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MY FIRST PLACE.
I WENT back to Betson's that afternoon with no further information about what was going to happen to me; but at night, when I was getting my supper, my mother told me that I was going to be "the boy" at a Mrs. Tremayne's, somewhere in the country, at a place called Grassbourne. I was to clean the boots and shoes and knives, and make myself generally useful in the house; and I was also to work in the garden, and look after the pony. The hearty man, my mother told me, was Mrs. Tremayne's gardener, and lived in a cottage close to her house. He had been one of my father's schoolfellows; but he had not seen him for a long time. More than this my mother could not tell me.
Those last days at home were very hard ones for my poor mother. She looked more overdone and depressed than before. There was so much mending to be done to jackets and socks; there were two new shirts to be made, and a good pile of things to be washed and ironed, and everything must be finished and ready before Monday afternoon, when I was to set forth for my new home.
Salome clung to me very much that last week; she could not bear the idea of my going away, and cried so much that the boys laughed at her, and even my mother told her "she need not make that fuss; Peter would come back again some day, no doubt!"
I felt very much saying good-by to them all; they stood at the door and watched me go, and Salome waved her pocket-handkerchief, and sobbed out:
"Good-by, Peter, dear, dear Peter."
And I saw mother turning away, wiping her eyes with her apron, and I am not ashamed to say that I shed a few tears too.
But when I was in the train my spirits revived, and I began to look out for Calvington station, where my father had told me to be sure and get out.
The hearty man, or as I must now call him Mr. Bagot, was there to meet me, and I soon found myself sitting beside him in a light spring-cart, driving six miles to my new home.
"Nice pony this is!" said Bagot. "We've had her it will be three years now, and she goes like a house on fire, Bessie does! She never needs the whip, she don't. Bless her!"
After a pleasant drive down country lanes, and past country cottages, up hill and down hill, by the side of a river, through a beautiful copse wood, and over an ancient bridge, we came in sight of Mrs. Tremayne's house.
It was a tall white house, standing on the side of a hill, with a pretty little avenue of beeches and oaks leading up to it. We drove a short way up this carriage-drive, and then we turned off to the right, and stopped before a cottage, covered all over with a lovely creeper, which was a mass of bright scarlet flowers, and standing in a small garden, full of pansies, and fuchsias, and holly-hocks, and sweet-williams, and all kinds of country flowers. Here I was to live with Bagot and his wife; and I thought myself a very fortunate boy.
Mrs. Bagot gave me a warm welcome. She was a comfortable rosy woman, as cheery and hearty as her husband, though perhaps she did not talk quite so much.
"Me and Mrs. Bagot haven't got no olive-branches of our own, we haven't; so you'll have to be son and daughter all in one, you will, Peter," said Bagot, as we went into the neat, cosey kitchen. "And now come your way and get your tea; you'll be hungry, you will. Here's the missus' best ham, and the missus' freshest eggs, and the missus' primest cakes! We'll get to work at once, old wife; maybe our lady will be wanting to see the lad when she's had her dinner. So pour away, old woman; we'll waste no time, we won't."
I did full justice to Mrs. Bagot's ham and eggs and cakes, and then we drew our chairs near the fire, and Bagot smoked his pipe and talked to me, while Mrs. Bagot cleared away the tea-things, and washed them up in the little pantry opening out of the kitchen.
"Do you see that, Peter?" said Bagot, pointing to a card over the chimney-piece, in a pretty Oxford frame. "That's our motto, that is! All in this place have to try to walk after them there rules. The lady gave them to us; she has them up in her room, too. She'll give you them, I shouldn't wonder, when she sees you. Dear me! I wouldn't be without them for a sight of money, I wouldn't. You read them, and see what you think of them."
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RULES FOR TO-DAY.Do nothing that you would not like to be doing when Jesus comes.Go to no place where you would not like to be found when Jesus comes.Say nothing that you would not like to be saying when Jesus comes.THE LORD IS AT HAND!
"I like them very much," I said, when I had read them, and I thought of the sermon I had heard the Sunday before, and of Salome's text.
"Ay! They're good rules, them are," he said. "The missus and me reads them every morning, for we never know, Peter," he said, in a solemn voice, "which day He may come."
"Peter, have you any sort of an idea what an angel's like?"' he said, turning round on me suddenly.
