Under the Lilacs (13 page)

“Miss Celia told me to. I’ll say ‘confound it,’ if you like that better,” answered Ben, as a sly smile twinkled in his eyes.

“Oh, I see! She’s told you about it? Well, then, if you want to please
her,
you’ll learn a hymn right off. Come, now, she wants me to be clever to you, and I’d like to do it; but if you get peppery,
how can I?”

Thorny spoke in a hearty, blunt way, which suited Ben much better than the other, and he responded pleasantly—

“If you won’t be grand I won’t be peppery. Nobody is
going to boss me but Miss Celia; so I’ll learn hymns if she wants me to.”

” ‘In the soft season of thy youth’ is a good one to begin with. I learned it when I was six. Nice thing; better have it.”
And Thorny offered the book like a patriarch addressing an infant.

Ben surveyed the yellow page with small favor, for the long
s
in the old-fashioned printing bewildered him; and when he came to the last two lines, he could not resist reading them wrong—

“The earth affords no lovelier
fight

Than a religious youth.”

“I don’t believe I could ever get that into my head straight. Haven’t you got a plain one anywhere round?” he asked, turning
over the leaves with some anxiety.

“Look at the end, and see if there isn’t a piece of poetry pasted in. You learn that, and see how funny Celia will look when
you say it to her. She wrote it when she was a girl, and somebody had it printed for other children.
I
like it best, myself.”

Pleased by the prospect of a little fun to cheer his virtuous task, Ben whisked over the leaves, and read with interest the
lines Miss Celia had written in her girlhood—

“MY KINGDOM

“A little kingdom I possess,

Where thoughts and feelings dwell;

And very hard I find the task

Of governing it well.

For passion tempts and troubles me,

A wayward will misleads,

And selfishness its shadow casts

On all my words and deeds.

“How can I learn to rule myself,

To be the child I should—

Honest and brave — nor ever tire

Of trying to be good?

How can I keep a sunny soul

To shine along life’s way?

How can I tune my little heart

To sweetly sing all day?

“Dear Father, help me with the love

That casteth out my fear!

Teach me to lean on thee, and feel

That thou art very near;

That no temptation is unseen,

No childish grief too small,

Since Thou, with patience infinite,

Doth soothe and comfort all.

“I do not ask for any crown,

But that which all may win;

Nor seek to conquer any world

Except the one within.

Be Thou my guide until I find,

Led by a tender hand,

Thy happy kingdom in
myself,

And dare to take command.”

“I like that!” said Ben, emphatically, when he had read the little hymn. “I understand it, and I’ll learn it right away. Don’t
see how she could make it all come out so nice and pretty.”

“Celia can do anything!” and Thorny gave an all-embracing wave of the hand, which forcibly expressed his firm belief in his
sister’s boundless powers.

“I made some poetry once. Bab and Betty thought it was first-rate.
I
didn’t,” said Ben, moved to confidence by the discovery of Miss Celia’s poetic skill.

“Say it,” commanded Thorny, adding with tact, “
I
can’t make any to save my life — never could; but I’m fond of it.”

“Chevalita,

Pretty creter,

I do love her

Like a brother;

Just to ride

Is my delight,

For she does not

Kick or bite.”

recited Ben, with modest pride, for his first attempt had been inspired by sincere affection, and pronounced “lovely” by the
admiring girls.

“Very good! You must say them to Celia, too. She likes to hear Lita praised. You and she and that little Barlow boy ought
to try for a prize, as the poets did in Athens. I’ll tell you all about it sometime. Now, you peg away at your hymn.”

Cheered by Thorny’s commendation, Ben fell to work at his new task, squirming about in the chair as if the process of getting
words into his memory was a very painful one. But he had quick wits, and had often learned comic songs; so he soon was able
to repeat the four verses without mistake, much to his own and Thorny’s satisfaction.

“Now we’ll talk,” said the well-pleased preceptor; and talk they did, one swinging in the hammock, the other rolling about
on the pine needles, as they related their experiences boy-fashion. Ben’s were the most exciting; but Thorny’s were not without
interest, for he had lived abroad for several years, and could tell all sorts of droll stories of the countries he had seen.

Busied with friends, Miss Celia could not help wondering
how the lads got on; and, when the tea bell rang, waited a little anxiously for their return, knowing that she could tell
at a glance if they had enjoyed themselves.

“All goes well so far,” she thought as she watched their approach with a smile; for Sancho sat bolt upright in the chair which
Ben pushed, while Thorny strolled beside him, leaning on a stout cane newly cut. Both boys were talking busily, and Thorny
laughed from time to time, as if his comrade’s chat was very amusing.

“See what a jolly cane Ben cut for me! He’s great fun if you don’t stroke him the wrong way,” said the elder lad, flourishing
his staff as they came up.

“What have you been doing down there? You look so merry, I suspect mischief,” asked Miss Celia, surveying them from the steps.

“We’ve been as good as gold. I talked, and Ben learned a hymn to please you. Come, young man, say your piece,” said Thorny,
with an expression of virtuous content.

Taking off his hat, Ben soberly obeyed, much enjoying the quick color that came up in Miss Celia’s face as she listened, and
feeling as if well repaid for the labor of learning by the pleased look with which she said, as he ended with a bow—

“I feel very proud to think you chose that, and to hear you say it as if it meant something to you. I was only fourteen when
I wrote it; but it came right out of my heart, and did me good. I hope it may help you a little.”

