Shifting Winds: A Tough Yarn by R. M. Ballantyne (learn to read activity book .txt) 📕
Read free book «Shifting Winds: A Tough Yarn by R. M. Ballantyne (learn to read activity book .txt) 📕» - read online or download for free at americanlibrarybooks.com
- Author: R. M. Ballantyne
Read book online «Shifting Winds: A Tough Yarn by R. M. Ballantyne (learn to read activity book .txt) 📕». Author - R. M. Ballantyne
“That’s a sad business,” said Gildart; “but I don’t see how it can be mended. I fear me it is a case of ‘grin and bear it.’ And your aunt, Miss Puff, what of the adorable Miss Flouncer?”
“She is now Lady Doles.”
“You don’t say so! Well, I had given Sir Richard credit for more sense. How long is it since they married?”
“About two years.”
“Is Sir Richard dead?”
“No, why should you think so?”
“Because if it had been me, I should have succumbed in three months. It’s an awful thing to think of being married to a she-griffin.”
“She is my aunt, Mr Bingley,” said Miss Puff.
“Ah, to be sure, forgive me. But now I must go and search for my father. Adieu. Miss Puff—au revoir.”
Gildart left the room with a strange sensation of emptiness in his breast.
“Why, surely—it cannot be that I—I—am in love with that girl, that stupid, fat—but she’s not stupid and not fat now. She’s graceful and intelligent and pretty—absolutely beautiful; why, botheration, I am in love or insane, perhaps both!”
Thus soliloquising my son entered my study.
The last conversation that I shall record, took place between Mr Stuart senior and Colonel Crusty. It occurred about two weeks after those conversations that have just been narrated. The colonel had been suddenly summoned to see his brother-in-law, “on his death-bed,”—so the epistle that summoned him had been worded by Miss Peppy.
That dinner at which these two friends had enjoyed themselves so much happened to disagree with Mr George Stuart, insomuch that he was thrown into a bilious fever—turned as yellow as a guinea and as thin as a skeleton. He grew worse and worse. Wealth was at his command—so was everything that wealth can purchase; but although wealth procured the best of doctors in any number that the patient chose to order them, it could not purchase health. So Mr Stuart pined away. The doctors shook their heads and gave him up, recommending him to send for his clergyman.
Mr Stuart scorned the recommendation at first; but as he grew worse he became filled with an undefinable dread, and at last did send for his pastor. As a big cowardly boy at school tyrannises over little boys and scoffs at fear until a bigger than he comes and causes his cheek to blanch, so Mr Stuart bullied and scorned the small troubles of life, and scoffed at the anxieties of religious folk until death came and shook his fist in his face; then he succumbed and trembled, and confessed himself, (to himself), to be a coward. One result of the clergyman’s visit was that Mr Stuart sent for Colonel Crusty.
“My dear Stuart,” said the colonel, entering the sick man’s room and gently taking his wasted hand which lay outside the counterpane, “I am distressed to find you so ill; bless me, how thin you are! But don’t lose heart. I am quite sure you have no reason to despond. A man with a constitution like yours can pull through a worse illness than this. Come, cheer up and look at the bright side of things. I have seen men in hospital ten times worse than you are, and get better.”
Mr Stuart shook, or rather rolled, his head slowly on the pillow, and said in a weak voice—
“No, colonel, I am dying—at least the doctors say so, and I think they are right.”
“Nonsense, my dear fellow,” returned the colonel kindly, “doctors are often mistaken, and many a man recovers after they have given him up.”
“Well, that may be or it may not be,” said Mr Stuart with a sudden access of energy, “nevertheless I believe that I am a dying man, and I have sent for you on purpose to tell you that I am an ass—a consummate ass.”
“My dear Stuart,” remonstrated the colonel, “really, you are taking a very warped view of—”
“I—am—an—ass,” repeated the sick man, interrupting his friend; “more than that, you are an ass too, colonel.”
The colonel was a very pompous and stately man. He had not been honoured with his true title since he left school, and was therefore a good deal taken aback by the plain-speaking of his friend. He attributed the words, however, to the weak condition of Mr Stuart’s mind, and attempted to quiet him, but he would not be quieted.
“No, no, colonel; it’s of no use trying to shut our eyes to the fact. You and I have set our hearts on the things of this world, and I have now come to see that the man who does that is a fool.”
“My dear fellow,” said the colonel soothingly, “it is bodily weakness that induces you to think so. Most people speak thus when they are seriously ill; but they invariably change their opinion when they get well again.”
“You are wrong, colonel. I am now convinced that they do not change their opinions. They may change their wills, but their opinions must remain the same. The conclusion which I have now come to has been forced upon me by cool, logical reasoning; and, moreover, it has more than once flashed upon me in the course of my life, but I shut my eyes to it. The approach of death has only opened them to see very clearly what I was more than half aware of before. Do not suppose that I make this confession of my folly to you in order to propitiate the Deity. I do not for a moment expect that the God whom I have neglected all my life can be humbugged in this way. No, I have deliberately cast Him off in time past, and I recognise it as my due that He should cast me off now. It is too late to repent, so I suppose that there is no hope for me.”