I thought of the Christmas card, and of Salome, and said I wasn't sure.
"You'll be sure to-night then," he said, "as sure as your name's Peter, you will."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Why," he said, "wait till you've seen our lady, and you'll know what an angel's like, and no mistake."
"Is she so beautiful?" I asked.
"Beautiful!" he repeated. "You never saw such a face in your life, you never did. Misses," he called out to his wife, who was busy in the pantry, "is our lady beautiful? What do you say?"
"Ay, you're right there, Jem; she's beautiful, if anybody ever was beautiful!"
"And is she good, old woman?" asked her husband.
"Ay, Jem, you're right again; she's good, sure enough!"
"And kind?" asked her husband. "Come, old woman, is she kind?"
"Ay, Jem, I wouldn't be the one to say she isn't kind," said his wife; "she's been that to you and me, Jem, and the times can't be counted!"
"Well, then!" said Bagot, with an air of triumph, as if he were collecting evidence for the county court, "if she's beautiful and good and kind, my lad, it stands to reason that she's an angel, she is, and so I always have said she was, and always will say."
"Has she any children?" I asked.
"Only one," he said, sadly; "it's a sorrowful story, hers is. She has been through deep waters, she has; but the Lord has been with her!"
I waited for him to go on, and presently he did.
"She was only a wife for one year," he said, "and then her husband died; he was only ill a few days. Poor lady, it nearly broke her heart, it did, for it was just wrapped up in him. And then, only a few weeks after that, her baby was born, and then she wrapped up her heart in him, she did. She just lived for her baby. But when Master Reggie (that's what we call him) was only a few months old, a careless servant girl let him fall, and injured his back, and he'll never be able to walk, the doctor says. Ay, but he's the dearest lamb that ever was, he is!"
"How old is he?" I asked.
"Five years old," said Bagot. "It was his birthday last Sunday, it was, and his mother gave him a Bible, and he sent for me up to see it. Bless him, he's mighty fond of me. You'll maybe see him this evening; and if you're a good lad, and careful, our lady will let you take him out in his carriage, I shouldn't wonder."
"Poor lady, she has had trouble!" I said.
"Ay, a big heap of it," he answered; "but it's the trouble that drove her to the Lord. She didn't love Him before, so she says. And folks say she was proud and cold in those days. I didn't know her then, and I don't know if I can bring myself to believe it. She isn't cold and hard now, that I know; but it makes a vast change when a body comes to the Lord, it does; so there's no saying!"
"Will she get married again, do you think?" I asked.
"Married again!" says Bagot, starting from his seat, and looking at me quite fiercely. "Married again! If our lady gets married again, Peter, I shall look for the sun to fall from the sky, and yon big hill to tumble into the valley, and my old woman to run away from me!"
Which last, of all impossible things, seemed to him the most impossible.
"She loved her husband so much, then," I said.
"Loved him," repeated Bagot, "she loves him, loves him now. She does not think of him as dead, but as living—living with the Lord, and any day the Lord may come and bring him to meet her. That's the hope she lives on, that is!"
I felt very anxious after hearing this to see my mistress and the little crippled boy, who was just the same age, and had the very same birthday, as our little Salome.
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MASTER REGGIE.
THAT evening, about seven o'clock, my mistress sent for me. I was shown into a beautiful room, with a carpet as soft as velvet, and all round the room there were lovely pictures, and photographs, and vases of hothouse flowers, and so many pretty and charming things, that I felt as if it was a strange dream that I was there, and that it could not be true.
Mrs. Tremayne was as beautiful and as good and as kind as Bagot had described her. She was sitting by the fire with her work when I went in, and on the other side of the fire, lying on a spring sofa, was the thinnest, whitest little boy I have ever seen. He looked just like a tiny skeleton dressed up in clothes, but, though his face was so pale and worn, it was a very beautiful little face, for he had large lovely eyes, that seemed as if they saw far more than our eyes see; they seemed to be looking at something very far away.
"Dear mother," he said, in a little, thin, high-pitched voice, "what is that boy's name?"
"It is Peter," said his mother; "he has come to live in Bagot's cottage."
"Oh! Is it Peter?" said the little boy, "Peter who walked on the sea! Oh! I am glad you've come. We read about you in my new Bible yesterday. Weren't you very frightened, Peter, when you began to sink?"
