Hesper, the Home-Spirit

CHAPTER XVI.

THE SHEPHERD’S CALL

It was only a few evenings after Johnny’s adventure in the wood, that Hesper stood hesitating and trembling on the great stone steps at the doctor’s front door. She raised her hand to the silver bell knob, and then withdrew it, as if her courage failed her.

“No,” said she at last, “I will not fear, for I am doing right, and I know he is too kind to refuse me.” She did not allow herself another moment for reflection, but gave the bell quite a vigorous pull. In a few moments a great red faced Irish girl came to the door.

“Please, ma’am,” said Hesper, dropping a very respectful curtsey – “Is Dr. Smiley in?”

“No;” said the girl, and she was just shutting the door, when a pleasant voice called out from the parlor —

“Stop, Ellen; he came in just now, and went up to the library.” The next moment, a very pretty young lady stepped into the entry.

“Come in,” she said, “and I will speak to father.”

Hesper timidly crossed the threshold, and stood in one corner. “I will wait here,” she said, in a very humble manner, “if you will be so kind as to tell the doctor that Hesper Greyson wishes to see him.”

“O please do come in,” said the young lady, as she took Hesper by the hand and led her into the parlor. “Here is a nice warm fire, and I know you must be cold.”

“Mother,” she continued, addressing an elderly lady who was seated by a work-table, sewing – “Here is the very Hesper Greyson of whom father was speaking – sister to little Johnny.” There was another young lady – rather older than the first – seated at the piano, who started up directly when she heard this.

“Let me give her a seat, Alice,” she said, “while you speak to father.” She drew a velvet cushioned ottoman to the fire, and Hesper sat down, though she felt very much out of her element.

“How do you do to-night, my dear?” asked the elderly lady, who laid down her work and regarded Hesper with great interest.

“Quite well, I thank you,” replied the poor girl, though her pale face and sorrowful eyes seemed to tell a very different story. “It’s my brother that’s sick ma’am. Poor Johnny! he’s a simple child, but then we all love him so much, that it troubles us sadly when anything ails him.”

“What! Johnny sick!” said the doctor, who just then entered the room – “and how long has that been?”

“Ever since the night he was lost in the wood, sir. We did not wish to trouble you while we could do anything ourselves, but indeed, he has grown sick very fast, and I hope you will not take it amiss that I have come for you, for there was no one else to whom I dared go.”

“You have done just right, exactly,” said the doctor in a most encouraging manner, “and I shall be right glad to render you every possible service. I will go with you directly” – and he went out to get his hat and coat.

Kate, the eldest daughter, also stepped out of the room. She soon returned with a very pretty silk hood in her hand. “Here, Hesper,” she said, “this is too small for me, and if it will be of any service to you, you shall be right welcome.” As she spoke, she stooped down, and loosening the handkerchief under Hesper’s chin, she tied the hood upon her head in its place. The poor girl, worn down by watching and anxiety, had come to the doctor’s house with many misgivings, and thus to meet with such unexpected favor and kindness quite overcame her. She could not speak, but the great tears, more eloquent than words, chased each other swiftly down her cheeks.

“Dear girl!” said the elderly lady as she took off her spectacles and wiped her eyes – “if there were more in the world like you, I should want to spend all my life time in doing good.”

When the Doctor was ready, and Hesper arose to depart, the young ladies followed her to the door, assuring her that they should be happy to assist her in every possible way, and promised to call next morning and see how little Johnny got along.

Upon arriving at the house, the doctor found the poor child tossing to and fro upon his bed, in a small, close room, adjoining the kitchen. It was a miserable place, but it was the best that could be afforded. Mrs. Greyson lay upon her own bed in a corner of the kitchen, and her husband sat by the fire in one chair, with his foot resting upon another. Aunt Nyna, who was always a friend in need, was moving quietly about with her usual placid look, making everything as neat and orderly as possible, while Mrs. Grimsby, who had just brought in a bowl of nice warm gruel for Mrs. Greyson’s supper, was seated by Johnny’s bed-side. Fred and Charlie had been sent up to bed some time previous, but contrary to the supposition of all, instead of being fast asleep, they were then sitting mid-way of the stairs, shivering with cold, but listening intently to all that was passing below. Hesper regarded the doctor anxiously as he took Johnny’s hand in his own. The poor child’s face was crimson with fever – he moaned and tossed about constantly, and seemed to be insensible to all around. The doctor shook his head doubtfully.

