illus359"THERE SAT PHIL ON THE EDGE OF OUR BED.""Oh, Phil,Phil!" I cried out; then I sat and stared at him, and wondered if I were really awake, or if this were some dreadful dream."His back was weak from the start," went on Phil, drearily, "and probably would have been to the end of his life; but at least he would have been able to get around—to go to college—to enter a profession. Now all that is over and done with. Isn't itawful!""Oh, but that can't be true," I broke in eagerly. "Why, Phil, Fee was in a dreadful way that last attack, I told the doctor about it,"—Phil nodded; "he couldn't stand on his feet at all,—and yet he got better. Oh, he may now; he may, Phil, only with a longer time! See?""I thought of that when Gordon told me what you had told him, and I begged for some hope of that sort,—begged as I wouldn't now for my own life, Jack." Phil's voice got so unsteady that he had to stop for a minute. "After a good deal of talking and pleading," he went on presently, "I got him to admit that thereisa bare chance, on account of his being so young, that Feemayget around again, in a sort of a way; but it's too slim to be counted on, and it could only be after a long time,—two or three years or longer. Dr. Archard'll be in town to-morrow, and they will consult; but Gordon says he's had cases of this kind before, and knows the symptoms well. I think he would have given us hope if he could. You see Fee isn't strong; oh, if it hadonlybeenI!—great, uncouth, ugly brute that I am!" Phil struck his hand so fiercely on the bed that the springs just bounced me up and down."Fee's feet and legs are utterly useless," hebegan again; "his spine is so weak he can't sit up. Even his fingers are affected,—he can't close them on anything; he's lost his grip. And he may lie in this condition for years; he mayneverrecover from it. Oh, think of that, Jack!" Phil broke out excitedly; "thinkof it! Our Fee, with his splendid, clever mind, with all his bright hopes and ambitions, with the certainty of going to college so near at hand,—to have to lie there, day in and day out, a helpless, useless creature! And brought to it bymydoing,—his own brother!Oh!" He drew his knee up, and folding his arms round it, laid his face down with a moan.I slipped over to his side and threw my arm across his shoulder. "Phil, dear," I said, to comfort him, "try and not think of that part; I'm sure Fee wouldn't want you to. You know he had that other attack—and—perhaps this would have come any way—"But Phil interrupted, looking at me with those miserable, hollow eyes. "Not like this," he said. "Dr. Gordon told me himself that the blow Fee got was what did the mischief this time; with medical care he might have got over those other attacks. Gordon didn't dream that I was the infuriated drunken brute who flung him against that chair. Drunken! I think I must have been possessed by adevil! ThatIshould have raised my hand against Fee,—thebrother I love so dearly, my chum, my comrade, mother's boy, of whom she was so tender! Oh,God! shall I have to carry this awful remorse all the rest of my life!" His voice broke in a kind of a wail, and he threw his clinched hands up over his head."Oh, Phil,dearPhil! Oh,pleasedon't," I begged. "Oh, Feewouldn'twant you to talk like this.""I know he wouldn't. God bless him!" Phil answered in a quieter tone, dropping his arms by his sides. "Oh, Jack, it cuts me up awfully to see him lying there so cheerful and serene when he knows that what's happened has just spoiled his whole life—""Oh,doeshe know?" I exclaimed."He insisted on knowing, and bore it like a soldier. When I broke down he smiled at me, actuallysmiled, Jack, with, 'Why, old fellow, it isn't so bad—as all that'—o-oh!" Phil choked up, and, throwing himself on the bed, he buried his face deep in the pillows, that Fee in the next room might not hear his sobs.That was a miserable day. Dr. Archard came quite early, and after the consultation we heard that, in the main, he agreed with Dr. Gordon. "Still," he said to Nora and me, as he was going, "Felixmaysurprise us all by recovering much faster and more fully than we expect.The thing is to get him out of townjustas soon as we can, and in the mean time to follow directions and keep him quiet and cheerful. Phil seems to have taken charge of the boy, and I do believe he's going to develop into a nurse. I'll send you round amasseur, and I'll write to your father, so