"Oh! It isn't the same Peter," said his mother, smiling; "that Peter lived a long time ago."
"Oh! I'm sorry it isn't the same Peter," said the little voice; "I do wish it was the same Peter."
Mrs. Tremayne talked very kindly to me, and told me she hoped I should be very happy there, and would do my work well, not to please her, but to please God. Then she told me what my work was to be, and how she wished me to divide my time; and she said she hoped I should be very obedient to Bagot, and take his advice in everything, "for he is a good, worthy man," she said.
Then Mrs. Tremayne spoke of the wages she would give me, which were to be increased as I became more useful, and she said she would have me taught to clean the silver, and to wait at table, so that, after I had been with her about three years, she might be able to get me a situation as footman in one of the large houses in the neighborhood.
The little boy had been quite quiet all the time my mistress was talking to me, until she mentioned this, and then he said, suddenly—
"Dear mother."
"What, my darling boy?"
"You said three years."
"Yes, Reggie."
"Won't Jesus come before three years are done, dear mother?"
"I hope so, darling," said his mother, with tears in her eyes; "but we do not know how short a time or how long a time there may be before He comes."
"I hope He will come before three years," said little Reggie.
I glanced up when he said this, and I saw that the "Rules for To-day" were hung up over the chimney-piece. Mrs. Tremayne seemed to think of them at the same time, for she went to her writing-table and took out a copy of them, which she gave to me, and told me to hang it up in my bedroom.
"We are all trying to live by those rules, Peter," she said; "and I hope, by God's grace, you will do so, too; then, I am sure, neither Bagot nor I will have any fault to find with you."
As I was leaving the room, the little boy called me back.
"Peter," he said, "stop a minute, Peter! Dear mother, may Peter take me out to-morrow?"
"Will you be very careful? Can I trust you, Peter?" asked my mistress. "My little boy is very delicate, and needs the greatest care."
"Yes, ma'am," I said; "indeed you may trust me."
"Then be ready at eleven o'clock, in your tidiest clothes, to take Master Reggie out."
"Peter," said the child, "I'll take you to see my children. You didn't know I had any children, did you, Peter? I have sixty-nine children; isn't that a great many? I used to have seventy, but one of them died. Would you like to see my children, Peter?"
"Yes, thank you, Master Reggie," I said, "very much indeed."
"Good-night, Peter," he said.
But before I had shut the door, I heard him say to his mother, "Isn't Peter a nice boy, mother? I like him very much, though he didn't walk on the sea."
The next morning I was very pleased when eleven o'clock came, and it was time to take the little carriage round to the front door. The carriage was made of wicker-work, and was something like a bed inside, so that Master Reggie could lie down the whole time, and there was a handle by which I pulled it along. In a few minutes the door was opened, and his nurse carried him downstairs. He was very pleased to see me, and we went off at once to see his children. As we passed the back door, the cook ran out with a basket, containing a number of parcels.
"That's the children's breakfast!" said the child. "Cook always has it ready for me. My children have a number of nurseries, Peter. Here's the first," he said, as he pointed to a horse-box, at the entrance of a very clean and tidy farm-yard.
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EIGHT RING-DOVES CAME FLYING DOWN AS SOON AS THEY SAW US.
I drew his carriage gently inside, and there we found a white hen and eleven little, soft fluffy chickens. He watched me with great interest while I made a dish of sopped bread for the little ones, and threw down a handful of corn for their mother.
"She's an old child, Peter," he said; "I've had her a long time, since I was quite a little boy."
We next visited an old black hen, who had charge of six tiny yellow ducks, and again he was much pleased to teach me how to mix their breakfast, and how much they ought to have.
Then we came upon an open space in front of the barn, and here eight ring-doves came flying down as soon as they saw us, and perched upon the wicker-work of the little carriage. We fed them with corn, and Master Reggie quite screamed with joy as they picked it off the rug which was thrown over his feet.
The next child was a very strange one—a small monkey, which had a warm, cosey home in one of the out-houses.
"A man with an organ brought him one day," he said, "and he shivered so, and the man was cruel to him and beat him, and that made me cry; so mother bought him for me, and he's so happy and warm now; aren't you, Jacko?"