Ben murmured that he guessed it would; but felt too shy to talk about such things before Thorny, so hastily retired to put
the chair away, and the others went in to tea. But later in the evening, when Miss Celia was singing like a nightingale, the
boy slipped away from sleepy Bab and Betty to stand by the syringa bush and listen, with his heart full of new thoughts and
happy feelings; for never before had he
spent a Sunday like this. And when he went to bed, instead of saying “Now I lay me,” he repeated the third verse of Miss Celia’s
hymn; for that was his favorite, because his longing for the father whom he had seen made it seem sweet and natural now to
love and lean, without fear, upon the Father whom he had not seen.

C
HAPTER
12

E
veryone was very kind to Ben when his loss was known. The Squire wrote to Mr. Smithers that the boy had found friends and
would stay where he was. Mrs. Moss consoled him in her motherly way, and the little girls did their very best to “be good
to poor Benny.” But Miss Celia was his truest comforter, and completely won his heart, not only by the friendly words she
said and the pleasant things she did, but by the unspoken sympathy which showed itself, just at the right minute, in a look,
a touch, a smile, more helpful than any amount of condolence. She called him “my man,” and Ben tried to be one, bearing his
trouble so bravely that she respected him, although he was only a little boy, because it promised well for the future.

Then she was so happy herself, it was impossible for those about her to be sad, and Ben soon grew cheerful again in spite
of the very tender memory of his father laid quietly away in the safest corner of his heart. He would have been a very unboyish
boy if he had
not
been happy, for the new place was such a pleasant one, he soon felt as if, for the first time, he really had a home.

No more grubbing now, but daily tasks which never grew tiresome, they were so varied and so light. No more
cross Pats to try his temper, but the sweetest mistress that ever was, since praise was oftener on her lips than blame, and
gratitude made willing service a delight.

At first, it seemed as if there was going to be trouble between the two boys; for Thorny was naturally masterful, and illness
had left him weak and nervous, so he was often both domineering and petulant. Ben had been taught instant obedience to those
older than himself, and if Thorny had been a man Ben would have made no complaint; but it
was
hard to be “ordered round” by a boy, and an unreasonable one into the bargain.

A word from Miss Celia blew away the threatening cloud, however; and for her sake her brother promised to try to be patient;
for her sake Ben declared he never would “get mad” if Mr. Thorny did fidget; and both very soon forgot all about master and
man and lived together like two friendly lads, taking each other’s ups and downs good-naturedly, and finding mutual pleasure
and profit in the new companionship.

The only point on which they never
could
agree was legs, and many a hearty laugh did they give Miss Celia by their warm and serious discussion of this vexed question.
Thorny insisted that Ben was bowlegged; Ben resented the epithet, and declared that the legs of all good horsemen must have
a slight curve, and anyone who knew anything about the matter would acknowledge both its necessity and its beauty. Then Thorny
would observe that it might be all very well in the saddle, but it made a man waddle like a duck when afoot; whereat Ben would
retort that, for his part, he would rather waddle like a duck than tumble about like a horse with the staggers. He had his
opponent there, for poor Thorny did look very like a weak-kneed colt when he tried to walk; but he would never own it, and
came down
upon Ben with crushing allusions to centaurs, or the Greeks and Romans, who were famous both for their horsemanship and fine
limbs. Ben could not answer that, except by proudly referring to the chariot races copied from the ancients, in which
he
had borne a part, which was more than
some folks
with long legs could say. Gentlemen never did that sort of thing, nor did they twit their best friends with their misfortunes,
Thorny would remark; casting a pensive glance at his thin hands, longing the while to give Ben a good shaking. This hint would
remind the other of his young master’s late sufferings and all he owed his dear mistress; and he usually ended the controversy
by turning a few lively somersaults as a vent for his swelling wrath, and come up with his temper all right again. Or, if
Thorny happened to be in the wheeled chair, he would trot him round the garden at a pace which nearly took his breath away,
thereby proving that if “bowlegs” were not beautiful to some benighted beings they
were
“good to go.”

Thorny liked that, and would drop the subject for the time by politely introducing some more agreeable topic; so the impending
quarrel would end in a laugh over some boyish joke, and the word “legs” be avoided by mutual consent till accident brought
it up again.

The spirit of rivalry is hidden in the best of us, and is a helpful and inspiring power if we know how to use it. Miss Celia
knew this, and tried to make the lads help one another by means of it — not in boastful or ungenerous comparison of each other’s
gifts, but by interchanging them, giving and taking freely, kindly, and being glad to love what was admirable wherever they
found it. Thorny admired Ben’s strength, activity, and independence; Ben envied Thorny’s learning, good manners, and comfortable
surroundings; and, when a wise word had set the matter
rightly before them, both enjoyed the feeling that there was a certain equality between them, since money could not buy health,
and practical knowledge was as useful as any that can be found in books. So they interchanged their small experiences, accomplishments,
and pleasures, and both were the better, as well as the happier, for it; because in this way only can we truly love our neighbor
as ourself, and get the real sweetness out of life.

There was no end to the new and pleasant things Ben had to do, from keeping paths and flower beds neat, feeding the pets,
and running errands, to waiting on Thorny and being right-hand man to Miss Celia. He had a little room in the old house, newly
papered with hunting scenes, which he was never tired of admiring. In the closet hung several outgrown suits of Thorny’s,
made over for his valet; and, what Ben valued infinitely more, a pair of boots, well blacked and ready for grand occasions,
when he rode abroad, with one old spur, found in the attic, brightened up and merely worn for show, since nothing would have
induced him to prick beloved Lita with it.