Mrs. Halliburton's Troubles

CHAPTER XIV.

A CHRISTMAS DREAM

Winter had come to Helstonleigh: frost hovered in the air and rested on the ground. How was Mr. Halliburton? He had never once been out since his illness, and he sat by the fire when he did not lie in bed, and his cough was racking him. He might, and probably would, have recovered health under more favourable auspices, but anxiety of mind was killing him. Their money was dwindling to a close, and delicacies they dared not get for him. Mr. Halliburton would say he did not require them; could not eat them if they were procured. Poor man! he craved for them in his inmost heart. Strange to say, he did not see his own danger. Or, rather, it would have been strange but that similar cases are met with every day. "When this cold weather has passed, and spring is in, then I shall get up my strength," was his constant cry. "Then I shall set about my work in earnest, and make my arrival and my plans known to Peach. It has been of no use troubling him beforehand." False, false hopes! fond, delusive hopes!

Dr. Carrington had said that if he took care of himself, he might live and be well. The other doctors had said the same. And there was no reason to doubt their judgment. But they had not bargained for an attack of rheumatic fever, or for the increased injury to the lungs which the same cause, that past soaking, had induced.

On Christmas Eve, he and Jane were sitting over the fire in the twilight. He could come downstairs now; indeed, he did not appear to be so ill as he really was. The surgeon who attended him in the fever had been discharged long ago. "There's nothing the matter with me now but debility; and, only time will bring me out of that," Mr. Halliburton said, when he dismissed him. Jane was hopeful; more hopeful by fits and starts than continuously so; but she did really believe he might get well when winter had passed. They were sitting beside the fire, when a great bustle interrupted them. All the children trooped in at once, with the noise it is the delight of children not to stir without. Frank, who had been out, had entered the house with his arms full of holly and ivy, his bright face glowing with excitement. The others were attending him to show off the prize.

"Look at all this Christmas, mamma!" cried he. "I have bought it."

"Bought it?" repeated Jane. "My dear Frank, did I not tell you we must do without Christmas this year?"

"But it cost nothing, mamma. Only a penny!"

Jane sighed. She did not say to the children that even a penny was no longer "nothing."

"You know that penny I have kept in my pocket a long while," went on Frank in excitement, addressing the assemblage. "Well, I thought if mamma would not buy some Christmas, I would."

"But you did not buy all that for a penny, Frank? We should pay sixpence for it in London."

"I did, though, mamma. I had it of that old man who lives in the cottage higher up the road, with the big garden to it. He was going to cut me more, but I told him this was plenty. You should have seen the heaps he gave a woman for twopence: she wanted a wheelbarrow to carry it away."

Janey clapped her hands, and began to dance. "I shall help you to dress the rooms! We must have a merry Christmas!"

Mr. Halliburton drew her to him. "Yes, we must have a merry Christmas, must we not, Janey? Jane"—turning to his wife—"can you manage to have a nice dinner for us? Christmas only comes once a year."

He looked up with his haggard face: very much as though he were longing for a nice dinner then.

"I will see what I can do," said Jane in reply, smothering down another sigh. "I am going out presently to the butcher's. A joint of beef will be best; and though the pudding's a plain one, I hope it will be good. Yes, we must keep Christmas."

Christmas-day dawned, and in due time they assembled as usual. Jane intended to go to church that day. During her husband's illness she had been obliged to send the children alone. They had been trained to know what church meant, and did not require some one with them to keep them in order there. A good thing if the same could be said of all children!

It was a clear, bright morning, cold and frosty. Mr. Halliburton came down just as they were starting.

"I feel so much better to-day!" he exclaimed. "I could almost go with you myself. Jane"—smiling at her look of consternation—"you need not be startled: I do not intend to attempt it. William, you are not ready."

"Mamma said I was to stay with you, papa."

"Stay with me! There's not the least necessity for that. I tell you all I am feeling better to-day—quite well. You can go with the rest, William."

William looked at his mother, and for a moment Jane hesitated. Only for a moment. "I would rather he remained, Edgar," she said. "Betsy will be gone by twelve o'clock. Indeed, I should not feel comfortable at the thought of your being alone."

"Oh, very well," replied Mr. Halliburton, quite gaily. "I suppose you must remain, William, or we shall have mamma leaving when the service is only half over to see whether I have not fallen into the fire."