The monkey certainly looked in the best of spirits, as he put out his hands for biscuits, and nuts, and all the good things we had brought for him, and then scampered away and hid them behind his warm bed of hay, to be devoured after we had gone.
We then went on to visit a hutch of ten rabbits, of all colors and breeds, and for whom we had brought a good supply of cabbage leaves, and two young pigs in the cleanest pig-sty I have ever seen, and a tame squirrel with a broken leg, which Bagot had found dying in the wood, and had brought home to be nursed.
"That child is to go free as soon as he's well enough," said the boy; "he has just come to the hospital for a bit, poor thing! He's like me now, he can't walk!"
Then we turned into the garden, and went into an aviary, opening out of one of the hothouses, where were no less than twenty canaries, and here there was much to be done to supply them all with fresh water and sufficient seed. Some of them were so tame that they flew on the carriage, and took hemp seeds out of Master Reggie's mouth.
Our last visit was to a pet lamb, in a field in front of the house, and for this child, I fetched a bucket of milk from the farm.
"Now you've seen sixty-one of my children," said the little boy; "there are eight more in the house; they had their breakfast before you came. There is a little green parrot, an old pussy-cat and a kitten, four little dormice (it was one of them that died), and my little dog Sandy. Haven't I a great many children?"
He seemed very tired now, and soon his nurse came to carry him in. But before she took him away, he threw his arms round my neck, and said, "Peter, dear Peter, don't forget to come for me to-morrow."
He was so thin and light that the nurse carried him upstairs as if he were a little baby.
"Do you think he will ever live to grow up?" I said to Bagot, when I went back to help him in the garden; "he looks so very ill and white and thin."
"God knows," said Bagot, with tears in his eyes; "God knows, Peter. That's all we can say about it, God knows. And, perhaps, Peter," he said with a sigh, as he stooped to pull up a weed, "perhaps it's just as well that we don't know."
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THERE IS NO TIME TO LOSE.
I WAS very happy in my new life at Grassbourne. If it had not been for the parting from Salome, I do not think I could have been happier.
I had a very busy life, for there was plenty to do both indoors and out-of-doors; but I am sure we are always happier when our time is filled up with useful work. Idle folks are always in bad spirits.
Every one was so kind to me, that I should indeed have been ungrateful if I had not loved them and tried to please them. Bagot and his wife were father and mother to me. Their cottage was a merry, cheerful place to live in, and it was a great help to me to be with such good Christian people.
Ever since the night of Salome's fifth birthday, when I had brought my sins to Jesus, I had taken Him for my Master, and had longed and tried to live as He would like me to live. And every one and everything at Grassbourne seemed to help me forward in this wish and in this effort.
The one thought with which all their hearts seemed to be filled was this: that Jesus, their Lord, might come at any day, and at any hour, and that they must be ready at once to go and meet Him. The "Rules for To-day" were no dead letters to them; they brought them into daily use in their daily life.
Often have I seen Bagot stop suddenly in the midst of something he was saying, and glance up at the chimney-piece, and sometimes he would say aloud to himself:
"Ah, Bagot, you wouldn't like to be saying that when He comes, you wouldn't."
Or when the clock told that the hour he allowed himself for dinner was over, he would rise, and, pointing to Rule No. 1, he would read it aloud:
"'Do nothing that you would not like to be doing when Jesus comes.'"
"Ah, Jem Bagot," he would say, "you hadn't need be caught a-wasting of your time when your Master comes."
His wife seldom spoke of the rules, but she kept them for all that. I never heard her but once speak an ill-natured word of any one, and then she looked up at the chimney-piece, and I saw tears come in her eyes, as she felt she had broken the third rule on the list.
As for my mistress, I think she lived every day as if it might be the last day before her Lord came. Her life was one long act of loving obedience to the Master; she always seemed to try to please Him in everything she did. The poor people in the cottages round, the sick folks in the little town near, the children playing by the roadside, all knew the sound of Bessie's hoofs on the road, and all of them welcomed the sight of her; for they were sure to get a pleasant word, or a kind visit, or a bright smile from their dear Mrs. Tremayne.
"The Master may come any day," I heard her say once, when some one was urging her not to go out in the rain to see a dying woman; "there is no time to lose."
