CHAPTER XXIII.CONCLUSION.
FOUR years have come and gone, four very bright and happy years; and the good people of Arlingham are wont to say that things have never gone so well with them, that times have never seemed so smooth and prosperous, since the Squire’s sweet lady and her children lived at the Manor House and made the place bright and homelike with their presence.
Several minor changes have now taken place since Mr. and Mrs. Arbuthnot came to take possession of their house. Two little mites of children play now in the nurseries where Queenie once ruled supreme; and Bertie is never tired of watching the gambols and the antics of his tiny brother and sister, and, as he recounts to the Squire every detail of their wonderfulperformances, it is quite evident that he considers them the most remarkable children that ever lived.
When little Frank first began to try to “walk on his hind legs,” as the elder brother phrased it, Bertie’s admiration knew no bounds; and now that Winnie is beginning the same interesting process, his pride and delight in her is intense, and it is a pretty sight to see the boy out in the garden with the two little ones, carrying them about in his strong arms, and playing with them with a patience and good temper that never seems exhausted.
Bertie is still the Squire’s boy, and has never wavered in his allegiance to his adopted father. He follows him about like his shadow, is his companion on his every expedition, and no father and son could ever have been more deeply attached than is this elderly man to the son of his adoption, who now wears his name and is acknowledged as his heir.
Bertie is growing a tall, strong lad now, and has quite shaken off the childish delicacy that had given some anxiety at first. His open-air life has done wonders for him, and he is as active and agile as any of the boys who have in old days climbed the trees he climbs now, or jumped the hedges and ditches that intersect the fields round his home.
Yet with all this new strength and health, Bertie has never lost the reflective and thoughtful cast of mind that characterized him as a child, and his manner is always quiet and gentle, and marked, when he and the Squire are alone together, with a peculiar affection and respect.
The tie that binds those two together is very close and strong. It would be hard, perhaps, to define its nature; but it had bound together two lonely hearts in the days when each had been so desolate and isolated; and as time passed on, and they grew more and more to each other, the cord of love seemed to wind more closely and firmly about each heart.
And Bertie’s mother rejoices to see that it is so. No jealousy has power to disturb her sweet and noble nature; nor, indeed, has she any cause to cherish it, for her boy is loyal and true and loving towards her always, and she knows by sweet experience that one great love does not cast out another, but rather increases the capacity for loving within the heart that holds the two.
Bertie is her boy, too, as well as the Squire’s; and when love is the law of households there is no clashing of interests and no divided duty. The Squirewalks into Uncle Fred’s study as freely as if it were his own, or puts his head into Mrs. Arbuthnot’s morning-room to nod “Good-morning,” or strays up into the nursery to play with the babies, just as if the house were his own; whilst Bertie’s mother is as much at home in the Manor House as in her own domain, and is Mrs. Pritchard’s general referee for any little matter about which she feels any doubt.
If the Squire grew old in a single week of his life now nearly twenty years ago, it has certainly seemed to the good people of Arlingham that he has grown younger and more hale and hearty during the later portion of that time.
“He’s been a new man since Master Bertie came,” is a common saying in the village; and certainly they ought to know, since he has been born and grown old amongst them.
Certainly the grey-headed yet upright and vigorous man so often to be seen riding through the village with his son at his side, visiting those houses he once thought never to enter again, and playing in the garden with Mrs. Arbuthnot’s pretty curly-headed babies, is strangely different from the heavy-browed, bowed-down Squire of five years ago; and the many tenants and servants who have loved himand served him for so many years rejoice at the change in one who has always been to them a true friend as well as a just and watchful master.
David has been promoted to the post of the “young Squire’s groom.” For Bertie is often called that now, and accepts a position he understands the Squire wishes him to occupy with the ready willingness and obedience that has characterized his conduct throughout. David may be his groom, but he is also his friend; for Bertie is tenacious of first impressions, and never forgets that he owes to David the first gleam of real happiness that seemed to gild his once lonely lot.
