Parables from Flowers Part 4

The farmer and his sons must have heard the cries of the Fox and the baying of Dash, for presently they came running as fast as possible to the spot, armed with all sorts of weapons, and soon despatched the rascal.

And it would have pleased you to have heard the praises bestowed upon the brave old dog for his courage, which praise he most certainly deserved; but no one thought of us. However, we had our reward in feeling that we had done our duty, and tried to repay our debt of grat.i.tude to little Susie; that was recompense enough for us, nor did we wish for more, for--

'On their own merits Modest men are dumb;'

and so say we simple Foxgloves.

PARABLE FOURTH.

THE LITTLE MINER AND HIS FLOWER--TRUST IN G.o.d.

I do not think any of us would care to pa.s.s the greater part of our days down in a coal mine, or even to live in the vicinity of one. For miles around the country is barren of trees or flowers; even the gra.s.s does not grow there; the very air is dense with black smoke from the numerous chimneys, so that the sky is hidden, as it were, by a thick, murky veil.

But, if thus dreary by day, how much more dreadful does it look at night, when the lurid glare from the furnaces lights up the sky with a red gleam, which can be seen far and wide! it has then in it something terrible.

As I said just now, not a flower can thrive in such a close and heavy atmosphere; not even a blade of gra.s.s can push its way up through the coal-encrusted soil which covers the earth. Well may it be called the 'Black Country;' and yet there are brave, good men living, ay, and working there, day after day descending those dark shafts and in the underground of the mines living out their hard, laborious lives, braving dangers innumerable, to provide for the wants of their fellow-men; yet I wonder how many of us, as we gather round the cosy fireside of home, ever think of the hardy miners. All honour, then, to that Christian man, whose n.o.ble heart thought so much of them and of the risks they encounter in the deep mines; his mighty genius studied to avert the dangers to which they are exposed, and by his clever invention many thousand lives have been saved. Statues are raised to soldiers and statesmen, and their deeds are chronicled all over the world, yet the simple-hearted Cornish chemist has done more for England's glory than all her greatest warriors or statesmen!

Sometimes, it is true, terrible accidents happen even now, and indeed, had any one pa.s.sed through a certain coal district on the day of which we speak, a scene of desolation and misery would have presented itself; for there had been a colliery accident!--a fearful explosion in a mine through some (as yet) unknown cause, and they were now bringing up the dead and dying. We too often, alas! read these sad accounts in the newspapers, but cannot fully realize the intense anguish and despair among the mining population when such a calamity befalls them. Try to picture, then, the men, women, and even children, who were gathered in anxious groups around the mouth of the pit, eagerly waiting to see if any of their kindred were among the hapless victims; and when the brave rescue party would appear above the shaft, bearing in their arms the sufferers, wailing cries would rend the very air, as some poor woman recognised her son or her 'good man' in the crushed and mangled form they laid so tenderly down!

There was a little cottage standing among others of the same cla.s.s, but which from its appearance seemed to betoken the residence of one more refined than the rest, for snowy curtains draped the windows, the panes of which were scrupulously clean, and the doorsteps were as white as hands could make them. Going now towards this cottage, a group of men might be seen, carefully carrying a heavy burden, over which a sheet was spread. It was their foreman--a man loved and respected by them all, and the hearts of these rough colliers beat sadly, as they bore him thus towards his once happy home!

The rumour of the catastrophe, and of her husband being one among the many poor sufferers, had burst upon his wife like the surging of an angry wave, overwhelming her with its force, and she sat with ashen cheeks and quivering lips, listening with bated breath for that which she knew must come, the while convulsively clasping in her arms their only child, their fair-haired Davie. But when at last she heard the measured tread of those who bore him coming nearer and nearer to her door, she rose, with a s.h.i.+vering sob, to meet him, as she had ever done, with a loving smile, though now her heart was full of anguish. And he knew her, for he put out his poor crushed hand for her to take, faintly murmuring,--

'My poor, poor girl!'

Tenderly, as with the gentle touch of woman, those rugged men laid him upon the bed from which he had risen in full health and strength, and the wife's hand was firm, as softly she removed the garments from his mangled limbs. Ah, little had she thought, when she bade him 'Good-bye'

that morning, his return would have been thus. He had said to Davie in his merry way, laying his hand on the boy's curly head,--

'Ah, young man, soon you will be the bread-winner; your old father will then be able to sit idle by the ingle and smoke his pipe, whilst mother looks on.'

He had returned to the ingle, but Davie was still a child!

A few anxious days, and all was over; the end had come, and he and his fellow-sufferers were laid to rest beneath the fresh green turf in a distant churchyard, and the poor young widow was alone in the wide world, with only little Davie!

But the poor have no time to spare for mourning or regrets; they must be up and doing, even though their hearts fail them for very sorrow; yet none save those who have suffered can know the utter desolation of heart, crus.h.i.+ng the very soul to the earth with despair, when the father, 'the bread-winner,' is taken from their midst, and those who are left know not where to look for help or guidance; and so this poor widow sat by the fire-light, with her boy's hand clasped in hers, gazing into the glowing embers as if trying to read the future therein. The past had been very happy, for her girlhood was spent in a far different sphere, but she had freely given up all for him who was now no more, and had never repented of the sacrifice made; but, alas! he was gone, leaving her alone, and her heart was like to break. And, musing thus, she recalled the tones of the dear voice that had ever comforted her when in sadness, now silent for ever!--the brave heart so firm of purpose that had ceased to beat!--and as she thought of him who had been so kind, so true, her courage gave way, and, burying her face in her hands, she sobbed aloud, saying,--

'Oh, Davie, Davie! who will care for us now father is gone?'

