CHAPTER XVI.
IN WHICH PHIL STRUGGLES EARNESTLY TO REFORM HIS FATHER.
The skilful ministrations of Mrs. Greenough soon restored my father tohimself. He had probably eaten nothing since he took his breakfast withme early in the morning, and his frame was not in condition to bear thepressure of the strong emotions which had agitated him.
"My son!" exclaimed he, as the incidents which had just transpired cameback to his mind.
"My father!" I replied.
He extended his trembling hand to me, and I took it. It would have beena blessed moment to me if I could have forgotten what he was, or ifI could have lifted him up from the abyss of disgrace and shame intowhich he had sunk. I hoped, with the blessing of God, that I should beable to do this in some measure. I determined to labor without ceasing,with zeal and prayer, to accomplish this end.
"I pity you, my son," said my father, covering his eyes with his hands.It can be no joy to you to find such a father."
"I should not be sincere, father, if I did not say I wished you weredifferent."
"Philip,--if that is really your name,--I will reform, or I will die,"said he, with new emotion. "I have something to hope for now. The goodGod, who, I believed, had deserted me years ago, has been kinder to methan I deserved."
"He is that to all of us, father."
"Where did you get this locket, young man?" asked Mr. Lamar, whoevidently believed there was still a possibility that a mistake hadbeen made.
I replied that I had found it in the chest of Matt Rockwood, who hadtaken me from the door in the river; and I repeated that part of mynarrative which I had omitted before.
"You need not cavil, gentlemen," interposed my father. "I am satisfied.I can distinguish the features of my lost son. If you knew my wife,you can see that he resembles her. Look at the portrait, and then lookat him."
"I have seen Mrs. Farringford, but I do not exactly remember herlooks," added Mr. Lamar.
"Matt Rockwood is dead; but there is a living witness who saw the childhe found only a day or two after it was picked up," I continued.
"Who is he?"
"Kit Cruncher; he is at the settlement now, and has known me for elevenyears. Mr. Gracewood, whom I expect in St. Louis soon, has known me forsix years, and has heard Matt Rockwood tell the story of finding thechild."
"If I am satisfied, no one else need complain," said my father. "Thereare no estates, no property, nor a dollar left, to which any claim isto be established. I am a beggar and a wretch, and an inheritance ofshame and misery is all I have for him."
"But you forget that your wife is still living, Farringford," added Mr.Lamar. "Her father is a wealthy man, and his large property, at no verydistant day, will be divided among his three children."
"Very true; I did not think of that. I have so long been accustomedto regard her as lost to me that I did not think my boy still had amother," answered my father, bitterly. "But when she sees him, she willnot ask that any one should swear to his identity. She will know him,though eleven years have elapsed since she saw him."
"But where is she?" I asked, anxiously.
"I do not know, Philip."
"When did you see her last?"
"It is four or five years since we met."
"But haven't you heard from her?"
"Once, and only once. After she left me, and went back to her father, Itried to see her occasionally, for I have never lost my affection andrespect for her. I annoyed Mr. Collingsby, her father, trying to obtainmoney of him. Three years ago the family moved away from St. Louis,partly, if not wholly, I know, to avoid me, and to take my wife awayfrom the scene of all her misery."
"Where did they go?"
"To Chicago, where Mr. Collingsby was largely interested in railroadenterprises."
"Is the family still there?"
"I do not know."
"They are," added Mr. Gray.
"But my wife is not there," said my father. "Some one told me, a yearago, he had met her in Europe, where she intended to travel for threeyears with her brother and his wife. Really, Philip, I know nothingmore about her. I wish I could lead you to her."
I was indeed very sad when I thought that years might elapse before Icould see her who had given me being.
"I will make some inquiries, Phil, in regard to the Collingsbys," saidMr. Lamar.
"Are you satisfied, sir, that I am what I say I am?" I asked.
"I have no doubt you are, though perhaps your case is not absolutelybeyond cavil. The old man who died might have found the body of thechild, and taken the clothes and trinkets from it; but that is notprobable."
"But I can produce a man who has known me from my childhood," I replied.
"You can, but you have not," added he, with a smile.
"I will produce him if necessary. I hope you will see Mr. Gracewoodwhen he arrives."
"I will, if possible. But, Farringford, was there no mark or scar ofany kind on the child which will enable you to identify him?"
"I know of none. Perhaps his mother does," answered my father. "But Itell you I am satisfied. I ask for no proof. I know his face now. Itall comes back to me like a forgotten dream."
"Very well; but, Farringford, you have something to live for now,"added Mr. Lamar.
"I have, indeed," replied the trembling sufferer, as he glanced fondlyat me. "I will try to do better."
"When you feel able to do anything, we shall be glad to help you to asituation where you can do something to support your boy," said Mr.Gray.
