The Harvest of Years | Page 2

child, how unlucky you are," I felt that I could do anything
for her, and she never, to my remembrance, said "Emily did it."
From my father I often heard it. Hal rarely, if ever, said anything else,
and if I did sometimes darn his stockings a little too thick, it was not
such a heinous crime. He was handsome, and I was as proud of his face
as I was ashamed of my own; I know now that my features were not so
bad, but my spirit never shone through them, while Hal carried every
thought right in his face. My face also might have looked attractive if I
had only been understood, but I blame no one for that, when I was
covered even as a "leopard with spots," indicating everything but the
blessed thoughts I sometimes had and the better part of my nature. The
interval of years between my fifth and sixteenth birthdays was too full
of recurring mishaps of every kind to leave within my memory distinct
traces of the little joys that sometimes crept in upon me. I number them
all when I recall the face of my more than blessed mother and the mild
eyes of Mary Snow, who was kinder and nearer to me than the others of
my school-mates.
Hal grew daily more of a torment, and being five years my senior,
"bossed" me about to his satisfaction, except at such times as I grew too
vexed with him to restrain my anger, and turning upon him would pour
volleys of wrath upon his head. On these occasions he seemed really
afraid of me, and, for a time after, I would experience a little peace.
Learning from experience that keeping my thoughts to myself was the
best means of quiet, I grew, after leaving school, less inclined to
associate with anyone except sweet Mary Snow. One blessed
consciousness grew daily on me, and that was that I came nearer my

mother's heart, and as I was never lazy, I shared many of her joys and
trials and learned to keep my rebellious nature almost wholly in check.
Father was a good man, but unfortunate in business affairs, and the first
time he undertook to carry out an enterprise of his own, he pulled
everything over on to his head--just as I did the baby. This was of
course a misfortune of which his wife had her share, but she never
complained. The lines about her eyes grew darker, and she ceased to
sing at her work as before, and I knew, for she told me, that in the years
that followed, I grew so close to her, I became a great help to her and
really shared her burdens. My little brother, Ben, varied Hal's "Emily
did it," and with him "Emily will do it" was a perfect maxim. Kites I
made without number, and gave my spare time to running through the
meadows with him to help him fly them and to the making of his little
wheelbarrows, and I loved him dearly. I seemed now to be less unlucky,
and at home, at least, contented, but society had no charms for me and I
had none for society; consequently we could happily agree to let each
other alone, but, without repining, I had still sometimes, oh! such
longings--for something, I knew not what.
CHAPTER II.
FROM GIRLHOOD TO WOMANHOOD.
The old adage of a poor beginning makes a good ending, may have
been true in my case; certain it is that my sorest mishaps, or those I had
least strength to bear, came between my fifth and sixteenth birthdays.
After this came the happy period in which I was helpmeet to my
mother, and the gaining of an almost complete victory over my temper,
even when teased by Hal, who at that time was developing rapidly into
manhood and was growing very handsome.
I was not changed outwardly, unless my smile was more bright and
frequent, as became my feelings, and my eyes, I know, shot fewer dark
glances at those around me when mishaps, although less frequent, came
sometimes to me. My good angel was with me oftener then, I thought,
and as I often told mother, it seemed to me I had daily a two-fold
growth, meaning that there was the growing consciousness of a nature

pulsating as a life within my heart that seemed like a strong full tide
constantly bearing me up. I scarcely understood it then, but now I know
I had, as every one has, a dual nature, one side of which had never been
allowed to appear above its earthly covering.
My daily trials, coming always from luckless mistakes of my own,
were equal in their effect to the killing of my blossoms, for