The child put his arms lovingly around her bowed head, as though it was his place to be the comforter.

'Mother darling, the Lord will care for us. He is the friend of the widow and fatherless.'

There was something in the boy's voice that struck the mother's ear, for she removed her hands from before her face, and, drawing him nearer to her, gazed earnestly into those clear blue eyes.

Sudden sorrow often changes the entire nature of people, and the events of the last few days had, as it were, transformed little Davie from a mere child into a thoughtful boy. Like his namesake of old, 'he was of a beautiful countenance,' and as he caressingly smoothed his mother's pale cheeks with his soft, gentle hands, she felt she was not desolate, since he was left to her. Long they sat in silence. At last the boy said,--

'Mother dear, Mat Morgan says that, as I am now ten years old, it is time for me to begin work like the other lads about here.'

'How, Davie?' she dreamily questioned, for her thoughts were wandering far away, so that she scarcely heard what he said.

'In the pit with him,' was the reply; 'he is so kind and good, I know he will take great care of me.'

'No, no!' she cried, clasping him yet closer to her; 'not in the cruel mine that has robbed us of father!--no--not there!'

'Nay, mother darling,' the boy gently urged; 'it was G.o.d who took father home--and he was ready to go! Besides,' he continued, with all the hopefulness of youth, 'I could earn some money every week, and only think how useful that would be!'

'But your poor father did not wish you to be a miner; he hoped you would become a great and clever man,' the mother replied.

He hesitated for a moment. Bright visions had filled his young head of gaining riches and honours 'some day,' that glorious time of the young, and he had thought how proud they both would be of him, and they should neither of them work any more, but live in a lovely home of _his_ providing, and never know care any more. And now!--he clenched his small hands together, and choked back the big lump rising in his throat as bravely he exclaimed,--

'And I will be a clever man, for I will learn at night when I come home, and who knows what I may be one day. Mat Morgan says our manager was only a poor collier lad once, and look at him now. Besides, they are all so good to us here; they loved father dearly.'

So the boy prevailed over her fears, and in a few days he took his place by the side of his old friend Mat Morgan, who grew to love him as his own child. But the mother's heart was grieved when at night her boy returned with the fair golden hair rough and tangled, the once delicate hands torn and hardening with toil; yet the child gave no thought to that. True, this was not the life he would have chosen, for he was a studious boy, but still, was he not 'the bread-winner'? and it was a proudly happy day for him when he laid his first earnings in her lap, and felt her tears upon his cheek as she kissed and blessed her boy.

But the hour he loved the best was when, casting aside all care, he sat on a low stool at her feet, and, with his head resting on her knee, listened as she read aloud their evening chapter from the Book of Life; he was then the child again, not the toiling little miner-lad!--and oh, it was so peaceful!

'"Consider the lilies of the field, they toil not, neither do they spin,"' read the mother one evening.

'But, mother, what are lilies like? I have never seen one, you know,'

asked the boy, when she had ceased reading and had closed the book.

In simple language, she endeavoured to describe to her town-born child the exquisite beauties of the flowers of the field, and he, with an innate love of the beautiful, caught readily at all she said, and seemed as though he saw them all as she depicted.

'How I should love to be where there are always flowers!' he exclaimed; 'it must be like paradise! But those I have seen always close up at night. I wish there was one here that opened of an evening, as if to greet me when I come home!'

I know not how it happened, but the next night, when little Davie entered his home, a delicious perfume filled the air, and standing in the cottage window was an Evening Primrose, with its petals fully expanded.

'Mother, mother,' cried the boy, 'my wish has come true! here is a flower opening its blossoms to bid me welcome home;' and in excess of delight he knelt and kissed his treasure again and again. And words cannot express the love he bestowed upon the plant; it was to him an unfeigned joy to watch the growing of each leaf, the gradual unfolding of each fresh bud; and every night, on his return from work, his first thought, after the thought for his mother, was of his sweet Evening Primrose.

Those who gather flowers at will, prize them for a while, then cast them carelessly aside, can form no idea of the all-absorbing love the little miner lad evinced for his one fair flower; it was his sole treasure, and he ever watched and tended it lovingly and well.

But time pa.s.sed on, and it was Davie's last day in the coal-mine. He was going to exchange that toilsome life, so uncongenial to his taste, but which stern necessity had made him adopt, for a new and brighter occupation, one, too, for which he had always ardently longed. The manager of whom he had spoken to his mother had frequently noticed the gentle, fair-haired boy; prosperity had not hardened _his_ heart (as it so often does), and recollections of the long-ago flashed ever across him, when he saw Davie bravely striving to do his best to help his mother bear her burden of sorrowful poverty. He too had been a collier lad in those far-off days, and 'the only son of _his_ mother, and she was a widow.' The gra.s.s was green above that dear mother's grave, whose latter years had been cheered and comforted by his tender, fostering love; but his thoughts were of her, as, laying his hand upon the lad's curly head, he kindly asked,--

'Would you like to leave the pit-work, David, and go into the engineers'

department?'

'What! and become a great man like Stephenson and Brunel? Oh yes, sir!'

the boy joyfully exclaimed, for, like all youthful ambitions he vaulted at once to the highest pinnacle of greatness--there is no midway for the ardent young.

The manager smiled at his enthusiasm, as he replied,--