Chapter 11
Changes at Pine Farm
After her father’s death, Mary was no longer the bright happy girl she had been before. Even her favourite flowers seemed to have lost all their beauty, and the pine trees near the farm looked as though they were clothed in mourning.
From time to time she attended the church at Erlenbrunn; and when here she never failed to visit her father’s grave. At every opportunity she went to this sacred spot to weep for her departed parent, and she never left the grave without having made fresh resolutions to ignore the pleasures of the world, and to live only for God.
As time went on her grief gradually moderated, but she soon had new trials to undergo.
Great changes took place in Pine Farm. The good farmer had given the farm to his only son, an amiable, good-tempered young man, but unhappy in his choice of a wife, whom he had married a short time before.
She was a handsome woman, and possessed of considerable means; but she was vain to a degree, and cared for nothing but money.
Pride and greed had gradually imprinted on her features an expression of harshness so striking that, with all her beauty, her looks were repellent.
She was violently opposed to religion and was thus without any restraint on her conduct. By every means in her power, she sought to make the lives of her husband’s parents miserable.
If she knew that anything would give them pleasure, she delighted in doing the contrary, and when she gave them the food which was their due, according to the contract they had made with their son, it was always with a bad grace, and in a grudging spirit.
The good old man and his wife lived the greater part of their time in a little back room, seldom appearing outside.
As for their son, he led a miserable life; for his wife overwhelmed him with constant abuse, and was constantly reminding him of the money she had brought him.
Being of a peaceable disposition, and averse to quarrelling and disputing, he bore his sufferings in silence. His wife would never quietly allow him to visit his parents, for fear, as she said, he would give them something secretly.
In the evening, after he had finished his work, he used to try to find an opportunity to visit them, when he would complain to them about his hard lot.
“Well,” said his father, “so it is. You suffered yourself to be dazzled by the thought of her gold, and to be fascinated by her good looks. I yielded too easily to your wishes, and thus we are punished.
“We should have taken the advice of old James, who was an experienced man and never approved of this match when it was talked of. I well remember every word he said on the subject, and I have thought of it many a time. Do you remember,” said he to his wife, “our having said that ten thousand florins make a handsome sum. ‘A handsome sum!’ said James, ‘no; for the flowers you see in your garden are a thousand times more beautiful. Perhaps you mean to say it is a large and heavy sum. I will acknowledge that. He must have good shoulders to bear it without being bowed down to the earth, and without becoming a poor wretch, unable to lift his head to heaven. Why then do you wish for so much money? You have never wanted anything; you have always had more than sufficient. Believe me, too much money produces pride. Rain is a useful and necessary thing, but when too much falls there is danger of it destroying the most healthy plants of the garden.’
“These were exactly the old friend’s words we have lost,” said the farmer, “and I think I still hear him. And you, my son, once said to him of your wife, ‘She is a charming person, and is beautiful and fresh as a rose.’ ‘Flowers,’ answered James, ‘have not beauty only; they are good and pretty at the same time. They make so many rich presents. The bee sucks in pure wax and delicious honey. Without piety, a beautiful face is merely a rose upon paper, a miserable trifle without life or perfume. It produces neither wax nor honey.’ Such were the reflections that James frankly made before us.
“We would not listen to him—now we know how to appreciate his advice. That which appeared then to us so great a happiness is now to us the height of misfortune. May God give us grace to bear our misfortunes with patience!” Thus the old couple and their son used to talk together.
Poor Mary had much to suffer also. The back room which she and her father had occupied was given up to the old couple, and, although there were two empty rooms in the farmhouse, the young farmer’s wife, who disliked Mary, gave her the most miserable apartment in the house; beside which, she ill-treated her in every possible way, and loaded her with abuse and fault-finding from morning to night.
According to her, Mary did not work enough and did not know how to do anything as it ought to be done. In short, she made it very plain to the poor orphan that she was despised and considered troublesome.
The old man and his wife were keenly conscious of the miserable life that Mary led, but they were not in a position to interfere. They had enough to do with their own griefs.
Mary thought often of going away from Pine Farm, but where to go was the question.
After some consideration, she asked the minister’s advice. “My dear Mary,” said the old minister, “it is impossible for you to think of remaining longer at Pine Farm. They expect you to do more than a strong man could accomplish. Still, I do not advise you to leave immediately.
“Although your father gave you an excellent education, and taught you all that was necessary for a village housekeeper to know, my advice would be to remain where you are for the present; to work as faithfully as you can, and to wait patiently until the Lord delivers you from your present hard circumstances.
“I will endeavour to get you a place in an honest Christian family. Have confidence in God; pray constantly, bear with this trial, and God will arrange all.” Mary thanked the good old minister and promised to follow his advice.
Mary’s favourite place of meditation was her father’s tomb, where she had planted a rose tree. “Alas,” said she, “if I could remain here always, I would water you with my tears!”
The rose tree was already green, and the buds began to open their purple cups. “My father was right,” said Mary, “when he compared human life to the rose tree. It offers nothing but thorns; but wait a little and the season will come when it shall be decked anew in foliage and robed in the most beautiful flowers. For me, this is now the time of thorns; but God help me not to be cast down! I believe your word, you are the best of fathers. Perhaps I may see in my life the truth of your favourite maxim—’Patience produces roses.’” Thus poor Mary consoled herself in her distress.
“Thou art, O Lord, my only trust,
When friends are mingled with the dust,
And all my loves are gone.
When Earth has nothing to bestow,
And every flower is dead below,
I look to Thee alone.”✿