The Children of the New Forest, Frederick Marryat [best non fiction books of all time .TXT] 📗

attended as mine has been, and may you live happily, and die the death of a Christian! Good-by, and may God bless you. Bless you, Edith; may you grow up as good and as innocent as you are now. Farewell, Humphrey—farewell, Edward—my eyes are dim—pray for me, children. O God of mercy, pardon my many sins, and receive my soul, through Jesus Christ. Amen, Amen.”

These were the last words spoken by the old forester. The children, who were kneeling by the side of the bed, praying as he had requested, when they rose up, found that he was dead. They all wept bitterly, for they dearly loved the good old man. Alice remained sobbing in Edward’s arms, and Edith in Humphrey’s, and it was long before the brothers could console them. Humphrey at last said to Alice, “You hurt poor Edward’s arm—you don’t know how painful it is! Come, dears, let us go into the other room, and get something to take the pain away.”

These requests diverted the attention, at the same time that it roused fresh sympathy in the little girls—they all went into the sitting-room. Humphrey gave his sisters some potatoes to scrape upon a piece of linen, while he took off Edward’s coat, and turned up his shirt sleeves. The scraped potatoes were then laid on the burn, and Edward said they gave him great relief. Some more were then scraped by the little girls, who could not, however, repress their occasional sobs. Humphrey then told them that Edward had had nothing to eat, and that they must get him some supper. This again occupied them for some time; and when the supper was ready, they all sat down to it. They went to bed early, but not before Edward had read a chapter out of the Bible, and the prayers, as old Jacob had always done; and this again caused their tears to flow afresh.

“Come, Alice, dear, you and Edith must go to bed,” said Humphrey.

The little girls threw themselves into their brothers’ arms; and having wept for some time, Alice reused herself, and taking Edith by the hand, led her away to her bedroom.

 

CHAPTER X.

 

“Humphrey,” said Edward, “the sooner all this is over the better. As long as poor Jacob’s body remains in the cottage there will be nothing but distress with the poor girls.”

“I agree with you,” replied Humphrey; “where shall we bury him?”

“Under the great oak-tree, at the back of the cottage,” replied Edward. “One day the old man said to me, that he should like to be buried under one of the oaks of the forest.”

“Well then, I will go and dig his grave tonight,” replied Humphrey; “the moon is bright, and I shall have it finished before morning.”

“I am sorry that I can not help you, Humphrey.”

“I am sorry that you are hurt; but I want no help, Edward. If you will lie down a little, perhaps you will be able to sleep. Let us change the potato poultice before you go on.”

Humphrey put the fresh dressing on Edward’s arm; and Edward, who was very much exhausted, lay down in his clothes on the bed. Humphrey went out, and having found his tools, set to his task—he worked hard, and, before morning, had finished. He then went in, and took his place on the bed, by the side of Edward, who was in a sound sleep. At daylight Humphrey rose, and waked Edward. “All is ready, Edward; but I fear you must help me to put poor Jacob in the cart: do you think you can?”

“Oh, yes; my arm is much easier, and I feel very different from what I did last night. If you will go and get the cart, I will see what I can do in the mean time.”

When Humphrey returned, he found Edward had selected a sheet to wind the body in, but could not do more till Humphrey came to help him. They then wrapped it round the body, and earned it out of the cottage, and put it into the cart.

“Now, Edward, shall we call our sisters?”

“No, not yet; let us have the body laid in the grave first, and then we will call them.”

They dragged the body on the cart to the grave, and laid it in it, and then returned back and put the pony in the stable again.

“Are there not prayers proper for reading over the dead?” said Humphrey.

“I believe that there are, but they are not in the Bible, so we must read some portion of the Bible,” said Edward.

“Yes, I think there is one of the Psalms which it would be right to read, Edward,” said Humphrey, turning over the leaves; “here it is, the ninetieth, in which you recollect it says, ‘that the days of man are threescore years and ten.’”

“Yes,” replied Edward, “and we will read this one also, the 146th.”

“Are our sisters risen, do you think?”

“I am sure that they are,” replied Humphrey, “and I will go to them.”

Humphrey went to the door, and said, “Alice—Alice and Edith—come out immediately.” They were both ready dressed.

Edward took the Bible under his arm, and Alice by the hand. Humphrey led Edith until they arrived at the grave, when the two little girls saw the covered body of Jacob lying in it.

“Kneel down,” said Edward, opening the Bible. And they all knelt down by the grave. Edward read the two Psalms, and then closed the book. The little girls took one last look at the body, and then turned away weeping to the cottage. Edward and Humphrey filled up the grave, and then followed their sisters home.

