Gentle Hand
I DID not hear the maiden's name; but in my thought I have ever
since called her "Gentle Hand." What a magic lay in her touch! It
was wonderful.
When and where, it matters not now to relate--but once upon a time
as I was passing through a thinly peopled district of country, night
came down upon me, almost unawares. Being on foot, I could not hope
to gain the village toward which my steps were directed, until a
late hour; and I therefore preferred seeking shelter and a night's
lodging at the first humble dwelling that presented itself.
Dusky twilight was giving place to deeper shadows, when I found
myself in the vicinity of a dwelling, from the small uncurtained
windows of which the light shone with a pleasant promise of good
cheer and comfort. The house stood within an enclosure, and a short
distance from the road along which I was moving with wearied feet.
Turning aside, and passing through an ill-hung gate, I approached
the dwelling. Slowly the gate swung on its wooden hinges, and the
rattle of its latch, in closing, did not disturb the air until I had
nearly reached the little porch in front of the house, in which a
slender girl, who had noticed my entrance, stood awaiting my
arrival.
A deep, quick bark answered, almost like an echo, the sound of the
shutting gate, and, sudden as an apparition, the form of an immense
dog loomed in the doorway. I was now near enough to see the savage
aspect of the animal, and the gathering motion of his body, as he
prepared to bound forward upon me. His wolfish growl was really
fearful. At the instant when he was about to spring, a light hand
was laid upon his shaggy neck, and a low word spoken.
"Don't be afraid. He won't hurt you," said a voice, that to me
sounded very sweet and musical.
I now came forward, but in some doubt as to the young girl's power
over the beast, on whose rough neck her almost childish hand still
lay. The dog did not seem by any means reconciled to my approach,
and growled wickedly his dissatisfaction.
"Go in, Tiger," said the girl, not in a voice of authority yet in
her gentle tones was the consciousness that she would be obeyed;
and, as she spoke, she lightly bore upon the animal with her hand,
and he turned away, and disappeared within the dwelling.
"Who's that?" A rough voice asked the question; and now a
heavy-looking man took the dog's place in the door.
"Who are you? What's wanted?" There was something very harsh and
forbidding in the way the man spoke. The girl now laid her hand upon
his arm, and leaned, with a gentle pressure, against him.
"How far is it to G----?" I asked, not deeming it best to say, in
the beginning, that I sought a resting-place for the night.
"To G----!" growled the man, but not so harshly as at first. "It's
good six miles from here."
"A long distance; and I'm a stranger, and on foot," said I. "If you
can make room for me until morning, I will be very thankful."
I saw the girl's hand move quickly up his arm, until it rested on
his shoulder, and now she leaned to him still closer.
"Come in. We'll try what can be done for you."
There was a change in the man's voice that made me wonder.
I entered a large room, in which blazed a brisk fire. Before the
fire sat two stout lads, who turned upon me their heavy eyes, with
no very welcome greeting. A middle-aged woman was standing at a
table, and two children were amusing themselves with a kitten on the
floor.
"A stranger, mother," said the man who had given me so rude a
greeting at the door; "and he wants us to let him stay all night."
The woman looked at me doubtingly for a few moments, and then
replied coldly--
"We don't keep a public-house."
"I'm aware of that, ma'am," said I; "but night has overtaken me, and
it's a long way yet to G----."
"Too far for a tired man to go on foot," said the master of the
house, kindly, "so it's no use talking about it, mother; we must
give him a bed."
So unobtrusively, that I scarcely noticed the movement, the girl had
drawn to the woman's side. What she said to her, I did not hear, for
the brief words were uttered in a low voice; but I noticed, as she
spoke, one small, fair hand rested on the woman's hand. Was there
magic in that gentle touch? The woman's repulsive aspect changed
into one of kindly welcome, and she said:
"Yes, it's a long way to G----. I guess we can find a place for him.
Have you had any supper?"
I answered in the negative.
The woman, without further remark, drew a pine table from the wall,
placed upon it some cold meat, fresh bread and butter, and a pitcher
of new milk. While these preparations were going on, I had more
leisure for minute observation. There was a singular contrast
between the young girl I have mentioned and the other inmates of the
room; and yet, I could 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, John!" I turned my head as the maiden's sweet voice
reached my ear. She was passing through the gate into the road, and,
in the next moment, had taken hold of the lad and drawn him away
from the animal. No strength was exerted in this; she took hold of
his arm, and he obeyed her wish as readily as if he had no thought
beyond her gratification.
And now that soft hand was laid gently on the pony's neck, and a
single low word spoken. How instantly were the tense muscles
relaxed--how quickly the stubborn air vanished.
"Poor Dick!" said the maiden, as she stroked his neck lightly, or
softly patted it with a child-like hand.
"Now, go along, you provoking fellow!" she added, in a half-chiding,
yet affectionate voice, as she drew upon the bridle. The pony turned
toward her, and rubbed his head against her arm for an instant or
two; then, pricking up his ears, he started off at a light, cheerful
trot, and went on his way as freely as if no silly crotchet had ever
entered his stubborn brain.
"What a wonderful power that hand possesses!" said I, speaking to my
companion, as we rode away.
He looked at me for a moment as if my remark had occasioned
surprise. Then a light came into his countenance, and he said,
briefly--
"She's good! Everybody and every thing loves her."
Was that, indeed, the secret of her power? Was the quality of her
soul perceived in the impression of her hand, even by brute beasts!
The father's explanation was, doubtless, the true one. Yet have I
ever since wondered, and still do wonder, at the potency which lay
in that maiden's magic touch. I have seen something of the same
power, showing itself in the loving and the good, but never to the
extent as instanced in her, whom, for a better name, I must still
call "Gentle Hand."
A gentle touch, a soft word. Ah! how few of us, when the will is
strong with its purpose, can believe in the power of agencies so
apparently insignificant! And yet all great influences effect their
ends silently, unobtrusively, and with a force that seems at first
glance to be altogether inadequate. Is there not a lesson for us all
in this?
-THE END-
T S Arthur's short story: Gentle Hand
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