“He is very sick,” he said. “Can you tell me what you have done for him?”

Aunt Nyna, who had taken upon herself the responsibility of being his nurse, told him all, with the greatest precision.

“That is right,” he said, “I could not have done better myself. But,” he continued, “I must be frank with you. I fear the poor child is beyond the reach of medicine. His head has been affected from his birth, and he has not sufficient vital energy to meet the trying crisis.”

“Indeed sir!” said Hesper, with a faltering voice and a face white as the drifted snow – “I can’t have our Johnny die.”

“Hesper! Hesper my dear girl!” said aunt Nyna, as she drew her close to her bosom, “be patient, and let the Lord’s will be done.”

“Poor little fellow,” said the doctor, in a soft, sympathizing tone – “it would indeed be a sad loss to those who love him, but to him it would be a most blissful change.”

“Yes,” said aunt Betsey, who had just arrived, and entered the room in time to hear the doctor’s words – “I think so too – you oughtn’t to cry, Hesper – nobody ought to. Though it seems a hard thing to say, yet it would be a mercy to you all if he should be taken away; for if he should live to grow up, he would always be a poor miserable creature.”

Just then, Hesper wished that aunt Betsey was dead herself, or that she never could hear her speak again. He “a poor miserable creature!” Wouldn’t he always be a comfort and consolation to those who loved him, if he should live a hundred years? So she reasoned, and she could not see it otherwise; though when the first gush of sorrow was over, she felt that the doctor had spoken truly, and that the better world would give to the poor child, blessings and powers he never could enjoy below. She was soon able to restrain her emotions, and then sat down by his bed as quietly as before.

After the doctor had given the poor child a soothing draught – under the influence of which he soon fell asleep – he went out, and began to talk with Hesper’s father and mother. He stayed a long time, conversing in a very friendly and encouraging manner, and offered to do whatever he could for both of them. Mr. Greyson informed him, however, with a most melancholy expression of countenance, that he would never get his pay. The doctor’s only answer was a good-natured laugh, and when he left, he promised to call again next morning. Hesper did not close her eyes to sleep that night. She sat by Johnny’s bed-side, carefully administering his medicines – soothing him in his restlessness, and praying that a blessing of healing might descend upon him from above. The night seemed very long, and as the clock slowly struck each passing hour, Hesper grew faint with weariness, yet she could not be persuaded to leave her post of duty. Towards morning, however, she was rejoiced to see that Johnny rested more quietly upon his pillow – the fever flush had faded from his cheek – his hands grew cool and as he turned his eyes towards her, he seemed to recognize her with an almost imperceptible smile, Her heart was so full of this happy change, that she could have wept for joy. She longed to speak to aunt Nyna, but the good old lady was dozing so peacefully in her chair, that she was not willing to disturb her. So she stole quietly to the window and looked out, to see if there were any signs of morning. The eastern sky was already crimson with the early light, and the beautiful day-star was shining clear and bright over the distant hill-tops. It seemed to Hesper that it was like the great, cheerful hope which had arisen in her heart, and she turned from the window with a joyful countenance.

“Hesper,” said aunt Nyna, as she awoke from her sleep, “how is Johnny now?”

“O much better,” whispered Hesper. “His fever has entirely left him, and you cannot think how still and quiet he lies, though he is very weak, and breathes so lightly I can scarce hear him.” Aunt Nyna started up quickly at this, and went to his bed-side. She looked him earnestly in the face, and counted the feeble beatings of his pulse.

“Hesper,” she said seriously, “Johnny is no better. I fear he will leave us very soon.”

Hesper said not a word, though her lips grow white and she trembled violently. She bent over the dear child whom she had watched and tended so carefully, and kissed his pale cheek.

