Grace Porter; a jewel lost and found

Foreword

“This volume, like Topsy “just growed.” The author at first thought he would write some sketches of little children placed by the Children’s Home Society. The foster parents love to tell us of the strange prayers and wise little sayings of the children they have taken to their hearts. His memory is full to overflowing with these gems from childhood. Almost before he knew it the plan of this story unfolded itself. The philosophy is not his — that belongs to the Creator. The facts lay like threads in his hands — he started the loom — the resultant pattern lies before the reader. He said to himself, to hold the interest of the people there must be some fun mixed with the philosophy. He has stood on the shore of the Atlantic and watched the white-capped billows dash at his feet. The spray gives charm and zest. You would hardly care to linger if that were gone. That holds you, you wait — and, waiting, listen. This volume was not written for the foam but for the ocean. The bits of spray are put on the waves to keep the reader “Down by the sea” that he may listen to the billows of these truths about motherhood and Statehood as they break on the beach of his reason.

CHAPTER I. Off for the Centennial

He who helps a child helps humanity with a distinctness, with an immediateness , which no other help , given to human creatures in any other stage of their human life , can possibly give again . — Phillips Brooks.

EADY at last,” said Mrs. Pauline Porter late at night on the last day of September, 1876. “I am sincerely ,glad of it,” said her husband David, “for these preparations have been a great tax upon you. Now let us- try to get a good night’s rest, and then we shall be ready for the morning train.”

In an hour, when the old clock struck twelve, everybody in the farmhouse was fast asleep. At the first break of day the foot of that genius, called the “hired man,” was heard on the stairway. Coming into the kitchen he is met with a hearty “good morning, Jim” from Mary, the maid of all work. “I guess you had better call Masther and Misthress before you go out to do ‘the chores’.”

“All right, Mary, O’im your obedient.”

The Porters were called, and in a few minutes everybody was busy putting things to rights. It is astonishing how many odds and ends one must look after on the eve of a journey.

Reader, do you remember how many times you unstrapped your trunk before you went on that last visit? It takes about as much grace to get a trunk packed and ready as it does to put up a stove-pipe and have everything safe.

“Congratulations,” said Jim, as he came in to breakfast. “It is a foine mornin’. There is not a sign of a cloud in the sky, only jist a bit of gray on the hill-tops.”

“All right,” said Mr. Porter, “that reminds me that we had a ruddy sunset last night, and you know that ‘evening red and morning gray, sends the traveler on his way’.”

Breakfast over, the family carriage is at the door. “Now, Mary, you will take good care of everything, won’t you, while I am gone?” said Mrs. Porter.

“I will do my best.”

“I know you will, and I will bring you something real nice from the Centennial.”

“Good-bye.” 3 ■

“Good-bye.”

“Only half an hour to train time, Jim. You had better drive a little faster — and yet, as we have our tickets through to Philadelphia and have nothing to do but check our baggage, fifteen minutes is plenty for this short mile. You know as much about the old farm as I do, Jim, and you will just be David Porter while we are away.”

“Don't worry a minute about things at home.

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Trust me for that. You folks should jist have as good a time as you can ; Centennials are ruther scarce. Get up, Nelly! there's the whistle over at the nixt station."

David Porter felt a little pang of regret at leaving, even for two weeks, the farm he had inherited from his father. It had become, in truth, a part of his life. “A townsman may be born in one city, educated in a second, married in a third, and work in a fourth. His houses are but inns, which he uses and forgets; he has no roots, and is a vagrant on the face of the earth. But the countryman is born and bred, and marries, and toils, and dies on one farm, and the scene he looks at in his old age is the same he saw in his boyhood."

Besides Jim and Mary, the Porters leave behind them only Grandma Porter, who for years has been a widow, with only David, the youngest of her twelve children, left in the old farm-house. Ten noble sons and daughters have gone out, one by one, into happy homes of their own. One little lamb had been taken to the Shepherd’s bosom.

The train was on time. There were hurried partings of many fond hearts — a whistle — the wheels are moving, handkerchiefs flutter from open windows, and the long journey is begun. Three hours to Milwaukee, then two more, and Chicago is reached. Here they found they could make the best connections for the East by waiting until io o’clock at night. A policeman advised them to visit Lincoln Park, and here they spent a restful, joyous afternoon. The leaves, untouched by frost, had rounded out their brief life and delighted the eye with the colors of the rainbow, in endless variety and combination. The sportive fish, without fear of man, darted here and there in the pellucid waters. What attracted their attention most were the water-lilies, in three shades (the colors of our national emblem) — red, white and blue. In low, tender converse about loved ones, the beauty with which the Infinite Hand hath touched the earth, and kindred topics — converse such as becomes two lives that are completely harmonized in faith and love — the afternoon of a perfect autumn day is quickly passed. As the sun is setting, and the peace of twilight falls on trees and walks and shady nooks and blushing flowers, the hush reveals something unnoticed before — the sad cadence of wavelets, as with measured rhythm they break forever on the beach.

