The Basket of Flowers - Christoph von Schmid (if you liked this book .txt) 📗

on the good man. Notwithstanding his severity respecting you, he is a man of great probity, and one who has all his life tried to administer justice with strict fidelity.

"'I would give half of my goods,' said he, in a tone that went to the heart of every one who heard him—'yes, I would willingly have given everything I possess if this misfortune had not happened. To have condemned innocence is a frightful thought.' Then, looking round him at the people, he said, in a solemn voice, 'God is the only infallible judge, the only one that cannot be deceived. He knows everything. He alone knew the hiding-place in which the ring had remained until now. The judges of the earth are near-sighted and prone to be deceived. It is rare here below that innocence suffers and vice triumphs. The invisible Judge, who will recompense one day all good actions and punish all bad ones, has decreed that even here innocence shall not always suffer from suspicion, nor hidden crime remain always concealed.'"

While Amelia had been relating this interesting narrative, Mary had been lifting up her heart in silent thanksgiving to God for clearing her character from every stain of suspicion and establishing her innocence in the minds of her friends. By the time Amelia had finished her story, they had arrived at the door of the castle.

 

CHAPTER XVII.

REPARATION.

The Count, the Countess, and the guests who were at the castle, were assembled in the drawing-room when Amelia and Mary entered. The worthy minister had arrived before them, and had been reciting to a deeply-interested audience, the story of James and Mary and their life at Pine Cottage. He had painted in a touching manner the conduct of the good old man during his residence at Pine Farm, emphasising the love and respect which he bore to the Count and his family. He told of Mary's activity, of her filial piety, and her patience and modesty, until tears streamed from the eyes of his hearers.

At this moment the Countess Amelia, holding Mary by one hand and in the other the basket of flowers, entered the brilliantly-lighted room. Mary was welcomed by all, and loaded with congratulations. The Count himself took her kindly by the hand, and said, "Poor child, how pale and thin you look. It was our hasty judgment that brought your misery upon you, and we must now spare nothing, that happiness may once more be restored to you, and that the faded flowers may once more bloom on your young cheeks. You were driven from your father's house, but in future you shall have it for your own property."

The Countess kissed Mary, pressed her to her heart, called her her daughter, and, taking from her finger the ring which had caused so many misfortunes, she said, "Here, my dear child, although your piety is a great deal more precious than the large diamond which sparkles in this ring, you must accept this present as a feeble compensation for the wrong you have suffered, and as a token of the sincere attachment and maternal tenderness I feel towards you."

With these words she held out the ring to Mary, who was almost overcome with so much kindness and ready to sink under the weight of the benefits she had received. Her tears flowed freely, but they were tears of joy.

"Poor child," said one of the guests, "take what the Countess offers you. God has given the Count and his wife fortune, but He has given them something more precious—hearts which know how to make the best use of riches."

"Why do you flatter us?" said the Countess. "This is not a generous action, it is an act of justice."

Still Mary hesitated about accepting the valuable gift, and turned with streaming eyes towards the minister, as if to ask his advice.

"Yes, Mary," said the venerable man, "you must keep the ring. You see, my good child, how God is blessing your filial piety; for whosoever sincerely honours his parents shall be better for it. Take the valuable present with gratitude, and as adversity found you resigned to the Divine will, so in prosperity show yourself grateful to your heavenly Father—grateful to His dear name, benevolent and kind."

Mary put the ring on her finger and attempted to express her thanks, but tears checked her utterance, and were thus the best expression of her gratitude. Amelia, who sat by her with the basket of flowers in her hand, was delighted with the generous proceedings of her parents. Her eyes shone with affection for Mary; and the minister, who had often observed how envious children generally are when their parents exercise their benevolence towards other people, was deeply touched by this disinterested love of Amelia. "May God," said he, "reward the generosity of the Count and Countess. May all that they have done for the poor orphan be rendered to them a hundredfold in the person of their own dear daughter!"

 

CHAPTER XVIII.

PINE FARM REVISITED.

The Count and his family were just on the eve of leaving for Eichbourg, and next morning at break of day all was bustle in the castle, preparing for their departure. In the midst of all the preparations, however, Mary was not forgotten, and each one vied with the other in the attentions they paid to her.

Mary's clothes, which she had bought during her residence at Pine Farm, were made of the coarsest material and of the plainest cut. But one of Amelia's friends, a young lady of the same age and size as Mary, at Amelia's request presented Mary with a complete outfit, which, without being extravagant, was more in keeping with her new situation. In answer to Mary's modest protest against donning what seemed to her, extravagantly grand garments, Amelia said, "You are my friend; you are henceforth to be my companion; you are also to live with me. You ought therefore to dress yourself differently from a farm servant."