Over the dining-room chimney-piece there was this verse, which my mistress had illuminated herself:
"The time is short—how short we cannot tell,Or clearly understand;But those who read the King's directions well,Think it is close at hand!Lord, is it so? Then grant that weMay lose no time, but work for Thee."
And the same thought which stirred my mistress up to work, was also her great comfort in her sorrow. There was a beautiful picture of her husband hanging in her room, and underneath it, on a white scroll, I read these words:
"O comfort ye your hearts;If ye could only knowHow few the daysEre that glad day arrives,Ye could but praise!Then wipe your weeping eyes, and joyful say,'It may be that the King will come to-day.'"
My chief pleasure and delight was in drawing Master Reggie out in his little carriage. Each morning we went together to feed his children, and he soon became almost as dear to me as my little Salome.
Nearly every day he would ask me the same question:
"Peter," he would say, "do you think Jesus will come to-day?"
And when I answered, "I don't know, Master Reggie; we can't tell," he would say, "Oh, I do hope He will come to-day!"
"Do you know, Peter," he said once, "when Jesus comes I shall walk as well as you do, and run and skip and jump! Oh, Peter, won't it be nice?"
And the poor little boy, who had never been able to walk or skip or jump, had tears in his eyes as he said it.
Often he would bring his new Bible out with him, and ask me to read aloud to him out of it. He looked out all the stories about St. Peter, and made me read these to him very often. The story of Peter's walking on the sea was a great favorite of his; but whenever we read about Peter's fall, and his denying his Master, he would take hold of my hand, and say:
"It wasn't you, Peter, you know. You would have called out, 'I do know Him;' wouldn't you, Peter?"
Sometimes, when the days grew damp and cold, and when he could not go out so much or so often, he would send for me to come and see him in his nursery, and would show me his toys and picture-books.
So a whole year passed away, and Salome's birthday came round again, and my mistress was so kind as to give me a holiday, that I might go over and see her. Master Reggie did not half like my being away on his birthday; but he comforted himself with his mother's promise that I should come up to the nursery the next day to see all his presents, and to tell him about Salome.
I went over by an early train, and took them all by surprise. They gave me a warm welcome, and Salome danced for joy, and was delighted with the present I had brought her, a little rose-bush, covered with tiny dwarf roses, and a pot of forget-me-nots. Bagot had given them to me when they were quite young plants, and I had reared them for Salome's birthday.
There was so much for me to tell, and for them to hear, and for them to tell, and for me to hear, that the day passed all too quickly. The parting at night was a little hard to us all, and Salome's tears left my face quite wet, as I hurried away from her down the street, to catch the evening train for Calvington.
All this time I had, by God's grace, kept out of crooked paths.
I had a little room of my own over the kitchen in Bagot's cottage, and I used to get up early, and sit by the window looking out into the little garden, and read my Bible, and pray to God to help me to please Him through the day, and to give me grace to keep the three rules unbroken.
But soon after Salome's sixth birthday had gone by, I began to get very careless about my daily reading and prayer. A lazy fit came over me, and I would lie in bed half awake, until I heard Bagot coming out of the opposite room. He would rap at my door, and call out—
"Only ten minutes, Peter, my lad; you must look sharp, you must."
And then I would tumble out of bed, and dress, and only have time to kneel by my bed for one hasty moment, before it was time for me to go out to my work.
I mention this fact because it throws light upon what comes next. I am quite sure of this, that we are never safe when we are prayerless, and that if, for a single day, Satan can catch us going forth to the day's work without prayer, he catches us at the best possible time for him, and the worst possible time for us.
I think Bagot had some idea that all was not right with me, for he said, suddenly, one morning, as we were walking together to our work in the garden:
"He's a bad soldier, Peter, who goes into the battle with no armor on; he'll come off badly, he will."
"What do you mean?" I said.
"Only don't you ever try it on, Peter, my lad, that's all!"
I thought I knew what he meant, but I did not like to ask him; and for one or two days after that, I got up rather earlier, and gave myself more time for prayer. But I soon slipped into the old careless way again.
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THE ROBBER'S CAVE.
ONE morning in August, about six weeks after Salome's birthdays I went for the carriage, at eleven o'clock, and brought it round to the front door. I was looking forward to taking Master Reggie, as usual, to give his children their breakfast. But my mistress came to the door, which was standing open, with a letter in her hand.