he'll not be alarmed. Keep up your spirits, and your roses, my dear," patting Nora's cheek. Then he got into his carriage and drove away.Because the doctor said that about keeping Fee quiet, no one but Phil or nurse was allowed in his room all day. But late in the afternoon nurse let me take something up to him,—she had to see to the children's dinner, or something or other downstairs; she said if Phil were with him I wasn't to stay.I knocked, but not very hard,—my hands were pretty full; and then, as nobody answered, I opened the door softly, and went in. Fee was lying sort of hunched up among the pillows, which weren't any whiter than his face. Oh!didn'the look delicate!He had on his glasses again, and now his eyes were shining through them, and there was a very sweet expression on his lips. Phil was sitting on the edge of the bed, talking in a low, unsteady voice: "I didn't really care for them," he was saying, "and there were times when I fairly loathed them; but somehow they got roundme, and—I began to go there regularly. They drank and gambled; they said all young fellows did it, and they laughed at me when I objected. I held out for a good while,—then one night I gave in. I was a fool; I dreaded their ridicule. There were times, though, when I wasdisgustedwith myself. Then I began to win at cards, and—well—I thought I'd save the money for a purpose; though in my heart I knew full well that—the—the—the person I was saving for wouldn't touch a penny got that way. Well, then something happened that made that money I was saving quite unnecessary, and then I just played to lose. I wanted those fellows to have their money back; after that I thought I'd cut loose from 'em. That was the reason I wanted to go back to Chad's that night,—was itonlylast night? It seems likeyearsago!"Phil dropped his face down in his hands for a minute; then he went on: "I started out this morning and gave each of the fellows his money back. They didn't want to take it,—they think me a crazy loon; but I insisted. I've got beyond caring for their opinion. And now, Fee, the rest of my life belongs to you; you've paid an awful price for it, old fellow,—I'm not worth it. Think of your college course—your profession—all the things we planned! I'm not worth it!"Phil's voice failed, but he cleared his throatquickly, and spoke out clearly and solemnly. "Felix," he said, "I willneverplay cards again as long as I live; and I willneverdrink another drop of liquor,—so help me God." He raised his hand as he spoke, as if registering the oath. Then he bent over and buried his face in the bed-clothes.Slowly Fee's poor helpless hand went out and fell on Phil's head. "What is all the rest compared withthis," he said, oh, so tenderly! then, with a little unsteady laugh, "Philippus, I always said there wasn't a mean bone in your body." And then Phil threw his arms round Felix and kissed him.I laid what I had brought down on the table, and went quickly away, shutting the door a little hard that they might know somebody'd gone out. I should have left just as soon as I found they were talking,—I know I should,—but it seemed as if Phil's words just held me there. I've told Phil and Felix all about it since then, and they say they don't mind my having heard; but between what I felt for them both, and for my having done such a mean thing as to listen to what wasn't meant for me to hear, I was a pretty miserable boy that afternoon.I flew upstairs to the schoolroom, and throwing myself down on the old sofa I just had a good cry. It seems as if I were an awful cry-baby those days; but how could a person help it, with such dreadful things happening?Well, I hadn't been there very long when in came Nora and opened the windows to let in the lovely afternoon light, and of course then I got up.I guess I must have been a forlorn-looking object, for Nora smoothed my hair back off my forehead and kissed me,—she doesn't often do those things. "I'm going to write to Nannie," she said, laying some note-paper on the schoolroom table. "It is the first minute I've had in which to do it; perhaps,"—slowly,—"if she had been here, all this trouble might not have happened. Why don't you send Betty a few lines, Jack? You know she will want to hear of Fee; but don't frighten her about him."So I thought I would write Betty,—I owed her a letter. After all, she wasn't having at all a bad time with the Ervengs; in fact, I fancy she was