Jane had all the household care upon her shoulders now, and a great portion of the household work. Though an active domestic manager, she had known nothing practically of the more menial work of a house; she knew it only too well now. The old saying is a very true one: "Necessity makes us acquainted with strange bedfellows." This young girl, Betsy, who came in part of each day to assist, was almost as much trouble as profit. She had said to Jane on Christmas Eve: "If you please, mother says I am to be at home to-morrow, if it's convenient." I am! However, Jane and the young lady came to a compromise. She was to go home at twelve and come back later to wash up the dishes. Of course it entailed upon Jane all the trouble of preparing dinner.

Have you ever known one of these cases yourself? Where a lady—a lady, mind you, as Jane was—has had to put aside her habits of refinement, pin up her gown, and turn to and cook; roast the meat and boil potatoes, and all the ether essential items? Many a one is doing it now in real life. Jane Halliburton was not a solitary example. The pudding had been made the day before and partly boiled: it was now on the fire, boiling again, and the rest of the dinner she would do on her return from church.

It was something wonderful, the improvement in Mr. Halliburton's health that day. He took his part with William in reading the psalms and lessons while the rest were at church: it was what he had been unable to do for a long time in consequence of his cough and laboured breathing. The duty over, he lay back in his chair; in thought apparently, not exhaustion.

"Peace on earth, and good will towards men!" he repeated presently, in a fervent, but somewhat absent tone. "William, my boy, I think peace must be coming to me at last. I do feel so well."

"What peace, papa?" asked William, puzzled.

"The peace of renewed health, of hope; freedom from worry. The Christmas season and the bright day have taken away all my despondency. Let me go on like this, and in another month I shall be out and at work."

William's eyes sparkled. He fully believed it all. Boys are sanguine.

They were to dine at three o'clock, and Jane did her best to prepare it. During the process, Patience appeared at the back door with a plate of oranges. "Will thee accept of these for thy children?" asked she.

"How kind you are!" exclaimed Jane, in a grateful impulse, as she thought of her children. Of such little treats they had latterly enjoyed a scanty share. "Patience, I hope you did not buy them purposely?"

"Had I had to buy them, thee would not have seen them," returned the candid Quakeress. "A friend of Samuel Lynn's, who lives at Bristol, sends us a small case every winter. When I was unpacking it this morning I said to him, 'The young ones at the next door would be pleased with a few of these'; but he did not answer. Thee must not think him selfish; he is not a selfish man; but he cannot bear to see anything go beside the child. Anna looked at him eagerly; she would have been pleased to send half the box: and he saw it. 'Take in a few, Patience,' he cried."

"I am much obliged to him, and to you also," repeated Jane. "Patience, Mr. Halliburton is so much better to-day! Go in, and see him."

Patience went into the parlour, carrying the oranges with her. When she came out again there was a grave expression on her serene face.

"Thee will do well not to count upon this apparent improvement in thy husband."

Jane's heart went down considerably. "I do not exactly count upon it, Patience," she confessed; "but he does seem to have changed so much for the better that I feel in greater spirits than I have felt this many a day. His cough seems almost well."

"I do not wish to throw a damp upon thee; still, were I thee, I would not reckon upon it. These sudden improvements sometimes turn out to have been deceitful. Fare thee well!"

Jane went into the parlour. The children were gathered round the plate of oranges. "Mamma, do look!" cried Janey. "Are they not good? There are six: one apiece for us all. I wonder if papa could eat one? Gar, you are not to touch. Papa, could you eat an orange?"

Unseen by the children, Mr. Halliburton had been straining his eager gaze upon the oranges. His mouth parched with inward fever, his throat dry, they appeared, coming thus unexpectedly before him, what the long-wished-for spring of water is to the fainting traveller in the desert. Jane caught the look, and handed the plate to him. "You would like one, Edgar?"

"I am thirsty," he said, in tones savouring of apology, for the oranges seemed to belong to the children rather than to him. "I think I must eat mine before dinner. Cut it into four, will you?"

He took up one of the quarters. "It is delicious!" he exclaimed. "It is so refreshing!"

The children stood around and watched him. They enjoyed oranges, but scarcely with a zest so intense as that.

When Jane returned to the kitchen, she found a helpmate. The maid from next door, Grace, a young Quakeress, fair and demure, was standing there. She had been sent by Patience to do what she could for half an hour. "How considerate she is!" thought grateful Jane.

They dined in comfort, Grace waiting on them. Afterwards the oranges were placed upon the table. Master Gar caught up the plate, and presented it to his mother. "Papa has had his," quoth he.

"Not for me, Gar," said Jane. "I do not eat oranges. I will give mine to papa."

The three younger children speedily attacked theirs. William did not. He left his by the side of the one rejected by his mother, and set the plate by Mr. Halliburton.

"Do you intend these for me, William?"