"Peter," she said, "Master Reggie is not at all well; he seems to have taken cold; he will not be able to go out to-day. I want you, instead, to take this letter for me. You are a good walker, are you not?"
"Yes, ma'am," I said, "very good."
"It is to the doctor, Peter," she said; "he lives, as you know, at Calvington. Have you ever seen his house?"
"Yes, ma'am," I said; "isn't it a large red house, standing among a number of trees, not far from the station?"
"That's it, Peter," she said. "I am sorry Bessie is laid up with her bad foot. Bagot says she must not go out for some days yet; but if you walk steadily on, you will have plenty of time to get to Calvington before one o'clock, when the doctor is always at home, to receive any messages that have been left for him. Ask to see him yourself, Peter, and give him the letter; I am very anxious that he should come before night."
I set off at once for my long walk. It was a very sultry day, and it was a long time since we had had any rain, so the road was covered with thick white dust.
It was anything but a pleasant day for a walk, and I soon got very hot and tired. Twelve miles of this would be very wearying, I thought. And I wished very much that Bessie had been all right, for I could have driven to Calvington in a very short time.
When I was about two miles on my way, I came to a part of the road which ran very near the sea, and here I overtook a lad who came sometimes to Grassbourne, when we wanted an extra hand to dig up potatoes, or to weed, or to do any odd job we might have on hand in the garden. His name was Jack Anderson, and Bagot did not like him much, and was always very short with him; but his mother was a widow who lived in one of the cottages near, and my mistress pitied her, and for her sake was willing to give Jack a little work now and again.
"Hullo! Peter," he said, "where are you off to?"
When I told him, he gave a great groan of horror.
"Wouldn't be you," he said, "for a good deal."
"It is hot," I said, stopping under a tree to take off my hat, and to wipe the perspiration from my forehead; "there is not a breath of air!"
"I'll tell you what," said Jack, suddenly, "Mike will be up directly. He'll take your letter for you; he's going to Calvington."
"Who is Mike?" I said.
"Don't you know Mike?" he said. "He's McTaggart's youngest lad; his father has Canrobin Farm, away up on the hills. He's driving into Calvington with some parcels for his father, which have to go off by the one o'clock train. I saw him a few minutes since, calling for something at Kilgreggan House, a bit down this road by the sea. Oh, here he is!"
At this moment a light cart drove up, and in it was young McTaggart, in the midst of sacks and bundles and parcels. Jack told him my errand, and he said at once he would take the letter.
"Oh! But, Jack," I said, "maybe I ought not to give it to him. My mistress told me to go myself, and to give it to the doctor."
"Stuff and nonsense!" said Jack, laughing heartily. "As if it mattered who took the letter, so long as the doctor gets it? and Mike will be there long before you would; so it's a good job, whichever way you look at it."
"Perhaps I had better go with Mike," I said, "if he'll be so good as to give me a lift."
"But Mike isn't coming back again," said Jack; "he's going to stay in Calvington all day at his aunt's; aren't you, Mike? And so you'd just have to toil these weary miles back again in the heat and dust. Don't be a fool now, Peter!"
I did not like being called a fool, and so, although my conscience told me I was doing wrong, I handed my letter to Mike, and he drove away.
"Now come along with me, Peter," said Jack, when Mike had disappeared round a turning in the road.
"Come where?" I asked.
"Down to the sea," said Jack; "we can be there in three minutes across this field."
"Oh, no," I said. "I must go home now."
"Nonsense about going home!" he said. "That's the very thing you mustn't do! Your mistress will soon smell a rat if you go home now. She'll want to know why you've been so quick, and then it will all come out. Let us see, if you walked to Calvington, you could not be back here before two o'clock at the earliest; so we've two hours and a half, at least, to enjoy ourselves. I'll take you to the Robber's Cave. You've never seen it, have you?"
"No, never," I said. "I should like to see it very much; but I think I ought to go back."
"Don't be such a stupid!" said Jack, as he sprang over the stile which led into the field.
I knew I was doing wrong, and yet I followed him, for—I am ashamed to say—I was afraid of him. I could not bear to be laughed at, or to be called a fool or a stupid, so I did what my conscience told me, again and again, that I ought not to do.
