The Home Mission | Page 5

like a
refreshing and invigorating stream, flow along many channels. She was
the faithful friend, the comforter in affliction, the wise counsellor. More
than once had she been approached with offers of marriage, by men
who saw the excellence of her character, and felt that upon any
dwelling, in which she was the presiding spirit, would rest a blessing.
But none of them were able to give to the even pulses of her heart a
quicker motion.
At last she met Mr. Arnold. More than three years had passed since the
mother of his children was removed by death, and, since that time, he
had sought, with all a father's tenderness and devotion, to fill her place
to them. How imperfectly, none knew so well as himself. As time went
on, the want of a true woman's affectionate care for his children was
more and more felt. All were girls except the youngest, their ages
ranging from twelve downward, and this made their mother's loss so
much the more a calamity. Moreover, his feeling of loneliness and want
of companionship, so keenly felt in the beginning, instead of
diminishing, increased.
Such was his state of mind when he met Agnes Green. The attraction
was mutual, though, at first, no thought of marriage came into the mind
of either. A second meeting stirred the placid waters in the bosom of
Agnes Green. Conscious of this, and fearful lest the emotion she strove

to repress might become apparent to other eyes, she assumed a certain
reserve, not seen in the beginning, which only betrayed her secret, and
at once interested Mr. Arnold, who now commenced a close
observation of her character. With every new aspect in which this was
presented, he saw something that awakened admiration; something that
drew his spirit nearer to her as one congenial. And not the less close
was her observation.
When, at length, Mr. Arnold solicited the hand of Agnes Green, she
was ready to respond. Not, however, in a selfish and self-seeking spirit;
not in the narrow hope of obtaining some great good for herself, was
her response made, but in full view of her woman's power to bless, and
with an earnest, holy purpose in her heart, to make her presence in his
household indeed a blessing.
"I must know your children better than I know them now, and they
must know me better than they do, before I take the place you wish me
to assume," was her reply to Mr. Arnold, when he spoke of an early
marriage.
And so means were taken to bring her in frequent contact with the
children. The first time she met them intimately, was at the house of a
friend. Mary, the oldest girl, she found passionate and self-willed;
Florence, the second, good-natured, but careless and slovenly; while
Margaret, the third, was in ill health, and exceedingly peevish. The
little brother, Willy, was a beautiful, affectionate child, but in
consequence of injudicious management, very badly spoiled. Take
them altogether, they presented rather an unpromising aspect; and it is
no wonder that Agnes Green had many misgivings at heart, when the
new relation contemplated, and its trials and responsibilities, were
pictured to her mind.
The earnestly-asked question by Mr. Arnold, after this first
interview,--"What do you think of my children?"--was not an easy one
to answer. A selfish, unscrupulous woman, who looked to the
connection as something to be particularly desired on her own account,
and who cared little about duties and responsibilities, might have
replied, "Oh, they are lovely children!" or, "I am delighted with them!"

Not so Agnes Green. She did not reply immediately, but mused for
some moments, considerably embarrassed, and in doubt what to say.
Mr. Arnold was gazing intently in her face.
"They do not seem to have made a favourable impression," said he,
speaking with some disappointment in his tone and manner.
A feeble flush was visible in the face of Agnes Green, and also a slight
quiver of the lips as she answered:
"There is too much at stake, as well in your case as my own, to warrant
even a shadow of concealment. You ask what I think of your children,
and you expect me to answer truly?"
"I do," was the almost solemnly-spoken reply.
"My first hurried, yet tolerably close, observation, has shown me, in
each, a groundwork of natural good."
"As their father," replied Mr. Arnold, in some earnestness of manner, "I
know there is good in them,--much good. But they have needed a
mother's care."
"When you have said that, how much has been expressed! If the garden
is not cultivated, and every weed carefully removed, how quickly is it
overrun with things noxious, and how feeble becomes the growth of all
things good and beautiful! It is just