“I’m glad it’s over,” said Humphrey, wiping his eyes. “Poor old Jacob! I’ll put a paling round his grave.”

“Come in, Humphrey,” said Edward.

Edward sat down upon old Jacob’s chair, and took Alice and Edith to him. Putting his arm round each, he said—

“Alice and Edith, my dear little sisters, we have lost a good friend, and one to whose memory we can not be too grateful. He saved us from perishing in the flames which burned down our father’s house, and has protected us here ever since. He is gone, for it has pleased God to summon him to him, and we must bow to the will of Heaven; and here we are, brother and sisters, orphans, and with no one to look to for protection but Heaven. Here we are away from the rest of the world, living for one another. What, then, must we do? We must love one another dearly, and help one another. I will do my part, if my life is spared, and so will Humphrey, and so will you my dear sisters. I can answer for all. Now it is no use to lament—we must all work, and work cheerfully; and we will pray every morning and every night that God will bless our endeavors and enable us to provide for ourselves, and live here in peace and safety. Kiss me, dear Alice and Edith, and kiss Humphrey, and kiss one another. Let these kisses be the seals to our bond; and let us put our trust in Him who only is a father to the widow and the orphan. And now let us pray.”

Edward and the children repeated the Lord’s Prayer, and then rose up. They went to their respective employments, and the labor of the day soon made them composed, although then, for many days afterward, it was but occasionally that a smile was seen upon their lips.

Thus passed a week, by which time Edward’s arm was so far well that it gave him no pain, and he was able to assist Humphrey in the work on the farm. The snow had disappeared, and the spring, although it had been checked for a time, now made rapid advances. Constant occupation, and the return of fine weather, both had the effect of returning the serenity of their minds; and while Humphrey was preparing the paling to fix round the grave of old Jacob, Alice and Edith collected the wild violets which now peeped forth on sheltered spots, and planted the roots over the grave. Edward also procured all the early flowers he could collect, and assisted his sisters in their task; and thus, in planting it, and putting up the paling, the grave of the old man became the constant work-ground; and when their labor was done, they would still remain there and talk over his worth. The Sunday following the burial, the weather being fine and warm, Edward proposed that they should read the usual service, which had been selected by old Jacob, at the grave, and not in the cottage, as formerly; and this they continued afterward to do, whenever the weather would permit: thus did old Jacob’s resting-place become their church, and overpower them with those feelings of love and devotion which gave efficacy to prayer. As soon as the paling was finished, Humphrey put up a board against the oak-tree, with the simple words carved on it, “Jacob Armitage.”

Edward had, every day, expected that Oswald Partridge would have called upon him, as he had promised to do, before the week was out; but Oswald had not made his appearance, much to Edward’s surprise. A month passed away; Edward’s arm was now quite well, and still Oswald came not. One morning, Humphrey and Edward were conversing upon many points—the principal of which was upon Edward going to Lymington, for they were now in want of flour and meal, when Edward thought of what old Jacob had told him relative to the money that he would find in his chest. He went into Jacob’s room and opened the chest, at the bottom of which, under the clothes, he found a leather bag, which he brought out to Humphrey; on opening it, they were much surprised to find in it more than sixty gold pieces, besides a great deal of silver coin.

“Surely this is a great sum of money,” observed Humphrey. “I don’t know what is the price of things; but it appears to me, that it ought to last us a long while.”

“I think so too,” replied Edward. “I wish Oswald Partridge would come, for I want to ask him many questions. I don’t know the price of flour, or anything else we have to purchase, nor do I know what I ought to be paid for venison. I don’t like to go to Lymington till I see him for that reason. If he does not come soon, I shall ride over and see what is the matter.”

Edward then replaced the money in the chest, and he and Humphrey then went out to the farmyard to go on with their work.

It was not until six weeks after the death of old Jacob that Oswald Partridge made his appearance.

“How is the old man, sir?” was his first question.

“He was buried a few days after you left,” replied Edward.

“I expected as much,” said the forester. “Peace be with him—he was a good man. And how is your arm?”

“Nearly well,” replied Edward. “Now sit down, Oswald, for I have a great deal to say to you; and first, let me ask you what has detained you from coming here according to your promise?”

“Simply, and in few words—murder.”

“Murder!” exclaimed Edward.

“Yes, deliberate murder, sir; in short, they have beheaded King Charles, our sovereign.”

“Have they dared to do it?”

“They have,” replied Oswald. “We in the forest know little that is going on; but when I saw you last, I heard that he was then in London, and was to be tried.”

“Tried!” exclaimed Edward. “How could they try a king? by the laws of our country, a man must be tried by his