CHAPTER XVIII.
“THE VICTOR’S CROWN OF GOLD.”
The Old Year was dying fast. It had wrapped itself in a soft white mantle of snow, and was quietly waiting until the midnight bells should announce the coming of the young New Year, laden under its mysterious burden of joy and sadness, pain and pleasure, hope and its fulfilment or its disappointment, that, day by day, it would unfold before the busy world.
But although the New Year was anxiously awaited by many a soul, the old one, now dying, had been a good friend to them all, and especially to the little group now chatting in the Carters’ library.
As Bess looked about among her boys, from Ted and Bert, now taller than herself, who sat at her either hand, to Rob, who stood leaning on the back of her chair, and then to Phil, who was perched on the large table that filled the middle of the room, she could see many a pleasant mark that the year had left on them. And even Sam. Hard as the separation had been for those who were left behind, the boy was so safe and happy, safe from the many temptations that follow our boys through their lives, strengthening many a one, it is true, but all too often overpowering and destroying some fine, manly lad, who yet lacks just the courage to speak the one decided word that shall leave him the victor in the fight. Yes, Sam had gained in the past year, although it had been a sad lesson for the other boys, whose careless fun had brought the loss to them.
And Fred? It was with a feeling of unmixed pride and pleasure that Bessie surveyed the bonnie boy who was sitting opposite her, with Fuzz on his knee. His figure and features were the same they had been on that rainy November afternoon, a little over a year ago; but that was all. In place of the pale, listless, sad boy that had greeted her then, there sat an energetic, rosy, happy lad, whose whole face was laughing at the frolic into which he had entered as heartily as any of the other lads, a little gentler than the rest, perhaps, but as full of fun and mischief as ever a boy could be.
“Yes,” thought Bess, as she watched him, “Sam made the one grand sacrifice that the world admires and talks of; but Fred’s sacrifice is a longer and harder one, even, than his, the constant fighting to forget himself and his blindness, in trying to help make life pleasanter to the rest of us. He is winning his ‘victor’s crown of gold’ most nobly and truly.”
Half unconsciously, she hummed the line to herself. Phil gave her a quick glance of understanding.
“Well, Phil?” she asked, rousing herself from her reverie.
“Nothing, only I guess I know what you were thinking about.” And he took up the air where she had dropped it.
“Yes, Phil; that was it, and I was feeling so happy as I looked around at my boys, and saw what a good, faithful fight they have been making.”
“What is it?” asked Ted curiously.
“Only a little watchword between Fred and Phil and me,” answered Bess. Then with a smile of invitation she added, “We have formed ourselves into a little army of three, to fight for the ‘victor’s crown of gold.’ Will you join it?”
“I don’t think I understand quite,” said Bert slowly.
Bess repeated the verse to them, and then went on,—
“All is, we boys want to be as true and brave and unselfish from day to day as we can possibly be, so that at the end of the years, as we look back over the little battles we have fought all through our lives, we can feel that we have conquered in them, and have won our right to the crown. Not all of us will have the power or the opportunity for one grand fight and unselfish victory like Sam’s, the day he went into the fire to save our Fred; but, after all, it is the way we meet the every-day cares and troubles, the little petty ones, such as we every one of us have, that shows our heroism as much as the greater ones. If we study a lesson when we should prefer to be playing ball, or do as our fathers and mothers wish, and do it cheerfully and pleasantly, even if it isn’t the very thing we choose, or give up some little frolic we have been anticipating, because, by doing that, we can make some one else happy, all these will be so many battles won, and the winning them will give us the crown. What do you think of our army?”
“It’s a first-rate one,” said Bert heartily, while Teddy pensively added,—
“I’m afraid I shall have to spend all my days fighting slang.”
Bessie laughed outright.
“No, Ted; for if you go on improving as fast as you have done in the last six months, you will soon be free to fight another enemy than that one.”
“I wonder what mine is?” said Phil, swinging his heels thoughtfully.
“Covetousness,” responded Ted promptly. “It’s only two days since I heard you wishing you had Miss Bessie’s good temper.”
“Poor Phil!” said Bess, reaching up to pat the brown head. “You’d much better wish for something more than that.”
“I wonder if we shall all be together here a year from now,” said Rob thoughtfully.
“Let us hope so,” answered Bessie; “but that is something hidden beyond our sight. As long as we can, my boys, we will try to be together, here or somewhere else, on the last night of every year.”
For some unexplained reason, Rob looked very wicked during the latter half of his cousin’s speech; but no one noticed it, for Ted inquired just then,—
“What are you lads going to be when you grow up?”