"Yes, papa."

Frank looked surprised. "William, you don't mean to say you are not going to eat your orange? Why, you were as glad as any of us when they came."

"I eat oranges when I want them," observed William, with an affectation of carelessness, which betrayed a delicacy of feeling that might have done honour to one older than he. "I have had too good a dinner to care about oranges."

Mr. Halliburton drew William towards him, and looked steadfastly into his face with a meaning smile. "Thank you, my darling," he whispered: and William coloured excessively as he sat down.

Mr. Halliburton ate the oranges, and appeared as if he could have eaten as many more. Then he leaned his head back on the pillow which was placed over his chair, and presently fell asleep.

"Be very still, dear children," whispered Jane.

They looked round, saw why they were to be still, and hushed their busy voices. William pulled a stool to his mother's feet, and took his seat on it, holding her hand between his.

"Papa will soon be well again now," he softly said. "Don't you think so, mamma?"

"Indeed I hope he will," she answered.

"But don't you think it?" he persisted; and Jane detected an anxiety in his tone. Could there have been a shadow of fear upon the boy's own heart? "He said mamma, whilst you were at church, that in another month he should be strong again."

"Not quite so soon as that, I fear, William. He has been so much reduced, you know. Later: if he goes on as well as he appears to be going on now."

Jane set the children to that renowned game. "Cross questions and crooked answers." You may have had the pleasure of playing it: if so, you will remember that it consists chiefly of whispering. It is difficult to keep children quiet long together.

"Where am I?" cried a sudden voice, startling the children in the midst of their silent whispers.

It came from Mr. Halliburton. He had slept about half an hour, and was now looking round in bewilderment, his head starting away from the pillow. "Where am I?" he repeated.

"You have been asleep, papa," cried Frank.

"Asleep! Oh, yes! I remember. You are all here, and it is Christmas Day. I have been dreaming."

"What about, papa?"

Mr. Halliburton let his head fall back on the pillow again. He fixed his eyes on vacancy, and there ensued a silence. The children looked at him.

"Singular things are dreams," he presently exclaimed. "I thought I was on a broad, wide road—an immense road, and it was crowded with people. We were all going one way, stumbling and tripping along–"

"What made you stumble, papa?" interrupted Janey, whose busy tongue was ever ready to talk.

"The road was full of impediments," continued Mr. Halliburton, in a dreamy tone, as if his mental vision were buried in the scene and he was relating what had actually occurred. "Stones, and hillocks, and brambles, and pools of shallow water, and long grass that got entangled round our feet: nothing but difficulties and hindrances. At the end, in the horizon, as far as the eye could reach—very, very far away indeed—a hundred times as far away as the Malvern Hills appear to be from us—there shone a brilliant light. So brilliant! You have never seen anything like it in life, for the naked eye could not bear such light. And yet we seemed to look at it, and our sight was not dazzled!"

"Perhaps it was fireworks?" interrupted Gar. Mr. Halliburton went on without heeding him.

"We were all pressing on to get to the light, though the distant journey seemed as if it could never end. So long as we kept our eyes fixed on the light, we could see how we walked, and we passed over the rough places without fear. Not without difficulty. But still we did pass them, and advanced. But the moment we took our eyes from the light, then we were stopped; some fell; some wandered aside, and would not try to go forward; some were torn by the brambles; some fell into the water; some stuck in the mud; in short, they could not get on any way. And yet they knew—at least, it seemed that they knew—that if they would only lift their eyes to the light, and keep them steadfastly on it, they were certain to be helped, and to make progress. The few who did keep their eyes on it—very few they were!—steadily bore onwards. The same hindrances, the same difficulties were in their path, so that at times they also felt tempted to despair—to fear they could not get on. But their fears were groundless. So long as they did not take their eyes from the light, it guided them in certainty and safety over the rough places. It was a helper that could not fail; and it was ready to guide every one—all those millions and millions of travellers. To guide them throughout the whole of the way until they had gained it."

The children had become interested and were listening with hushed lips. "Why did they not all let it guide them?" breathlessly asked William. "Nothing can be more easy than to keep our eyes on a light that does not dazzle. What did you do, papa?"

"It seemed that the light would only shine on one step at a time," continued Mr. Halliburton, not in answer to William, but evidently absorbed in his own thoughts. "We could not see further than the one step, but that was sufficient; for the moment we had taken it, then the light shone upon another. And so we passed on, progressing to the end, the light seeming brighter and brighter as we drew near to it."

"Did you get to it, papa?"

"I am trying to recollect, William. I seemed to be quite close to it. I suppose I awoke then."