“What a priceless blessing this beautiful spot must be to thousands of aching hearts, David! and what strength and inspiration must here be given to many who are ‘weary and heavy laden’.”

“Yes, Pauline, that is true; the gems that crown the city are the parks, where the poor man can get a sight of the grass and the breath of the great lake again puts the roses on the wan cheek.”

“And David, what an antidote to atheism !”

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‘True, true, Pauline. ‘All things were made by Him, and without Him was not anything made that was made/ ”

At ten o’clock Chicago is left behind, and in the afternoon of the next day Pittsburg is passed. In the glow of twilight they sweep around the Horse-shoe Curve on the Pennsylvania R. R. “I passed by here once,” said Mr. Porter, “when the full moon was shining, and I will never forget how beautiful appeared a little lake that slept in the lap of the valley, hundreds of feet below.”

When Harrisburg was reached they decided, as Philadelphia was full of strangers, it would be wise to rest there, and complete the journey in the morning. Coming to the depot at an early hour, they noticed a crowd gather on the platform. Curiosity prompted them to ask the reason. In answer, they were told that an abandoned child had been found, without a clue to her identity. It is said that a certain kind of twig, held in expert hands, will turn toward the earth and reveal hidden springs of water ; so the sight of a helpless babe will open undiscovered fountains of mother-love in the heart of a woman.

“Husband, you know that I have long wanted to take a baby girl, and this is my chance.”

“But, wife, you couldn’t take her to Philadelphia.”

“I know that,” said she, “but for the sake of the child I will give up the Centennial.”

“But you don’t know anything about her or her parents.”

“She looks,” Mrs. Porter replied, “as if she is bright and healthy, and I don’t care anything about her ancestry. If we don’t know them, neither do they know us, and so can never interfere. Something says to me, here is a poor little birdling that has no nest, and it is my duty to nestle her in my bosom and carry her to our family tree in the West.”

“I am content,” said he; “the heart of her husband can safely trust a noble woman.”

“You go on, and I will go back,” said the wife.

“Not I,” he replied. “I would be utterly unworthy of you if I should do that. I want to share in the sacrifice, and then we can together enjoy the fruitage of this self-denial.”

So it was settled that the next train should bear them westward.

Resuming the conversation, Mr. Porter said : “Wife, your remark about this baby (I mean our daughter) being nestless reminds me of the story of Abraham Lincoln. One day the wearied President was taking a short walk in the White House grounds. His companion was both surprised and delighted to see him thrust his long arm under a bush, and tenderly lifting a frightened little bird, carefully placed it back in its nest. I thought of the story at once when I saw the baby in your arms. What shall we call this young lady?”

“Will you leave that to me and be satisfied?” said Pauline.

A Jewel Lost and Found.

“Of course I will,” replied her husband. “Upon you will fall the burden of the care, and you should have this privilege.”

“Well, this is my thought,” she answered. “It is by the favor of Heaven this sunbeam comes into our home, and so gratitude will give her the name of Grace.”

Very little of interest transpired on the homeward journey. At Chicago the following message was sent to Jim Donahue, the hired man:

“Chicago, Oct. 5th. 1876.

Meet wife, me and Miss Grace on afternoon train.

David Porter.”

CHAPTER II. A Strange Home-Coming

A babe in a house is a well spring of pleasure. — Tupper.

HEW! What does that mean?” said Jim, when he read the telegram; “and who is Miss Grace, anyway? Oi niver heard of the loikes of her before. Have Masther and Misthress gone mad to come back in foive days?” Telegrams are common property in villages, and soon everybody was wondering what brought the Porters back so soon, and who was Miss Grace? What was the rest of her name? Was she big or little, old or young? The curiosity was so great that a crowd was gathered at the depot when the train arrived. The mystery deepened as Mr. Porter stepped off the train with a baby in his arms. People were almost beside themselves to know the story of this strange home-coming. The Porters, considering this their own affair, were silent. They quickly entered their carriage and were rapidly driven home by Jim, who seemed sort of awed by the presence of Miss Grace. But, though speech failed him, for short time, he was doing a lot of thinking. As when

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the waters of a brook pile up behind a fallen tree, to break away in a torrent, so we shall soon have a flood of talk from Jim. Mary met them at the gate with open-eyed wonder.