Yet for a time all seemed very pleasant. I told conscience to be quiet, and made up my mind to enjoy myself till two o'clock.
It was cool and pleasant by the sea, and we had a bathe, and then we climbed along the cliff to the Robber's Cave. It was a very curious place, and we examined every nook and corner of it, and we sat inside it for some time, for it was so pleasant and refreshing to get out of the glare and heat of the sun.
But while we were sitting down in the cave talking and laughing we suddenly heard a rumble of distant thunder.
"It seems to be a storm coming up," said Jack; "let's climb up and see."
The sky was wonderfully changed since we went into the cave about half an hour before; it was quite black now, and the birds flew about wildly in all directions.
We climbed down from the cave, and picked our way along the shore over the rough rocks and shingles, until we came to the pathway leading up to the top of the cliffs. As we went along, the storm increased; and by the time we reached this path it had begun to rain.
"We shall have a pelter in a minute," said Jack; "let's run for it."
We went at a tremendous pace up the cliff, and then tore across the field, for the rain was coming down very fast now. We did not stop to breathe till we had rushed through the open door of a public-house which stood on the road, about a hundred yards from the path leading down to the sea.
"Now," said Jack, "we're all right; that was well done! But we're only just in time," he said, as there came a vivid flash of lightning, a loud clap of thunder, and a tremendous downpour of rain.
"What will you drink, Peter?" he said. "Whiskey or beer?"
"Nothing, thank you," I said; "I never take anything of the kind."
"Oh, rubbish," he said; "you must drink something. Now you've come to take shelter here, for the good of the house you couldn't be so mean as to come in and to take nothing."
A third time conscience raised her warning voice, and a third time I would not listen to her, and for the very same reason—because I was a coward, afraid to do that which I knew was right.
"Two for whiskey," said Jack to the landlord, as he opened the door of the little inn parlor.
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THE STORM.
WE were sitting with our glasses in our hands, and Jack was making all sorts of absurd speeches, and was proposing my health, and the landlord's health, and the health of the rest of the company in the room, when there came art unusually bright flash of lightning, which made us all start, followed immediately by a peal of thunder, which sounded as if the house were falling over our heads.
"Good gracious!" said Jack. "That was a whacker! I shall have to drink Mr. Thunder's health next!"
But I could not join in the laugh with which he followed this silly speech. That flash of lightning had made me think of the storm on the night of Salome's fifth birthday; and with the thought of the storm came the remembrance of Salome's text:
"One shall be taken, and the other left," and of Salome's sorrowful words, as she clung to me that night:
"You mustn't be left, Peter; they must take you too!"
Then I thought of the first rule on my card: "Do nothing that you would not like to be doing when Jesus comes." I certainly should not like to be sitting drinking whiskey and neglecting my duty, as I was doing then.
I thought of the second rule on my card: "Go to no place where you would not like to be found when Jesus comes." I certainly should not like to be found in this public-house, and in the company of the idle drinking fellows with whom the room was filled.
I thought of the third rule on my card: "Say nothing that you would not like to be saying when Jesus comes." There were a great many silly and foolish things I had said since I came into that place which I should not like to have been saying if that flash of lightning had been the flash of glory at the appearing of the Lord Jesus Christ. What if He were really to come while I was there!
I felt very much afraid, and Jack told me I was as glum as an old sulky owl. I was very glad when the rain was over, and I could get outside again. Then I bid Jack good-day, and hurried home as fast as I could.
I took off my tidy clothes, and went at once into the stable to clean and polish the harness. I kept an anxious eye on the road all the afternoon, hoping to see the doctor's carriage on its way to the house. But the hours went by, and tea-time came, and he had not arrived.
"Master Reggie has got a bad turn, he has," said Bagot to his wife; "it's going to be croup, our lady thinks. I wish that doctor would look sharp; I do indeed."
But time still went on, and no doctor appeared. Could Mike have delivered my letter, or was it possible that he had forgotten it? I got more and more anxious every moment.
At last I could bear it no longer, and I did what I ought to have done long before—I told the whole story to Bagot. I did not omit to tell him of the storm, and how it had reminded me of the three forgotten rules.
"Ay, Peter, my lad," he said, "it's a sad tale, that is; but I'm glad you've made a clean breast of it, I am, and I'm very thankful the Lord didn't come to-day and find you wandering out of His ways. I'll step across and tell our lady, and see what she thinks had best be done."