Mr Stuart paused here a few minutes. The shade of doubt expressed in his last words was occasioned by the recollection of the clergyman’s assurance that it was never too late to repent; that the finished work of Jesus Christ, (which leaves nothing for a man to do but to “believe and live”), would avail the sinner at the latest hour.
The colonel sat gazing at his friend in silence. Presently the sick man resumed as though he had not paused:—
“Therefore what I say to you now is not intended as a propitiatory offering, but is the result of clear and calm conviction. Now listen to me, for I feel getting weak. Let me entreat you to forgive your daughter. Will you take that entreaty into earnest consideration? I do not ask you to promise. It is folly to make men promise what they don’t want to do. The chances are that they’ll break the promise. I only ask you to take this subject into your serious consideration. It is the request of a dying man. Will you grant it?”
The colonel coughed, and looked troubled.
“Colonel,” said Mr Stuart, “I have forgiven Kenneth—that is to say, we are reconciled; for I can scarcely be said to forgive one who never offended me. The gladness that has ensued on that reconciliation is worth more to me than all the gold I ever made.”
“Stuart,” said the colonel, somewhat suddenly, “I’ll do what you ask.”
“Thank you; you’re a good fellow. Squeeze my hand—there now, go away; I’ll sleep for a little. Stay, perhaps, I may never waken; if so, farewell. You’ll find a fire in the library if you choose to wait till it’s over. God bless you.”
The sick man turned on his side with a sigh, and fell into a sleep so deep and quiet that the colonel left the room with some uncertainty as to whether his friend were still in the land of the living.
Note 1. If the reader would see a somewhat similar kitchen, let him visit the Sailors’ Home, Well Street, London Docks.
Gladness is a source of life. It is probable that the joy which filled Mr Stuart’s heart, in consequence of being reconciled to Kenneth, and having induced his brother-in-law to promise to consider the possibility of forgiving Bella, was the cause of a favourable turn in his malady. At all events he did recover, to the surprise of every one, and the utter discomfiture of the doctors who had given him up!
The sentiments which Mr Stuart had expressed when, as was supposed, in a dying state, did not forsake him when he was restored to health, for, whereas in former days all his time, health, and wealth, were dedicated to himself, now they were all devoted to God. Mr Stuart’s face, so to speak, had been turned south before his illness; after his illness it was turned north. There was no other change than this. He did not change his nature, nor did he change his pursuits. Even those of them which were sinful were not changed—they were given up. He did not cease to be an irascible man, but he fought against his temper, (which he had never done before), and so became less irascible. He did not give up his profession, but he gave up the evils which he had before permitted to cling to it. He did not cease to make money, but he ceased to hoard it, and devoted the money made to higher ends than heretofore. He did not think of the world and its affairs less, but he thought of his Maker more, and in so doing became a better man of the world than ever! Gloom and asceticism began to forsake him, because the Bible told him to “rejoice evermore.” Philanthropy began to grow, because the Bible told him to “look not upon his own things, but upon the things of others.” He had always been an energetic man, but he became more so now, because the Bible told him that “whatever his hand found to do, he ought to do it with his might.”
In short, Mr Stuart became a converted man, and there was no mystery whatever in his conversion. Great though its effects were, it was simply this,—that the Holy Spirit had enabled him to believe on the Lord Jesus Christ.
Many results followed from this change in the old man. One of the first was that Kenneth and Lizzie Gordon were married, Bucephalus was not sold, and Dan Horsey was retained in the service of his young master.
Miss Peppy came out very strong on that occasion of Kenneth’s marriage. She laughed, and then she wept, and then, by way of variety, she did both at once. She kissed everybody that came within arm’s-length of her, partly because her heart was very full, partly because her tears blinded her, so that she could not easily distinguish who was who. She made an effort once or twice to skip, and really, considering her age and infirmities, the efforts were wonderfully successful. She also sang a little; attempted to whistle, but failed, and talked straight on for several days without cessation, (except when asleep and at meals), the most extraordinary amount of nonsense that ever came from the lips of woman.
True to their resolve, Dan Horsey and Susan Barepoles were married at the end of the same week. And it is worthy of remark that mad Haco danced at their wedding, and by so doing, shook to its foundation the building in which it occurred.
Strange to say, my son, Lieutenant Bingley, arrived from China on the morning of the wedding, so that he had the unexpected pleasure of dancing at it too, and of chaffing Haco on being “done out of his daughter!”
The “Boodwar” was the scene of the festivities at Dan’s wedding. It was more; it was also the locality in which the honeymoon was spent. Mrs Gaff had insisted on taking a little jaunt to Ramsgate, with her husband, son, and daughter, in order that she might give up her abode to Dan and Susan, who were favourites
Comments (0)