“I promised you I would bring something home to you when we returned,” said Mrs. Pauline Porter, “and here it is.” As she spoke she turned down the veil and showed the rosy little face. “Oh!” was the only word Mary could find — it was all so sudden. When husband and wife had tenderly greeted the Grandma at the threshold, the baby was laid in her open arms, David joyfully saying, “Mother, I have the pleasure to present you our daughter. This is Miss Grace.”

“I am glad to give the little lamb a place in my heart among the score of grandchildren with which God has already blessed me.”

This was said in a quite, grateful way. The streams of love flow deep and silently in a Grandma's heart. In a few minutes, Jim, having stabled the team, comes hurrying in with his face turned into an interrogation point.

“Misthress, oi'm most dyin’ to ask about the little lady. Is it Miss Grace yez call her? Shure, that's a swate name. Could a big shpalpeen of the loikes av me be afther takin' the little angel in me lap? Shure, I never brake a babby, though oi'm so big and awkward. Ish it on the platform of a depot yez find the innocent? But wouldn't I loike to choke the cruel father and mother that could lave a rosebud loike that to be bitten by the frosts? But if she had n’t been lost she could ’nt have been found, and she never would have been our babby. Oi’m jist thinkin’ this will be a foiner place to work — though it’s never been a bad one — and even the cat and dog will be happier. Here, Tabby and Bruno, come and see the little lady!” These household pets came cautiously forward, and with a low purr and a little bark gave Grace a welcome. “Shure” (and Jim’s flood of words broke loose again), “you ’re a bit jewel that has dhropped out of somebody’s ring, and you’ll do foine to crown this childless home. If it was in the ould countree I would say you would loikely be a bud off the Royal tree. You’re swate enough to be a grandchild of Queen Victoria herself. But you take her, Misthress Porter, before she makes a fool of me.”

The next day a stream of people, rich and poor, old and young, came pouring into the home of the Porters to see Miss Grace. The telegram had fixed her name and rank. A gradual change came over the thought and life of this family. “A little child shall lead them.”

It is a day of transfiguration when God sends a child for angelic ministry into a home. A new sun shines out of a new sky on a new world. The flowers are sweeter, the grass is greener, and the bird-songs have a new note of gladness.

Mrs. Pauline Porter, the new mamma, took the

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care of the child upon herself. Recognizing the justice of it, she at once said to Mary : “This change in our life will throw more work upon you, and I will add $3.00 a month to your wages. That is only fair and right.” Mr. Porter, who frequently went to the house 01 some neighbor for an hour in the evening, now spent his time of leisure at home. He always was a man of studious habits. Now his reading turned toward sociology, and especially the rescue and care of homeless children. He became more domestic, day by day. He was a man of marked intelligence and spotless character. Something, however, was lacking, which Grace supplied. Ruggedness in character, as in rocks, is better of relief ; and the love of a child, like tufts of moss, covers it over and adds to its beauty. David Porter was always strong; to this he now 7 adds tenderness. The head once outran the heart, but now love overtakes thought ; the emotions and the intelligence come to equilibrium. Mrs. Pauline Porter had a new birth into motherhood — in a day. Her heart was at rest before her home was reached. Grace simply touched the spring, and the marvelous music that belongs to maternity began to reverberate in her heart. The harmony is there; it only w^aits for little fingers. She would have been no more truly a mother, at the end of a week, if this child had been her own flesh and blood. A great rapture came into her life. Gratitude to heaven was her daily thought. This was tempered with a fear she might prove unworthy, and her jewel be taken away. She had a new zest for prayer, and a new name ran through it like a key-note. If one word could describe her new-found life, its joy and calm, its hush and sweetness, it would be that full word, contentment.

Mary, the faithful domestic, had little to say, but evidently carried her manifold burdens with a lighter heart. On her way from room to room, apparently without plan and as if by instinct, she often happened to stop for a moment beside the cradle. It was noticed she went with a quicker step ; her toil seemed more like play than work, and she was singing almost from morn till night.