"Wait a minute, Bagot," I said; "tell her I've gone off now to see if the doctor has got the letter. I will start at once, and go as quick as ever I can."
"Get a bit of supper first, my lad," said Bagot, kindly.
But I would not hear of waiting a moment, and I set off at a running pace towards Calvington. Of course I could not keep this up long, and it seemed a long way; but the air was cooler than in the morning, which was a great help to me.
It must have been about ten o'clock when I reached the doctor's house. His gig was standing at the door, and the doctor came out and jumped into it as I came up. He was just setting off for Grassbourne. He had only received my mistress's letter a few minutes before. The careless Mike had dropped it on the road, and some one had picked it up and brought it to the doctor's house.
I told him how ill Master Reggie was, and that my mistress thought that he was going to have croup; and he ran back into his surgery to get several things that might be wanted, and then drove off at a tremendous pace towards Grassbourne.
I went home more slowly than I had come, and it was near midnight when I reached the avenue gate. To my surprise, I found Bagot standing there, leaning against the gate, as if he were waiting for me. He was very kind to me—more kind than I deserved, I thought; but he seemed very downcast.
"Is he worse, Bagot?" I asked.
"No, he's a wee bit better, he is," said Bagot. "The doctor is going to stay till morning, though. I've been helping his man to take the horse out, I have."
He took me in, and Mrs. Bagot was still up, and had a good supper ready for me on the table. She, too, was more kind to me than ever; but neither of them spoke much while I was eating my supper.
As soon as I had finished, Bagot said, taking an envelope from his pocket—"Shall I give it him now, old wife?"
"Yes, Jem," she said, "now that he's had his supper, you had best let him read it."
Bagot handed me a telegram, and I read as follows: "Salome is very ill indeed, and cries for you. Can you be spared to come and see her?"
I sat looking at it for a long time without speaking.
Then Bagot said, "Poor lad, I'm awful sorry for you, I am; but cheer up—maybe she'll be better soon."
"Can I go, do you think, Bagot?" I said.
"Yes, I'm sure you may," he said. "Run over with the letter to the house, and ask to speak a word with our lady. They're all sitting up with the child."
I went as he advised me, and the cook gave me a jug of hot water to carry, which was wanted upstairs, and I took it as quietly as I could into the sickroom.
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I TOOK IT AS QUIETLY AS I COULD INTO THE SICK-ROOM.
Master Reggie was in great pain, gasping for breath, and the doctor and his mother and the nurse were standing round him, doing all they could to help him. He saw me come in, and smiled, and tried to speak, but I could not tell what he said.
My mistress followed me out of the room.
"Can you ever forgive me, ma'am?" I said.
"I do forgive you, Peter," she answered, "for I know how sorry you are. And I think—I hope—it would not have made much difference if the doctor had been here before, for he says that I had done all that could have been done before he came."
Then I handed her the telegram, and tears came in her eyes as she read it, for I had told her about Salome, and she knew how much I loved her.
"Trouble everywhere, Peter," she said. "Yes, you may go, and you may stay a few days if you can be of any use."
I thanked her very much, and she crept into the room again.
We did not go to bed for a long time after that. We sat round the kitchen fire, and Bagot stepped over to the house every half-hour to ask in the kitchen how the child was; and it was not until he brought us word that Master Reggie was asleep, and that the doctor said all danger was over for the present, and that he was preparing to go home, that we could make up our minds to go upstairs.
I had a very short night, for the train started at eight o'clock, and I had to walk to the station.
When I arrived at home, I went at once upstairs to Salome's room, and I found my mother, looking very worn and tired, watching beside her. Salome seemed to be quite unconscious; she did not know me when I went in, though my mother said she had called for me many times in the night. She was talking wildly and strangely, and I thought she looked very ill indeed. My mother said she did not know what was the matter with her; she had been ill now for some days, and every day she grew worse.
The doctor came soon after I arrived, and my mother went downstairs with him, and left me with Salome. When she came back, she said—
"Peter, it's a bad job; we oughtn't ever to have sent for you; the doctor says he is pretty certain now that it's scarlet fever, which hasn't come out properly. Whatever shall we do?"
And my poor mother burst into tears.