Finger Posts on the Way of Life | Page 6

trace a strong likeness between the maiden and the woman,
whom I supposed to be her mother--browned and hard as were the
features of the latter.
Soon after I had commenced eating my supper, the two children who
were playing on the floor, began quarrelling with each other.
"John! go off to bed!" said the father, in a loud, peremptory voice,
speaking to one of the children.
But John, though he could not help hearing, did not choose to obey.
"Do you hear me, sir? Off with you!" repeated the angry father.
"I don't want to go," whined the child.
"Go, I tell you, this minute!"
Still, there was not the slightest movement to obey; and the little fellow
looked the very image of rebellion. At this crisis in the affair, when a
storm seemed inevitable, the sister, as I supposed her to be, glided
across the room, and stooping down, took the child's hands in hers. Not
a word was said; but the young rebel was instantly subdued. Rising, he
passed out by her side, and I saw no more of him during the evening.
Soon after I had finished my supper, a neighbour came in, and it was
not long before he and the man of the house were involved in a warm
political discussion, in which were many more assertions than reasons.
My host was not a very clear-headed man; while his antagonist was
wordy and specious. The former, as might be supposed, very naturally
became excited, and, now and then, indulged himself in rather strong

expressions toward his neighbour, who, in turn, dealt back wordy
blows that were quite as heavy as he had received, and a good deal
more irritating.
And now I marked again the power of that maiden's gentle hand. I did
not notice her movement to her father's side. She was there when I first
observed her, with one hand laid upon his temple, and lightly
smoothing the hair with a caressing motion. Gradually the high tone of
then disputant subsided, and his words had in them less of personal
rancour. Still, the discussion went on; and I noticed that the maiden's
hand, which rested on the temple when unimpassioned words were
spoken, resumed its caressing motion the instant there was the smallest
perceptible tone of anger in the father's voice. It was a beautiful sight;
and I could but look on and wonder at the power of that touch, so light
and unobtrusive, yet possessing a spell over the hearts of all around her.
As she stood there, she looked like an angel of peace, sent to still the
turbulent waters of human passion. Sadly out of place, I could not but
think her, amid the rough and rude; and yet, who more than they need
the softening and humanizing influences of one like the Gentle Hand.
Many times more, during that evening, did I observe the magic power
of her hand and voice--the one gentle yet potent as the other.
On the next morning, breakfast being over, I was preparing to take my
departure, when my host informed me that if I would wait for half an
hour he would give me a ride in his wagon to G----, as business
required him to go there. I was very well pleased to accept of the
invitation. In due time, the farmer's wagon was driven into the road
before the house, and I was invited to get in. I noticed the horse as a
rough-looking Canadian pony, with a certain air of stubborn endurance.
As the farmer took his seat by my side, the family came to the door to
see us off.
"Dick!" said the farmer, in a peremptory voice, giving the rein a quick
jerk as he spoke.
But Dick moved not a step.

"Dick! you vagabond! get up." And the farmer's whip cracked sharply
by the pony's ear.
It availed not, however, this second appeal. Dick stood firmly
disobedient. Next the whip was brought down upon him, with an
impatient hand; but the pony only reared up a little. Fast and sharp the
strokes were next dealt to the number of a half-dozen. The man might
as well have beaten his wagon, for all his end was gained.
A stout lad now came out into the road, and catching Dick by the bridle,
jerked him forward, using, at the same time, the customary language on
such occasions, but Dick met this new ally with increased stubbornness,
planting his forefeet more firmly, and at a sharper angle with the
ground. The impatient boy now struck the pony on the side of his head
with his clenched hand, and jerked cruelly at his bridle. It availed
nothing, however; Dick was not to be wrought upon by any such
arguments.
"Don't do so,