The effect produced on Grandma, by the arrival of Grace, might be likened to the influence of autumn winds and sunbeams on the apple-orchard — the fruit is ripened and mellowed. The Bible declares the profoundest philosophy in life when it is said, “There is that scattereth, and yet increaseth; and there is that withholdeth more than is meet, but it tendeth to poverty/’ She had never withheld anything from neighbors and friends. There was, as a result, no trend toward poverty in her life. On the other hand, she had always been scattering her strength, her prayers, her love, herself. The action (action and reaction are equal) had clothed her face with an attractiveness that is never found apart from a life of purity and unselfishness. Her smile was like a

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sunbeam ; benevolence seemed to lurk in the corners of her mouth, and there was a charm even in her wrinkles. No one would mistake the face of a broker for that of a benefactor. There is a marvelous contrast between the features of one who has lived for himself, and one who has lived for others. In old age we come to look what we are. As the hands of a clock indicate the action of the mainspring, so chin and mouth and nose and eyes reveal the heart-life. “May no evil fall upon this little lamb that has come into our fold,” was her daily prayer. That son of Erin known as Jim Donohue was as happy as a lark. He formerly spent his evenings in the village, and was sometimes seen in a saloon. Now he only cared to get the mail, stop a half hour in the grocery, and then go early back to the farm. He loved, betimes, to sit beside the cradle and softly sing,

“Hush, my dear, lie still and slumber,

Angels guard thy sleeping bed.”

The neighbors declared he sometimes forgot himself and sang this lullaby to the horses while plowing in the field. This was probably a slander. The typical Irishman is so abundantly able to take care of himself that people will tell any sort of a story about him.

CHAPTER III. Pauline’s Practical Joke

11 Heaven lies about us in our infancy — Wordsworth.

NE day, about a year after the baby came from far away to bless this Badger state home, Jim, who had long waited and wondered, said suddenly to Mrs. Pauline Porter : “Misthress, excuse me, but isn’t it about toime the little angel was christened? I think I would be afther feelin’ better if this were done, and as for Grace— -God bless her — there is nothing too good for her.”

“Wait a little longer, Jim”; and then aside she added, “Bless his dear heart, how he loves our child.”

When Jim was gone, Mr. Porter said, “Wife, what did you mean when you told Jim to wait a little?”

“Guess,” said she.

“How can I unlock your riddle, having not key?”

“David, what do you think our daughter will need above everything else as she grows up into girlhood and womanhood?”

“I should say the love and companionship of a brother.”

“Exactly my thought. I can see that she is growing selfish already.”

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“If Providence will send us some poor, unloved little fellow, I’ll be the happiest man in town,” he replied.

Time and again this hope was expressed by him. She marked the longing of his heart, and gradually evolved a plan to satisfy him and bring Grace what she needed most. While this plan grew into a purpose, the ice of the long winter melted before the breath of spring, and this in turn gave way to the glory of summer. Again the cycle is completed and the harvest has come. Mrs. Pauline Porter is out leading her daughter along the roadway for an airing. They meet two children, a girl and boy, on their way home from school. When they have passed, Grace, looking up in her face, said in an earnest way:

“Mamma, wy tant I ’ave a ’ittle brover dest like ’at ’ittle did?”

“You little darling, would you like one?”

“Besser ’an anysin else, Mamma.”

Again she said “wait.” But soon her purpose grew into a resolution, and in soliloquy she said, “Before the month is over I will bring joy to the hearts of husband and child. With the abundance we have, and so many little children ready to perish, it would be wrong for me to hesitate. Besides, of all hunger, that of the heart is the deepest. It is both a privilege and a duty. I will go.” A few days later she announced that she was going to the city to get a few little things they needed. The language was carefully chosen. David failed to catch her meaning then; later, memory brought the words back to him. September 28th, 1878, finds Pauline Porter in a hospital. After looking along the whole row of little beds, she selected a little boy only three days old, saying : “Pll take this one because he is the most helpless.”

“You are a wise little woman,” replied the matron, “for love groweth out of helplessness.’

Later, when on her way to the depot, a sudden fear arose. “This child is so little, maybe David won’t let me keep him. Whatever shall I do then?” Presently she formed a new resolve. ‘Til go the other way,” and calling to the driver of the hack, she said, “Take me to the other depot.” The middle of the afternoon, September 29th, found her three miles from home at the house of a dear friend. Her story is quickly told ; then she added, “I am glad I came this way. Somebody would have known me on the other line, but coming this way my secret is safe. I have planned this thing, and it will come out all right if you will help. I will go around by the train, and then you and your husband drive across. Start a little after ten; that will bring you to our house about eleven. Put baby in a basket. Have him leave you with the horse down the road out of sight. Let him set the basket on the doorstep of the sitting room, ring the bell (I will sleep with one eye open), and then leave as fast and quietly as he can.”

