THE TWINS' DARK BIRTHDAY.
By Ella A. Drinkwater
Ella A. Drinkwater, in Christian Union. “Now you are sorry, Oliver, that you wished General Gates had General Washington’s command,” said Paul, reproachfully. “Well, some folks did think so,” excused Oliver. “That Burgoyne’s surrender was a big thing for him; but I guess that General Washington will do just about right, after all.” “I should think he would,” cried Paul. “He is the greatest man and the best that ever lived.” “Excepting our father,” corrected Patience, who thought that she would have been a British subject long before this if her father had not fought so well. “Well, well, I’ll go and look after the cattle,” said Oliver, rising to light the lantern. “You’ll not expect a man to plow on such a day as this, marm?” “Certainly not,” replied the mother; “do whatever you like. I think you will feel happier to be employed, and you will not have time for evil forebodings. When the Lord comes, I wish to be doing my duty.” “So do I. So do I,” repeated Oliver, going out into the twilight. “I want the Lord to think well of me,” whimpered Keturah, drawing the apron away from her face, “but I tremble so I can’t do anything. I never heard of the like of this.” “The dark can’t hurt us,” declared Paul; “for grandsir’ is all safe, and he lived through a dark day. So be a good woman, Keturah, and make the dumplings.” “I thought you children intended to learn two Bible verses for your birthday,” said their mother, suggestively. “So we do,” answered Paul, taking the large Bible from the stand in the corner, feeling sure that no harm could come to him while holding this book. Seated together near the tall candle on the table, with the Bible open between them, grandsir’ in his corner, Keturah peeling vegetables, and their mother cutting and fitting the little coat, the children ceased to feel that anything unusual was occurring; only when they glanced out of the window or up at the clock did a shivering fear creep over them, and then they drew nearer together and clasped the edges of the book more firmly. “Here is just what we want,” cried Paul; “‘Arise, shine; for thy light is come, and the glory of the Lord is risen upon thee. For, behold, the darkness shall cover the earth, and gross darkness the people: but the Lord shall arise upon thee, and His glory shall be seen upon thee.’ Now this means that it will be as light as can be, Patty,” he explained. “God knew that it would be dark to-day, and so He wrote this to tell us that the sun will shine, and we need not be afraid. Is that right, mother?” “I think He will allow you to take the comfort of it in that way,” she replied, after an instant’s hesitation. “It means something more than that to me.” So the children softly repeated the words over and over again until the coat was cut and basted, and the dinner was all ready. Oliver assisted the great-grandfather to his place at the table, and they all bowed their heads while he asked a tremulous blessing, then the mother helped them to the stew from the large blue platter, and the dinner hour passed just as usual; but as they were rising from the table, a torch flashed past the windows, and a loud rap sounded upon the outer door. “The day of doom has come!” shrieked Keturah, hiding her face in her lap. “It is one of the neighbors,” said the mother. “Open the door, Paul.” With trembling fingers Paul admitted Seth Rider. “Are you all prepared to die?” asked the young man, setting his torch in the chimney corner. “Sit down, Seth,” invited the mother, placing a chair for him. “I think we are no nearer death than we are every day.” “Other folks think different,” answered Seth, in surprise. “Everybody’s crowding into the meeting-house, where they couldn’t see each other’s faces but for the candles; and Parson Smith, he had prayed an hour when I left, about Pharaoh, and Judas, and Jezebel; but I thought I’d come and see how you folks was getting along, and perhaps you’d like to go to the meeting-house. The men are shaking and groaning, and the women are crying and fainting, and the young ones are bawling.” “I think I shall stay at home and do the duty of to-day,” replied the mother. “If the world does not come to an end, Paul will need his coat; and if the world does come to an end to-day, I wish the Lord to find me doing the duty He has set for me; and besides I do not know how to faint.” “I wish I felt as you do,” said Seth, admiringly; “but just come to the door and see how things look. This is the darkest spell of all.” Leaving grandsir’ nodding over his plate, all hastened to the door, while Seth stood upon the door-stone, holding his torch high above his head. The clouds were thinnest at the north; at the northeast they were very thick, and so low that the hills half a mile away could not be seen; but the southwesterly hills near where the children’s aunt Esther lived, twenty miles away, could be plainly seen, although the spaces between were so dark that the grass could not be distinguished from the trees. All the clouds were in motion, hurrying one over the other, seeming to form three