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Fern's Hollow

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<h2>CHAPTER XVII.</h2> <h3>A NEW CALLING.</h3> Stephen's recovery went on so slowly, that the doctor who attended him said it would not be fit for him to resume his underground labour for some months to come, if he were ever able to do so; and advised him to seek some out-door employment. His old comrades began to find the weekly subscription to make up his wages rather a tax upon their own earnings; and Stephen himself was unwilling to be a burden upon them any longer. As soon, therefore, as he was strong enough to bear the journey, he resolved to cross the hills again to Danesford, to see when Mr. Lockwood was coming home, and what help the clergyman left in charge of his duty could give to him. Tim brought his father's donkey for him to ride, and went with him across the uplands. The hard frosts and the snow were over, for it was past the middle of March; but the house at Fern's Hollow remained in precisely the same state as when little Nan died; not a stroke of work had been done at it, and a profound silence brooded over the place. Perhaps the master had lost all pleasure in his ill-gotten possession! So changed was Stephen, though Danesford looked exactly the same, so tall had he grown during his illness, and so white was his formerly brown face, that the big boy who had shown him the way to the rectory did not know him again in the least. Probably Mr. Lockwood and his daughter would not have recognised him; but they were still lingering in a warmer climate, until the east winds had quite finished their course. The strange clergyman, however, was exceedingly kind to both the boys, and promised to send a full and faithful account to Mr. Lockwood of all the circumstances they narrated to him; for Tim told of many things which Stephen passed over. They had done right in coming to him, he said; and he gave Stephen enough money to supply the immediate necessities of his family, at the same time bidding him apply for more if he needed any; for he knew that a boy of his principle and character would never live upon other people's charity whenever he could work for himself. How refreshing and strengthening it was upon the tableland that spring afternoon! The red leaf-buds of the bilberry-wires were just bursting forth, and the clumps of gorse were tinged with the first golden flowers. Every kind of moss was there carpeting the ground with a bright fresh green from the moisture of the spring showers. As for the birds, they seemed absolutely in a frenzy of enjoyment, and seemed to forget that they had their nests to build as they flew from bush to bush, singing merrily in the sunshine. Tim wrapped a cloak round Stephen; and then they faced the breeze gaily, as it swept to meet them with a pure breath over miles of heath and budding flowers. No wonder that Stephen's heart rose within him with a rekindled gladness and gratitude; while Tim became almost as wild as the birds. But Stephen began to feel a little tired as they neared Fern's Hollow, though they were still two miles from the cinder-hill cabin. 'Home, home!' he said, rather mournfully, pointing to the new house. 'Tim, I remember I used to feel in myself as if that was to be my own home for ever. I didn't think that God only meant it to be mine for a little while, even if I kept it till I died. And when I thought I was going to die, it seemed as if it didn't signify what kind of a place we'd lived in, or what troubles had happened to us. Yesterday, Tim, Miss Anne showed me a verse about us being strangers and pilgrims upon the earth.' 'Perhaps we are pilgrims,' replied Tim, 'but we aren't much strangers on these hills.' 'It means,' said Stephen, 'that we are no more at home here than a stranger is when he is passing through Botfield. I'm willing now never to go back to Fern's Hollow, if God pleases. Not that little Nan is gone; but because I'm sure God will do what is best with me, and we're to have no continuing city here. I think I shouldn't feel a bit angry if I saw other people living there.' 'Hillo! what's that?' cried Tim. Surely it could not be smoke from the top of the new chimney? Yes; a thin, clear blue column of smoke was curling briskly up into the air, and then floating off in a banner over the hillside. Somebody was there, that was certain; and the first fire had been lighted on the hearthstone. There was a sharp pang in Stephen's heart, and he cast down his eyes for a moment, but then he looked up to the sky above him with a smile; while Tim set up a loud shout, and urged the donkey to a canter. 'It's Martha!' he cried; 'I saw her gown peeping round the corner of the wall. I'll lay a wager it's her print gown. Come thy ways; we'll make sure afore we pass.' It was Martha waiting for them at the old wicket, and Bess was just within the doorway. They were come so far to meet the travellers, and had even prepared tea for them in the new kitchen, having cleared away some of the bricks and mortar, and raised benches with the pieces of planks left about. Tea was just ready for Stephen's refreshment, and he felt that he was in the greatest need of it; so they sat down to it as soon as Martha had laid out the provisions, among which was a cake sent by Miss Anne. The fire of wood-chips blazed brightly, and gave out a pleasant heat; and every one of the little party felt a quiet enjoyment, though there were many tender thoughts of little Nan. 'We may be pilgrims,' said Tim reflectively, over a slice of cake, 'but there's lots of pleasant things sent us by the way.' They were still at tea when the gamekeeper, who was passing by, and who guessed from the smoke from the chimney, and the donkey grazing in the new pasture, that some gipsies had taken possession of Fern's Hollow, came to look through the unglazed window. He had not seen Stephen since his illness, and there was something in his wasted face and figure which touched even him. 'I'm sorry to see thee looking so badly, my lad,' he said; 'I must speak to my missis to send you something nourishing, for I've not forgotten you, Stephen. If ever there comes a time when I can speak up about any business of yours without hurting myself, you may depend upon me; but I don't like making enemies, and the Bible says we must live peaceably with all men. I heard talk of you wanting some out-door work for a while; and there's my wife's brother is wanting a shepherd's boy. He'd take you at my recommendation, and I'd be glad to speak a word for you. Would that do for you?' Stephen accepted the offer gladly; and when the gamekeeper was gone, they sang a hymn together, so blotting out by an offering of praise the evil prayer which he had uttered upon that hearth on the night of his desolation and strong conflict. Pleasant was the way home to the old cabin in the twilight; pleasant the hearty 'Good-night' of Tim and Bess; but most pleasant of all was the calm sense of truth, and the submissive will with which Stephen resigned himself to the providence of God. The work of a shepherd was far more to Stephen's taste than his dangerous toil as a collier. From his earliest years he had been accustomed to wander with his grandfather over the extensive sheep-walks, seeking out any strayed lambs, or diligently gathering food for the sick ones of the flock. To be sure, he could only earn little more than half his former wages, and his time for returning from his work would always be uncertain, and often very late. But then, sorrowful consideration! there was no little Nan to provide for now, nor to fill up his leisure hours at home. Martha was earning money for herself; and as yet the master had demanded no rent for their miserable cabin; so his earnings as a shepherd's boy would do until Mr. Lockwood came back. Still upon the mountains he would be exposed to the bleak winds and heavy storms of the spring; while underground the temperature had always been the same. No wonder that Miss Anne, when she looked at the boy's wasted and enfeebled frame, listened with unconcealed anxiety to his new project for gaining his livelihood; and so often as the spring showers swept in swift torrents across the sky, lifted up her eyes wistfully to the unsheltered mountains, as she pictured Stephen at the mercy of the pitiless storm. <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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