After breakfast they started on their journey homeward, and Mary sat beside Amelia in the carriage, with the Count and Countess opposite. First of all, however, the Count gave orders for the coachman to drive them to Pine Farm, that he might become acquainted with the people who had entertained Mary and her father so kindly. It was not long before they gathered from Mary's answers that the old people at Pine Farm were far from being comfortable, and that their declining years were not so peaceful as they had a right to expect.

The arrival of a nobleman's carriage at Pine Farm caused no little excitement. No sooner had the young farmer's wife seen the carriage stop at the door than she hastened towards it.

"Sir," said she to the Count, "allow me to assist you and also the ladies, your daughters, I presume."

So saying, she presented her hand to one of the young ladies, when, recognising her to be Mary herself, she uttered an exclamation of surprise, let go her hand as if she had touched a serpent, and drew back in great confusion.

The old farmer was working in his garden when the Count with his family and Mary alighted; and when they went to the good old man, took him by the hand, and thanked him for his kindness towards Mary and her father, the worthy farmer was deeply moved.

"Oh," said he, "I owe that good man more than ever he owed me. The blessing of heaven came with him into our home, and if I had followed his advice in everything, I should have been much better for it at this moment. Since his death I have no pleasure in anything but this garden, which I began to cultivate at his suggestion. Since I have not had strength to follow the plough, I have occupied myself here, and I seek among the herbs and flowers the peace which I can no longer find in my own house."

In the meantime Mary had gone to look for the old farmer's wife in her little room, and she now came forward leading her by the hand. The worthy woman was quite overcome by the strange circumstances in which she found Mary, and the excitement of the moment; and when she came forward to meet the Count and Countess, it was with a timid air, and in evident distress at finding herself the object of so much attention. By and by, however, she and her husband heard the story of the finding of the ring, and so great was their affection for Mary that they cried for joy like children.

"Did I not tell you," said the farmer, addressing Mary, "that your filial piety would receive its reward? You see, my prophecy is already fulfilled," and his wife, who had recovered her self-possession, said, "Yes, yes; your father was right when he said, 'He who clothes the flowers, well knows how to take care of you.'"

While this conversation had been going on, the young farmer's wife stood at some distance, consumed with jealousy and anger.

"Well, well," she said to herself, "there is no saying what will happen in this life. That miserable beggar whom I turned out of my house—look at her now, dressed like a young lady of high rank. Who would have thought of such a thing! Every one, however, knows who she is, so she cannot impose on any one in this town. They know that yesterday she was sent from here with a little package under her arm, to go into the country."

The Count had not heard this abusive language, but a glance at the woman's face was enough to show him that she was nursing angry passions. "She is a wicked creature," he said to himself, as he walked round the garden in a very thoughtful mood.

At last he stopped before the old farmer. "Listen, my good old friend," said he, "while I make a proposition to you. I have given Mary a piece of ground on my estate, which was rented and cultivated by her father. But Mary is not ready to take up housekeeping. What should prevent you from retiring there? It will suit you, I am certain, and the owner will not exact any rent from you. You can cultivate the herbs and flowers in which you find your pleasure, and you will find, in the pretty cottage which is attached to the ground, rest and peace in your old age."

The Count's wife, Amelia and Mary joined in urging the old man to accept this generous offer. But there was no need for persuasion. The old people were happy to be taken from their uncomfortable surroundings, and gladly agreed to the proposal.

At this moment the young farmer came home from the fields. His surprise was as great as his wife's when he saw the carriage at his door drawn by four white horses; for never in the history of the farm had a carriage stopped there before. When he heard of the proposal which the Count had made to his father and mother, he gladly consented to it, although he was deeply grieved to part from his old parents. His consolation was found, however, in thinking that they were going to be happier than they could possibly be with his wife.

As for his wife herself, the only remark she made was to say in a spiteful way to the Count—

"It is a great favour you are doing us in ridding us of two old people who are nothing but a burden!"

Promising to send for the old farmer and his wife as soon as everything was ready, the Count and his family, accompanied by Mary, now stepped into the carriage and drove off. Here for a time we will leave Mary and follow the fortunes of the occupants of Pine Farm.

 

CHAPTER XIX.

RETRIBUTION.

In course of time, when arrangements had been made for their reception, a carriage was sent from Eichbourg to bring away the old farmer and his wife.