Chapter XXV.
Joy and Sorrow.

The life at Annandale and the little old cottage (which for seven years was our home) continued as before—busy, peaceful, happy. Mrs. Hay soon quite recovered from the effects of her accident, and being always a lithe and active figure, was soon able to walk as far as ever up the hills. She had quite given up riding, however, now that the roads were good enough to admit of driving a buggy and pair of horses, and this exercise gave her great enjoyment. Edwin, the youngest Hay brother, from that time took charge of this entire department, and became an adept in the art of driving; the title of "Master of the Horse," bestowed on him then by John Guthrie, clings to him still, with as much applicability as ever.

The following years stand out distinctly in our memories by reason of their mingled joys and sorrows. Mary Hay's engagement to Tom Guthrie took place soon after his arrival in New Zealand. Being in accordance with every one's preconceived ideas on the subject, that event, when it became an actual fact, caused a flutter of pleasure amongst the outer circle of their friends. To those within the "ring of home," who stood close to both, the blending of their lives caused a stirring of real joy and satisfaction.

The dear mother, whose days were now drawing towards the even-time, lavished her love upon her three small grandchildren, Ebbie and Annie Hay and Jack Guthrie (then called "Johnnie"), whose sweet baby prattle was a constant source of delight to her. Whatever mischief the little hands found to do, and they were singularly active in the quest, "Gannie" forgave, nor did the aunties and uncles (consciously) spoil them! On the contrary, they had exalted views on discipline; it goes without saying, therefore, that if spoilt at all the mothers were the spoilers! But like the merry-healthy little creatures that they were, they emerged unscathed from the many snares that beset them mentally as well as physically. When Ebbie precipitated himself head first into the well at Annandale (one washing day, when the lid was off), it was his loving "Gannie" who drew the dripping, trembling little object into her arms, dried, dressed, and warmed him, soothing his sobbing into slumber. Jack had some similar exploits in the creek at Akaroa, for what small boy could resist the delights of a stream running through his father's garden? The caution, "You will be drowned if you fall in," failed of its effect, till one day after a punishment the culprit turned the tables on his mother by marching off in the direction of the harbour, this time, saying, "I going to down myself." Suddenly he found himself seized from behind, carried back to the creek, and plunged head under water, clothes and all! This inspiration of his long-suffering mother had the desired effect of checking his aquatic tendencies for a time. It would seem as if our little people led charmed lives, the very horses seemed to know who crept up behind to stroke their fetlocks, and forbore to kick. This was Annie's mode of caressing her equine favourites.

We could write pages of these incidents, which gave our happy little creatures small concern, but kept life active for their elders; one more reminiscence must suffice before we pass on with the years. One day, when Ebbie was about 3½ years old he ran from his father's side right in front of a drove of horses, who were let out of the yard, and were galloping down the lane to their paddock across the road. He was instantly knocked down, but there was no possible chance of rescuing, nor even reaching him until all the horses had passed over him! It was a moment of agony for father on one side of the road, mother and uncles on the other, who all expected to find the child quite dead. When picked up all the fun was out of the little white face, but not a scratch nor bruise was upon him. Although one hoof had touched him, resting lightly for an instant on his breast, it seemed as if the instinct of the good old horse, "Black Prince," prevented him from leaning any weight on the prostrate child, over whom all the horses galloped in single file.

In the winter of 1879 Mrs. Hay had a severe attack of bronchitis, but after some weeks of careful nursing her family rejoiced to see her recover. The tendency, however, had taken a strong hold upon her, for a few months afterwards her illness recurred. She had gone away for change at the solicitation and in the company of some friends, who were visiting Annandale in the summer. Soon afterwards, while staying "up-country," she became ill, and wished to return home at once. She was advised to go on to Wellington with her friends, Mrs. and Miss McDonald, in the hope that the change might restore her. This she did, but she did not improve, rather grew Worse, and when she returned—after a fortnight's stay—she was much too ill to bear the fatigue of travelling. She reached home in a very exhausted state towards the end of page 275February, 1880, and took to her bed at once, from which she never rose again. Drs. J. and T. O. Guthrie again attended her, John (who was still in Akaroa) was the family doctor, and Tom came in consultation. She, as well as all the family, had the utmost confidence in both, and knew that everything possible was being done for her;

Mrs. Ebenezer Hay—Died 3rd March, 1880.

but by this time acute pneumonia had set in, and there was no hope of recovery. Her sufferings for ten days were intense, no rest night or day; but constant struggling for breath and distressing pain, which she bore with patient fortitude. It was a sad time for all, and one that is painful to dwell upon, except for the recollection of her bright faith-inspired utterances to her dear ones, when she page 276could find strength to speak. The absent members of the family—Agnes (Mrs. Pilliet), Marion (Mrs. J. Guthrie), and William had been sent for, and all were round her till the end. The day before she died she had more ease, and slept quietly. It was an unspeakable comfort to see her sufferings cease, though we knew it meant that the powers of nature were exhausted, the struggle ended; there now remained but the passing hence of the tired spirit. In the grey dawn of early morning she gradually sank to rest as peacefully as an infant falling asleep. By the time the last attentions had been paid to the poor body, every line of age, pain and care had gone from the dear face, which had resumed the pure placid beauty of youth. That look on the faces of our dead! What can it be but a ray of the light beyond which their spirits have pierced; a faint gleam, for the waiting ones, of the brightness they have found? She died on 3rd March, 1880, in her 66th year, and was interred in Addington Cemetery, by her husband's side.

In these features we discover
Nought of mortal ill;
Calm as if her soul did hover
O'er its mansion still.
There we trace a soul forgiven
In that air serene;
As the twilight shows at even,
Where the sun hath been.
Through unnumbered tribulations
Onward still she pressed,
And at last through faith and patience
Entered into rest.
Safe within the golden portal
Jesus has her now;
While a wreath of life immortal
Blossoms on her brow.

"Christian Rest," from Sacred Lyrics, by J, Guthrie, D.D