“Johnny, darling,” she said in a low tone, “do you know me?”

He looked up with a faint smile – his lips moved, and he distinctly whispered “Hesper.” It was the first word the child had ever clearly spoken, and it was his last, for in a few moments after, he turned wearily upon his side, and with one long drawn sigh, the spirit gently departed. “Poor lamb!” said aunt Nyna, as she brushed away the damp ringlets from his forehead, and tenderly closed the long fringed lids – “he has heard the Shepherd’s call and gone home to the fold of love.”

But Hesper heard not; she had never looked on death before, and it was too great a trial for her loving heart. With a faint moan she sank down by the bed-side, and when aunt Nyna raised her up, she found the poor girl had fainted.

CHAPTER XVII.

THE NEW HOME

Many weeks passed by after Johnny’s death, during which several important changes took place in the Greyson family, but Hesper was unconscious of them all, for she was very sick. Her youthful strength had been so overburdened with care and anxiety, that she sank beneath it, and a long and dangerous illness was the result. She knew nothing of the comforts and conveniences by which she was surrounded, or who they were that watched so faithfully by her bed-side. To her the passing time was one long, dark, troubled dream to which she saw no ending.

It happened at last, however, that one clear, bright, winter morning, she awoke from a peaceful slumber, and opened her eyes as it were on a new life. She gazed about her in silent wonder, but saw nothing that would remind her of the past. The neat and prettily furnished room which she occupied, was altogether new to her. The bed, with its covering and curtains of beautifully flowered chintz – the nice carpet – the cozy fire burning in the grate, and the picture of Christ with Mary sitting at his feet, above the chimney-piece, all seemed like objects in a dream. There was only one thing which had a familiar look, and that was a great rose-bush, in full bloom, which stood in the window seat, with the morning sunshine falling brightly upon it.

“O dear!” sighed Hesper, “I fear that this will all vanish, and the dark, terrible night come again.” Then she remembered of having heard said – when and where she could not tell – that some people believe that when they die, they come into a world where everything is so much like the one they have left, that they cannot realize they have passed through the change called death. So Hesper thought perhaps this had happened to her, for she could scarce recollect anything of the past.

The sound of some one moving near her, attracted her attention, and she was about to stretch out her arm to draw the bed-curtain aside, when she found that she was scarce able to move, and the sight of her own hand, so pale and wasted, greatly surprised her. In a few moments a door was opened, and some one asked, in a low tone —

“How is she this morning?”

“More comfortable, I think,” was the reply. “Father says that this sleep she has fallen into, is very refreshing, and he hopes she will be rational when she comes out of it.” The curtains were then drawn aside, and Hesper saw Kate Smiley’s fair, sweet face, bending over her, while near by stood Mrs. Grimsby with her bonnet and shawl on. She had her old wash gown under her arm, as usual, for she was going out to work, and had only stopped in a moment to inquire about Hesper.

“Where am I?” said Hesper, “and where are all the folks, and what has happened to me?”

“O!” exclaimed Kate, “she is wide awake, and quite herself again! Dear girl! How glad I am! Do you know that you have been very sick – so that we scarce thought you would live? Father said you would certainly die if you stayed where you were, so he had you and the family brought to this house, where you could be more comfortable, and Alice and I could care for you. Now I am so glad that you are better that I must run and tell father directly.”

She left the room, and Mrs. Grimsby sat down on the side of the bed.

“Hesper,” said she, “I cannot tell you how lonely we have been since your folks moved from our house. Juliana cries every day about it, and I never felt so sorry for anything in my life, for now I suppose since you have got into such a nice place, and have such fine friends to care for you, that you will forget all about us.”

“O Mrs. Grimsby!” said Hesper, “wasn’t you a friend to me in my greatest need? and didn’t you do for me what no one else could? No: I never shall forget you as long as I live” – and with her slender white fingers, she affectionately clasped the great toil-hardened hand which rested on the bed beside her, Mrs. Grimsby raised her checked apron and wiped away the tears which were flowing freely down her cheeks.