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“All right, it shall be as you say,” said her friend.

“A little after ten the lights are all out, and all — save one — are fast asleep in the farmhouse. Another hour passes. Clang ! it is the signal.

“David, David, hurry and go downstairs, somebody has rung the bell !”

Five minutes later a voice calls up the stairs:

“Wife, come down quick, here is a little boy in a basket !”

When she reaches his side she finds that the fear that filled her heart has gone over into his. Looking into her face he says, in a pleading way, “Wifey, we will keep the little fellow, won’t we?”

She readily assents.

Then he says, reverently, “There was a man sent from God whose name was John. Shall we call this little man John, too; he seems to have come from heaven?”

“If you wish,” said she.

Thej sat watching the two children almost until the break of day. After hearing him express his wonder half a dozen times, as to who had brought the basket, she concluded it was safe, and made a full confession.

CHAPTER IV. How to Become a Millionaire

Ood sends children to enlarge our hearts , and make us unselfish: to give our souls higher aims : to bring round our firesides bright faces, happy smiles and loving tender hearts. My soul blesses the great Father every day that He has gladdened the earth with little children . — Mary Howitt.

O you are the Providence of the family,” said David to his wife, “and this is one of the little things you said the family needed.”

“You are right; he is little, only four days old, and we needed him. I have an instictive feeling we shall be proud of him some day, and you have heard that a ‘woman’s instinct is better than man’s reason.’ We will need him to manage the farm when we are old. Grace will need his manly strength, while she will bless him in return with womanly tenderness. And then, who knows but he may be needed to defend our country’s flag?”

“Did you get any other little things for the family?” said he.

“Why, yes, some little dresses and shoes and a set of blocks and a little express wagon, and — but husband, I can’t bear to have you feel unkind toward me. Your tone and manner suggest you are offended.

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I would rather take John back than feel you are angry because I brought him.”

“No, wife, I was just getting even with you. You played a practical joke on me when you sent me to get the basket. Now I was having a little fun with you. I am glad the lad is here, and nothing but death shall take him away.”

As the farm-house was large and the sleeping rooms widely separated, the rest of the family were undisturbed by this midnight episode.

The morning was one never to be forgotten. Mary threw up her hands and exclaimed, “You will have to carry that boy on a pillow. Seems to me I never saw such a little fellow!” Grandma just opened her heart a little wider, as quietly as open the gates of dawn. As the traveler wanders among the ruins of some old castle of the middle ages, the guide will ever and anon touch some secret spring, and another room, as if by magic, will open before him. So there seem to be many hidden rooms in the heart of a loving grandma, that will quickly open at the touch of a little child.

“Pauline, do you know anything about his parents?” said grandma.

“Not very much, mother, only that he is healthy in mind and body, and that is all I care about. If our home is what it ought to be, he will grow up to be a good, intelligent member of society. I agree pretty well with our doctor, I think, who says that

'every baby is born with a heathen soul which the home must convert.' If he only goes the right way under our influence, that is enough."

“That reminds me," said grandma, “of the story of Philip Henry, the father of Mathew Henry, the commentator. He won the heart of a nobleman’s daughter. Her parents objected to their marriage, saying, 'Where did this young man come from? T don’t care where he came from,’ said she, ‘I know where he is going, and I want to go with him.’ "

“Right, grandma, the ‘going’ is of vastly more consequence than the ‘coming,’ the training than the heredity, the destiny than the origin."

“A child, without doubt, inherits physical strength or weakness, but the mind is just about what we make it by the quickening contact with other minds. As for the highest character, that is built up like a granite building — stone on stone, chiseled by the hands and cemented by the hearts of parents. In doing this, tenderness is more needed than strength, and so the principal part of character-building falls to the lot of the mother."

“God grant I may be able to build as wisely as you have, grandma, and that my children, like yours, ‘may arise and call me blessed.’ "

The face of little Grace was a study. She watched him very quietly at first. It seemed as if she hardly dared to breathe lest he might vanish from sight.

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‘27

Or, were the “Angels of the little children" whispering to her, and she bound by their spell? When she caught sight of his little feet (what is so cute as a baby’s wriggling toes, anyway?) she clapped her hands with delight, exclaiming, “Mamma, ’des ’ook! how ’ed and how ’ittle.” Then, summoning all her courage, she timidly touched them one after another, saying,

“ ’Is ittle pid went to martet,

’Is un taid at ’ome,

’Is un had bed and butte’

An is un had none