amelia said, "You are my friend; you are henceforth to be my companion; you are also to live with me. You ought therefore to dress yourself differently from a farm servant."

After breakfast they started on their journey homeward, and Mary sat beside Amelia in the carriage, with the Count and Countess opposite.

First of all, however, the Count gave orders for the coachman to drive them to Pine Farm, that he might become acquainted with the people who had entertained Mary and her father so kindly. It was not long before they gathered from Mary's answers that the old people at Pine Farm were far from being comfortable, and that their declining years were not so peaceful as they had a right to expect.

The arrival of a n.o.bleman's carriage at Pine Farm caused no little excitement. No sooner had the young farmer's wife seen the carriage stop at the door than she hastened towards it.

"Sir," said she to the Count, "allow me to a.s.sist you and also the ladies, your daughters, I presume."

So saying, she presented her hand to one of the young ladies, when, recognising her to be Mary herself, she uttered an exclamation of surprise, let go her hand as if she had touched a serpent, and drew back in great confusion.

The old farmer was working in his garden when the Count with his family and Mary alighted; and when they went to the good old man, took him by the hand, and thanked him for his kindness towards Mary and her father, the worthy farmer was deeply moved.

"Oh," said he, "I owe that good man more than ever he owed me. The blessing of heaven came with him into our home, and if I had followed his advice in everything, I should have been much better for it at this moment. Since his death I have no pleasure in anything but this garden, which I began to cultivate at his suggestion. Since I have not had strength to follow the plough, I have occupied myself here, and I seek among the herbs and flowers the peace which I can no longer find in my own house."

In the meantime Mary had gone to look for the old farmer's wife in her little room, and she now came forward leading her by the hand. The worthy woman was quite overcome by the strange circ.u.mstances in which she found Mary, and the excitement of the moment; and when she came forward to meet the Count and Countess, it was with a timid air, and in evident distress at finding herself the object of so much attention. By and by, however, she and her husband heard the story of the finding of the ring, and so great was their affection for Mary that they cried for joy like children.

"Did I not tell you," said the farmer, addressing Mary, "that your filial piety would receive its reward? You see, my prophecy is already fulfilled," and his wife, who had recovered her self-possession, said, "Yes, yes; your father was right when he said, 'He who clothes the flowers, well knows how to take care of you.'"

While this conversation had been going on, the young farmer's wife stood at some distance, consumed with jealousy and anger.

"Well, well," she said to herself, "there is no saying what will happen in this life. That miserable beggar whom I turned out of my house--look at her now, dressed like a young lady of high rank. Who would have thought of such a thing! Every one, however, knows who she is, so she cannot impose on any one in this town. They know that yesterday she was sent from here with a little package under her arm, to go into the country."

The Count had not heard this abusive language, but a glance at the woman's face was enough to show him that she was nursing angry pa.s.sions. "She is a wicked creature," he said to himself, as he walked round the garden in a very thoughtful mood.

At last he stopped before the old farmer. "Listen, my good old friend,"

said he, "while I make a proposition to you. I have given Mary a piece of ground on my estate, which was rented and cultivated by her father.

But Mary is not ready to take up housekeeping. What should prevent you from retiring there? It will suit you, I am certain, and the owner will not exact any rent from you. You can cultivate the herbs and flowers in which you find your pleasure, and you will find, in the pretty cottage which is attached to the ground, rest and peace in your old age."

The Count's wife, Amelia and Mary joined in urging the old man to accept this generous offer. But there was no need for persuasion. The old people were happy to be taken from their uncomfortable surroundings, and gladly agreed to the proposal.

At this moment the young farmer came home from the fields. His surprise was as great as his wife's when he saw the carriage at his door drawn by four white horses; for never in the history of the farm had a carriage stopped there before. When he heard of the proposal which the Count had made to his father and mother, he gladly consented to it, although he was deeply grieved to part from his old parents. His consolation was found, however, in thinking that they were going to be happier than they could possibly be with his wife.

As for his wife herself, the only remark she made was to say in a spiteful way to the Count--

"It is a great favour you are doing us in ridding us of two old people who are nothing but a burden!"

Promising to send for the old farmer and his wife as soon as everything was ready, the Count and his family, accompanied by Mary, now stepped into the carriage and drove off. Here for a time we will leave Mary and follow the fortunes of the occupants of Pine Farm.

CHAPTER XIX.

