The Forget-me-not, for all seasons

Front matter

n v.^miiM&if.i^s^-^w^^yii£S2 ti

rF^Sw

2^=

Chapter I

It was the month of March, and never was there known in that rough, blustering month, a more rough and blustering day than the one on which our story opens. During the whole week clouds had been gathering in the sky, a-nd fierce winds had pushed forth from the north and east, and driven them hither and thither. Saturday was a very gloomy day, — the storm was close at hand, and on Sunday the rain came down in torrents, keeping from the house of Grod all who usually went up thither with other motives than those Grod has bidden us to feel when we enter his earthly courts. Still a small congregation of devout worshippers had assembled for afternoon service, in the old church in the village of Conway, and when Mr. Hobart had finished the service and the people dispersed, they heeded not the rain, but said to one another, " It has been good for ns that we went up thither."

Samuel, the gray-haired negro of Mr. Hobart, who performed the duties of church sexton, was just closing the doors, as the last lingerer departed, when his attention was arrested by a groan, which sounded close beside him. The old man started —

'' Bress me ! what dat .?" said he.

No answer was returned but another groan, and a half murmured word convinced him that he was not deceived, and that some human being was near him and in distress. He hastened around an angle whence the sound seemed to come, when a sight greeted his eyes which almost deprived him of his senses. Sitting at the base of a pillar which supported the heavy stone work around the top of the church, her head thrown back against the cold marble and the pitiless rain beating on her unprotected face and bosom, was a woman, delicate and young, and once beautiful, but now. Oh ! how emaciated, how deplorable her aspect ! Her long black hair hung upon her shoulders, heavy with the rain, a thin shawl was torn from her feeble grasp by the wind, and upon her breast lay a beautiful infant — its sweet eyes opened in wonder at the rude storm raging about them, and its dimpled hands playing with the ebon tresses of the woman.

Samuel did not long stand motionless ; he took from his shoulders an old cloak which had once done service for his master, and proceeded to wrap it about both mother and child, while he ejaculated " Bress me," repeatedly, and in a manner which showed he was rather invoking blessings on the miserable beings before him. He asked no questions — he saw misery and suffering— and his kind heart only suggested comfort and relief. He was a strong man still, and the poor woman was not much heavier than a baby ; his strong arms encircled mother and child, and he hastened across the church-yard with them, and entered the garden of Mr. Hobart's house. The minister was looking from the study window, when he saw old Samuel with his singular burden.

" Martha, Martha !" called Mr. Hobart, and as his house-keeper (for he was a man bereft of wife and child,) made her appearance, " Martha," said he, " Samuel has found in the storm some object of pity, who needs our kindest care. Let her be brought in here and laid upon my couch, and do you remain and see what may be needed."

Old Samuel deposited the poor creature on tlie couch by the blazing fire, and proceeding to divest her of the mantle, revealed the smiling babe. It seemed to have been but little affected bj the misery its mother had endured ; though a little tired, its limbs were still rounded and dimpled, its head was covered with waves of soft fair hair, its blue eyes were clear and bright, and its rosy mouth ever ready to smile and coo. As Martha lifted the sweet child from its resting place, she involuntarily pressed her lips to its cheek, and Mr. Hobart gazed at it with eyes dewy with emotion. The mother saw the caresses, and noted the gentleman's manner.

" Thank Grod," she murmured, " my Lillie is safe ; has a home where she will be loved. Oh ! Father of Mercies, I bless thee for this consolation in my dying hour," and overcome by her feelings, she fainted in the arms of the minister, who was hastening to support her. When they had recovered her from her swoon, Martha prepared for her a comfortable bed in a room close at hand, to which they removed her and there administered some refreshment. Most tenderly did Martha nurse her and the little Lillie ; the child throve upon it, but the mother grew weaker, as day by day passed on, and she received the kindest attentions from all at the parsonage. There was no hope of life for her, and she knew it. The approach of death did not trouble her, only as she thought of her child ; and if she must leave it, more tender fi*iends could not be found for it. Before she died, she had a long interview with Mr. Hobart ; what she told him of herself and Lillie, shall be made known in another chapter.

Chapter II

Several years passed on. Lillie Moore, such was the infant's name, had grown to be a lovely and intelligent girl ; she was perhaps ten years old when I shall again introduce her to you. Mr. Hobart still preached to the Conway Church, and Martha Dale was still his housekeeper. She was a distant relation of the minister, and when death had taken away his two children, and sickness had prostrated his wife upon a couch from which she should never rise, he had sent for his cousin and given her charge of his house. She nursed Mrs. Hobart with a sister's tenderness, but the victim of consumption soon found rest in her grave, and Mr. Hobart was left alone but for

Martha ; when Providence gave him the little Lillie to protect and train as she grew older. Martha Dale conscientiously and judiciously fulfilled to the orphan the duties of a mother, and the little girl grew in beauty and goodness and knowledge.

One warm summer day Martha put aside her work, and calling Lillie, who had just finished her lessons in the library, said to her she would like to listen while the child should read to her from the Bible. Lillie readily obeyed, for it made her happy to be able to do anything for one she loved as she did her good nurse. As Lillie proceeded in her reading, she came to the passage in which children are bidden to obey and honor their parents. She looked up from her book and said to Martha :

" And if they have no father and mother. Aunt Martha, I suppose they must pay their duty as children to those who do for them what parents would do ; you and Uncle Hobart are like parents to me."

" Yes, dear," said Martha, " and your Uncle Hobart is indeed almost as near to you as a parent ; I know he loves you as well."

" Why did he say the other day, that he wished my name was Helen .?"

" Because that was the name of his wife whom he loved very dearly, and you, my dear child, are the daughter of that lady's brother."

Lillie looked up in wonder, and Martha continued : " Before your dear mother died she told us who she was, and now that you were in the very home she was seeking for you. Henry Moore, your father, was a sea captain, and when he left his wife for the first time after his marriage, a sad presentiment of evil seemed to hang over him. He told her he had a sister in the upper part of the State, married to a clergyman, and begged her if anything should happen to him or to herself, that she should need a friend, to promise him to go to Helen Hobart. He had offended his sister soon after her marriage, and had not heard from her for several years, ' but she loves me still, I know,' he said, ' and my wife will find her all a sister should be.'

" His fears were verified. Months passed on after Captain Moore sailed, and only once was he heard from ; then a year went by ; and no tidings came, and it was supposed the ship had been wrecked at sea, and all on board of her had perished. The poor young wife had given birth to you, my little Lillie, a few months after your father sailed. When nothing was heard from him.

and his sad fate seemed confirmed, she thought she could die ; she had no wish to live now, but her child must be saved. So she travelled till her money was spent, by the public conveyances, and then leaving her scanty stock of clothes at the last stopping-place, she took you in her arms and tried to walk from Elton to Conway. Old Samuel told you the other day how he found you, and you know your mother died here, surrounded by comforts and rendered happy in her last hours, by the knowledge that you were so well provided for.

'^ And now, Lillie, shut up the book, I must go and give Kitty directions about the supper. Wipe away your tears, my darling, and run and play in the garden where I see your uncle is walking."

Lillie obeyed the kind old lady, but her heart was full, so she walked by the side of Mr. Hobart, and questioning him more concerning her parents, ended by expressing her belief that her papa was not really dead, that he had been saved when his vessel was lost, and that some day she should see him.

How far her conjectures ^^ere right I will tell you in the next chapter, which will interest you much more than these, I hope.