layers, the lower one being of a peculiar brassy hue. “See the rainbow!” cried Patience, pointing to a faint red light in the clouds twenty or thirty feet above their heads. “It may be the reflection of your torch, Seth,” said the mother; “just place it behind the door.” “That is just it,” acknowledged Seth, after trying the experiment several times. “Now what kind of a sign do you make of that?” “It means that the clouds are damp, and so they reflect the light of your torch just as they do the sun when there is a rainbow. How many wonderful things we shall learn to-day!” “Well, I’ll go back and tell the folks there is one woman with a clear conscience, who isn’t afraid to live or die,” said Seth, stepping into the path. “I paid folks all I owed them this morning, and I asked Eben Grey to forgive me, too; so I hope the Almighty will remember me in mercy.” For a moment they stood watching Seth as he walked down the road, stopping now and then to gaze up at the reflection that was following him. “I’ve—had—my—sup—per—and—now—I’ll—go—to bed,” the great-grandfather was saying when they entered the kitchen; and as he would not be persuaded that it was daytime,341Oliver helped him to bed in one of the small rooms off the kitchen. Rather more carefully than usual Patience began to wash the dishes; Paul fed the sparrows in his father’s old hat in the corner of the settle; the mother stitched and pressed the seams of Paul’s coat; Keturah was induced to make preparation for the morrow’s baking, and Oliver brought in several rakes to mend, saying, apologetically, “I can always work best when folks is around.” At three o’clock, as Oliver was going out with the mended rakes, he called the family to the door, and there they saw the outline of the sun, pale and shadowy. “‘Arise, shine; for thy light is come!’” cried Paul, jumping up and down. “The Bible said so! The Bible said so!” “Yes, the sun is going on his appointed way,” the mother said, with great relief, “and it is not as dark as it has been. As the moon is nearly full to-night, we shall probably see that as usual.” But while she spoke, the ghostly sun disappeared. “Never mind,” comforted Paul, trying to swallow the queer feeling in his throat, “for we know now that the sun is going right on; and, O mother! may we sit up and see the moon?” “I think you may,” promised the mother. “Now come in and begin the samplers that you have been talking about so long.” Delicate little Paul never thought of being ashamed of doing “girl’s work,” and they were soon delightfully busy in selecting the bright worsted, and marking their names, ages, the date, with the Bible verses they had learned that day. At supper time it was almost as dark as it had been at noon; but as soon as their bread and milk was eaten, the children stationed themselves at the window to watch for the moon. “The moon rises at nine o’clock,” announced Keturah, looking up from the almanac. “Oh!” cried both the children. “You might say your hymns to me,” proposed the mother; “that will make the time pass quick.” Turning disappointedly from the window, the children drew their stools beside their mother on the hearth-rug; they repeated all the hymns and Bible verses they knew, ending by kneeling together at their mother’s knee to pray the little prayer that their great-grandmother had learned in the far-away English home. “It is darker than ever,” said Paul, running to the window. “And oh, see the lights!” A number of persons with torches and lanterns were passing on their way to the meeting-house. “Go with them, Keturah, if you will feel any better,” advised the mother. “I don’t want to see nobody that is more afraid than I be,” sobbed Keturah. But in spite of their anxious, impatient watching, it grew so dark that Oliver could not see his hand before his face when he stepped out-of-doors at nine o’clock. Earth and sky appeared to be swallowed up in blackness of darkness. “We shall not see the moon until to-morrow night, children,” said the mother; “so go to bed, and I will call you when the sun rises.” The darkness was not frightful at night, for it was often dark at night; so the weary, excited children fell asleep peacefully, sure that God and their mother would take care of them. The next sound that Patience heard was Paul’s voice calling her, and she opened her eyes to find the room full of light. Running to the window, she saw the sun shining gloriously from a bed of scarlet and crimson clouds, causing all the dewdrops on grass and shrubs to twinkle like stars. The roosters were crowing, the hens cackling; the sheep were scampering down the lane to the meadow; Oliver was whistling as he watered the oxen, and Keturah was humming a psalm-tune while she heated the oven for baking. Grandsir’ stood on the door-stone with bared head; and when Patience met her mother she received from her a rare kiss, and the counsel, “Always trust the Lord, my child.” And now, when another little Paul and Patience coax their grandma for a story, the most wonderful one that she can tell them is about the dark birthday of herself and brother Paul.