"I can take care of myself, gentlemen. I am getting three dollars aweek now, and I hope soon to obtain more," I interposed.
"Three dollars a week will hardly support you."
"I shall be able to get along upon that sum for the present. Mrs.Greenough is very kind to me."
The two gentleman said all they could to inspire my poor father withhope and strength, and then departed. I was very much obliged to themfor the interest and sympathy they had manifested, and promised to callupon them when I needed any assistance.
"I am amazed, Philip," said my father, when our friends had gone.
"I knew that you were my father when we met in the evening at thePlanters' Hotel," I replied. "You remember that you told me you hadlost a child on the upper Missouri."
"I did; I was thinking then what a terrible curse whiskey had been tome. You looked like a bright, active boy, and I desired to warn you, bymy own sad experience, never to follow in the path I had trodden. I didnot suspect that I was talking to my own son; but all the more would Iwarn you now."
"You thrilled my very soul, father, with your words, and I shall neverforget them. I shall pray to God to save both you and me from thehorrors of intemperance."
"Philip, I have resolved most solemnly, a hundred times, to drink nomore; but I did not keep my promise even twenty-four hours."
"Is your mind so weak as that?"
"Mind! I have no mind, my son. I haven't a particle of strength, eitherof body or mind."
"You must look to God for strength," said Mrs. Greenough, who hadlistened in silence to our conversation.
"I have, madam; but he does not hear the prayer of such a wretch as Iam."
"You wrong him, Mr. Farringford," replied the widow, solemnly. "Hehears the prayers of the weakest and the humblest. You have no strengthof your own; seek strength of him. My husband was reduced as low as youare. For ten years of his life he was a miserable drunkard; but he wasalways kind to me. Hundreds of times he promised to drink no more, butas often broke his promise. I became interested in religion, and thenI understood why he had always failed. I prayed with my husband, andfor him. He was moved, and wept like a child. Then he prayed with me,and the strength of purpose he needed came from God. He was saved, buthe never ceased to pray. He redeemed himself, and never drank anotherdrop. Before he died, he had paid for this house, besides supporting usvery handsomely for ten years."
"That is hopeful, madam; but I am afraid I am too far gone. I have nowife to p
ray with me," said my father, gloomily.
"I will pray with you."
Throwing herself upon her knees before a chair, she poured forth herpetition for the salvation of the drunkard with an unction that movedboth him and me. I heard my father sob, in his weakness and imbecility.He was as a little child, and was moved and influenced like one.
"You must pray yourself, Mr. Farringford," said she, when she hadfinished. "You must feel the need of help, and then seek it earnestlyand devoutly."
"I thank you, madam, for all your kindness. I will try to do better.I will try to pray," said he. "Could you give me some more of themedicine I took last night and this morning? It helped me very much."
"Certainly I can. I will do everything in the world for you, if youwill only stay here and try to get well."
She left the room, and went into the kitchen to prepare the soothingdrinks which the excited nerves of the patient demanded.
"I will reform, Philip. I will follow this good lady's advice. Give meyour hand, my son," said my father.
"O, if you only would, father! This world would be full of happinessfor us then. We could find my mother, and be reunited forever."
"God helping me, I will never drink another drop of liquor," said he,solemnly lifting up his eyes, as I held his trembling hand.
Mrs. Greenough opportunely returned with the medicines, and with afolded paper in her hand. As my father took his potion, she opened thepaper, which was a temperance pledge, on which was subscribed the nameof "Amos Greenough."
"This is the pledge my husband signed, with trembling hand, ten yearsbefore his death. It was salvation to him here--and hereafter. Will youadd your name to it, Mr. Farringford?" said Mrs. Greenough.
"I will."
"Not unless you are solemnly resolved, with the help of God, to keepyour promise," she added. "Not unless you are willing to work, andstruggle, and pray for your own salvation."
PHILS FATHER SIGNS THE PLEDGE. Page 193.]
"I am willing; and I feel a hope, even now, madam, that God has heardyour prayer for a poor wretch like me."
"Sign, then; and God bless you, and enable you to keep this solemncovenant with him."
She took the writing materials from the bureau, and my father, withtrembling hand, wrote his name upon the pledge.
"May God enable me to keep it!" said he, fervently, as he completed theflourish beneath the signature.
"Amen!" ejaculated Mrs. Greenough. "May you be as faithful as he waswhose name is on the paper with you."
"Stimulated by his example, and by your kindness, I trust I shall be,"said my father.
Mrs. Greenough then provided a light supper for him, of which hepartook, and very soon retired. I told my kind landlady that I hadrecovered my money, and should now be able to pay my father's board fora time. She had not thought of that matter, and would be glad to takecare of him for nothing if she could only save him. As I went to bed Icould not but congratulate myself upon finding such a kind and devotedfriend as she had proved to be.