Bertie has quite a circle of friends now, and he studies regularly with his pastor, who takes pupils from several of the houses round about; but he is still quite as fond of a quiet chat with David by the sea-shore, where they talk over old times together, and lay plans for the future. A good many boyish yet very earnest resolves are exchanged between those two at such times, and they both find it helpful to talk together of their faults and failures as well as of their aspirations and hopes. They do not kneel down at the turn of the tide to ask God’s special blessing, or to call themselves to His remembrance,for they know well now that He is always watching over them, and that to Him all times and seasons are alike; yet they often think of those days when they were struggling out of the darkness into the light, and I think nothing would ever make either of these two lads ashamed to say his prayers.
Queenie and Phil came every year to spend a pleasant visit with Uncle Fred and Aunt Winifred; and the little girl often remains for many weeks after her brother returns to school; for there is something in the atmosphere of her aunt’s house which, as she expresses it, “does her good,” and she is always very reluctant to leave.
She and Bertie are great friends, even if they are a little less outspoken than in old days. Now and then she tells him, in moments of unusual confidence, that she is trying to be more obedient, and does not find it quite so tiresome as she expected. She has learned, too, to believe in Bertie’s courage and high principles, and she has a warm and increasing admiration for him, and ranks him in her heart as her favorite next to Phil, and in some ways more of a hero, for Phil’s unbounded flow of spirits hinders him from posing in any way that could well be called heroic.
I think it will be easy for anybody to believe that Bertie’s life is a very happy one. Of course he has his little trials and troubles and ups and downs, as we all have, and without which we should be sadly disposed to get careless and puffed up. He does not expect to be exempt from these, and he tries to bear them bravely and cheerfully. He is very grateful and happy in his life, and thinks that he is the most fortunate boy in the world.
But, in spite of all this happiness, he has his moments of sadness, moments when there comes over him a sense that all things here fade and change, and that life will not always flow for him quite in this smooth channel. Such thoughts come over him not unfrequently, and with no little significance. For Sunday by Sunday he now stands for a few solemn moments bareheaded by a quiet grave beneath the yew tree, where the Squire has stood every Sunday of his life ever since his dear ones lay below the sod; and sometimes the lad will feel the pressure of a hand upon his shoulder, and will hear a familiar voice say, dreamily,—
“When I am lying with them, my boy, at rest after life’s long battle, you will not forget me, will you?—nor the traditions of the old place that willbe yours after me? You will be a kind and a just master, and keep up the honor of the old name? You will not forget the widow or the fatherless children, nor suffer the aged to want for daily bread? You will do as those before you have done, and more if the way opens before you? You will try to be a credit to a name that I love and respect for the sake of those who have borne it before me? When you are Squire of Arlingham, Bertie, you will try to be a good one?”
It is hard for Bertie to answer questions like these, yet he looks up, after a struggle with himself, and says,—
“I will try, father, I will try my very best; but I cannot bear to think of it. It is so hard to think of being left alone again.”
The Squire with his quiet smile points to the words upon the marble slab.
“My boy, when you lay me to rest beneath that stone, you must learn, as I too had to learn, to say from your heart of hearts, ‘Thy will be done.’”
Bertie lifts his eyes, and although tears are in them their expression is resolute and brave.
“I will try, father, I will try. I will think of you and your courage and resignation when you were left all alone.”
“Not quite alone, my boy, not quite alone,” answers the Squire, laying his hand upon the lad’s head in a sort of benediction. “We have both learned by personal experience that there is One who never leaves us quite alone. In the fatherly care of that One I can leave you when the time comes without one doubt or one fear. Only be strong and of a good courage—He will never fail thee nor forsake thee.”
Transcriber’s Notes:Missing or obscured punctuation was silently corrected.Typographical errors were silently corrected.Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were made consistent only when a predominant form was found in this book.