RETRIBUTION.

In course of time, when arrangements had been made for their reception, a carriage was sent from Eichbourg to bring away the old farmer and his wife. Their son was grieved to the heart when the time came for them to go, but their daughter-in-law had counted the days and hours until the time of their departure, and felt nothing but vindictive pleasure at being rid of them. Her joy, however, received a severe check from a note which the coachman presented to her, in which the Count informed her that she and her husband should pay all that had been stipulated for the support of her father and mother-in-law; and that the price of their living valued in money, according to the current market price, should be paid to them every quarter. Realising her helplessness, she became violently angry and turned round to her husband, saying, "We are over-reached. If they had stayed here, it would not have cost us half as much." Her husband was secretly pleased to think that he was still permitted to help his parents in their old age, but he took good care not to show his joy before his wife.

The old people set off in the carriage the next morning, followed by the blessings of their son and the secret ill-wishes of their daughter-in-law.

But the unnatural conduct of this wicked woman was visited with the trouble which is always the lot of avarice and inhumanity. Her secretly-cherished G.o.d was gold, and she had lent the bulk of her money to a merchant to use in his business, on his promise to pay her a large interest for the loan. Her greatest pleasure was in making calculations, as to how much her money would amount to after a certain number of years, with all the interest and compound interest added.

Suddenly, however, these golden dreams received a rude awakening. The manufacturer's speculations proved unfortunate, and he shortly afterwards failed in business, and his goods were sold by order of the sheriff.

The news came as a thunder-stroke for the farmer's wife, and from the moment that she heard of the catastrophe she had no repose. Every day she kept running to the lawyers, or to her neighbours to complain of her hard lot, and the nights she spent in weeping and scolding her husband. From the wreck of her fortune of ten thousand florins she received only a paltry hundred or two, and so deeply did she feel the loss of her money that she openly declared her wish to die. The result of the continual worrying induced a fever which never left her. When her husband wished to send for a physician she would not consent to it, and when, in spite of her objections, he at last sent for one, his wife in a pa.s.sion threw the medicine he prescribed out of the window.

At last her husband saw that she was seriously ill, and he requested the minister of Erlenbrunn to come and see her. The good old man visited her frequently and talked to her affectionately, in order to induce her to repent of her sins, and to detach her heart from the things of this earth, that she might turn to G.o.d.

But this advice made her very angry. She looked at the good man with utter astonishment. "I do not know," she said, "for what purpose the minister comes to preach repentance to me. He should have delivered such a sermon to the merchant who stole our money. Yes, there would have been some sense in that. As for me, I do not see that I have any reason for repentance. As long as I was able to go out I always went to church, and I have never failed to say my prayers. I have not ceased all my life to do my duty and to behave myself like a virtuous housewife. I defy any living soul to slander me. And of all the poor people who have come to my door, not one can complain that I sent them away without giving them something. Now, I should like to know how any one can behave better!"

The venerable pastor saw that she was justifying herself before G.o.d, and he tried by adopting a more direct tone to lead her to contrition.

He showed to her that she loved money more than anything else in the world, and that the love of money was idolatry. He showed her that the bursts of anger in which she had indulged were heinous sins before G.o.d, that she had totally failed in the most beautiful of all Christian virtues--filial affection; that by her greed of money she had made her husband unhappy, cruelly driven away the poor orphan Mary, and even turned away her husband's parents, those whom she ought to have cherished as if they were her own.

He showed her also that, with a fortune like hers, a little piece of bread given to a poor man to get rid of him did not fulfil the duties which G.o.d expected of her, that in spite of all her boasting of going to church she was none the better of it, for her prayers had come from a heart unwarmed by love, and could not ascend to the throne of G.o.d. In this faithful way did he talk to her, but only with the result of making her burst into a fit of pa.s.sionate sobbing.

The illness from which she suffered was a long and trying one. She spent whole nights in coughing, and yet the ruling pa.s.sion of avarice was so strong that she would scarcely take sufficient nourishment to sustain her. No consoling thought came to her to mitigate her suffering. She was utterly unwilling to resign herself to G.o.d and to submit to His will.

The good minister tried in every imaginable way to bring her to a better frame of mind. During the last days of her life she was occasionally a little softened in her manners, but she never evinced any true repentance. In the flower of her age she died, a sad instance of the effects of avarice, pa.s.sion, and love of the world.