“My father says I’ve got to be a doctor,” remarked Bert ruefully, “but I’d much rather go West on a cattle ranch, or else be an architect. What shall you do. Bob?”
“Bugs and things,” answered Rob briefly.
“Ted?”
“I don’t know. Civil engineer, that is, if father can send me through college. That’s what I’d like best.”
“Phil?”
“A minister, I s’pose,” groaned Phil. “That’s the family plan, but I don’t think I’m much suited for it.”
“Think of the ugly duckling, and have courage,” suggested Rob consolingly.
“Fred?”
“Of course I can’t tell yet what I can do,” said Fred thoughtfully. Then, suddenly turning to Bess with a smile, he went on: “What I want most of all is to be your faithful soldier.”
“And Sam has always said that he’d rather be a good mechanic than anything else,” added Bert. “That accounts for us all, Miss Bessie. How do you like the assortment?”
“Very much,” answered Bess. “I can have Bert to cure my body, and Phil my soul, while Ted shall survey my garden, and Rob shall make a collection of the insects that devour my crops. Fred I shall keep to fight for me and with me. Then, at the end of every year, we will all meet and talk over our battles, and make our plans for the next campaign. And now, my boys, it is growing late, and I must send you away. But, before you go, I am going to bring in some water, and we’ll drink a health to the Old Year that has given us so much, and taken away one dear one from the half-dozen boys.”
As they stood grouped about her, Bess slowly repeated the toast,—
“‘Here’s to those that I love; here’s to those that love me;
Here’s to those that love those that I love;
Here’s to those that love those that love those that love me;
Here’s to those that love those that I love.’”
“That’s most everybody,” said Ted, as he set down his empty glass.
“It ought to include all the world, on the eve of the New Year,” answered Bess gently.
The last good-night had been said, and the boys were gone, leaving Fred and Bess standing together in the hall.
“Need I go to bed yet?” asked Fred. “I’m not sleepy a bit, even if it is late.”
“No, dear; I have several things I want to talk over with you,” said Bess, smiling happily to herself as she led the way back to the library fire.
Fred settled himself on a hassock at her feet, in his favorite position, and turned his face to listen. But Bess seemed in no hurry to begin the conversation. She thoughtfully stroked and patted the boy’s face, and played with his hair. Suddenly she asked,—
“Well, laddie, has the last year been any better than the one before it?”
“Ever so much.” Fred spoke with an air of happy conviction.
“Do you know why?” she went on.
“Of course I do,” said Fred, as he reached up and took her hand. “It’s because you’ve done so much for me.”
“No, Fred; that is a very small part of it. The change is all in your own little self. It is because you have tried so hard to make something of your life, even if you can’t see; and I hope another year will be a still happier one for you, happier and better.”
Fred shook his head.
“Not happier, if I have to leave you, for my year here is almost over. I wish it would last forever. But, Miss Bessie, it really isn’t near so bad as I used to think it was. You and the boys are all so good to me, and you have taught me to do so many things, that if I could only stay with you always, I shouldn’t much mind the rest.”
“That is my hero,” said Bess tenderly. “But, Fred, this makes it very easy to tell you of a letter I had yesterday from your father. He says that he and your mother have decided to stay abroad another year, and asks if you can still be with us. Are you willing to stay?”
No need to ask. Fred’s gesture and smile were all the reply she needed.
There was another long pause. Then Bess said slowly,—
“Fred, I have one more thing to tell you, something you ought to know. I hope you will like it, for I am very, very happy. Mr. Muir has asked me to be his wife.”
“Mr. Muir! How splendid!” And Fred sprang up, in his delighted surprise.
“So you are pleased? Well, sit down again while I tell you the rest. Before the next year is over, I shall probably go with him, but it is all settled that our little new home shall have one room in it that will always be ‘Fred’s room.’”
It was long before Fred went to sleep that night. As he still lay awake, thinking of the happy New Year opening before him, across the still night air came the sound of a church bell. Slow and solemn were its tones, as it tolled out the dying year. Then, at the stroke of midnight, it quickened to a merry peal, to usher in the new-born year, with all its hopes and fears. And, in a gentle undertone, he heard from the distant city the chimes playing that grand old hymn, so linked with sad, tender memories of Sam, so full of help and cheer for himself,—
“Lead, kindly Light, amid th’ encircling gloom,
Lead thou me on.
The night is dark, and I am far from home.
Lead thou me on.
Keep thou my feet; I do not ask to see
The distant scene. One step enough for me.”