enjoying herself, though she was careful not to say so.Nora and I were sitting at the same table, but far apart, and I'd just called out and asked her if there were two l's in wonderful—I was writing about Fee—when the schoolroom door opened, and in walked Chad Whitcombe! As usual, he looked a regular dandy, and he held a bunch of roses in his hand. He came forward with his hand out and smiling: "I've—aw—just called in for a minute," he said. "I thought—aw—you might care for these flowers—"But Nora rose quickly from her chair, pushing it a little from her, and putting her hands behind her back, she faced him with her head up in the air. My! how handsome she looked,—like a queen, or something grand like that! "I thank you for your polite intention," she said very stiffly and proudly, "but hereafter I prefer to have neither flowers nor visits from you."Well, you should have seen Chad's face! he'd been stroking his moustache, but now, positively, he stood staring at Nora with his mouth open, he was so astonished. "Wha—what's wrong?" he stammered. "What've I done?"Then Nora gave it to him; she didn't mince matters,—truly, she made me think of Betty. "What have you done?" she repeated, opening her grey eyes at him. "Oh! only acted as I have never known any one calling himself a gentleman to act. Mr. Whitcombe,"—with a toss of her head equal to anything Betty could have done,—"I willnothave the acquaintance of a man who drinks and gambles."ThenIwas the one to be astonished; I didn't dream Nora knew anything about that part. Phil must have told her that day.illus368"'HEREAFTER I PREFER TO HAVE NEITHER FLOWERS NOR VISITS FROM YOU.'""And who not only does those dreadful things himself," went on Nora, "but inveigles others into doing them, too. The idea of coming hereamong us as a friend, and then leading Phil off,—trying to ruin his life!" Nonie's cheeks were scarlet; she was getting madder and madder with every word she said."Why, that isn't gambling; we just play for small amounts," exclaimed Chad, eagerly, forgetting his affectation, and speaking just like anybody. "All the fellows do it; why, I've played cards and drunk liquor since I was twelve years old. It hasn't hurt me.""No?" said Nora, coldly. "We don't agree on that point;" then, curling her lip in a disgusted way: "What an unfortunate, neglected little boy you must have been. If Jack should do either of those low, wicked things, I should consider a sound thrashing entirely too mild treatment for him. And allow me to tell you thatallthe young fellows we know arenotafter your kind: they neither drink, nor play cards; and yet, strange to say,—that is, from your point of view,—they are extremely manly.""I'm sorry, you know; but I didn't suppose you'd mind—so much," Chad began, in the meekest sort of tone. "You always seemed to understand lots of things that the others didn't, and—"But Nora interrupted: "I made allowances for you," she said, with her little superior air, "knowing that you had lost your parents as a little boy, and that you had had so little—nowI will sayno—home training. Besides, I thought, perhaps"—she hesitated, then went on—"that perhaps the others were a little hard on you; it seemed rather unjust, simply because you were—well—different from ourselves. But I didn't imagine for one moment that you were this sort of a person. It isn't honourable to do those things,—don't you know that? It is low and wicked.""I only wanted Phil to have a good time; I never thought he was such a baby he'd get any harm," exclaimed Chad, a little sulkily, getting awfully red, even to his ears. "And as to Felix, he came of his own free will. It's he that has told you all this, and set you up against me. Felix doesn't like me, and he hasn't taken any pains to hide it. I don't see why he came up there last night, if he thinks we're so wicked.""I will tell you why," cried Nora; "he came in the hope that seeinghimthere would shame Phil, and induce him to get out of such a set. And ithasgotten him out,—though not in the way that Fee expected. When I think of all that has happened since you and Phil went out together last evening,—of all the trouble you have brought on us,—I really wish you would go away; I prefer to have nothing more to say to you."She made a motion of her hand as if dismissing him, but Chad never moved. He just stood there, holding the roses upside down, and looking very gloomy. "You'reawfullydown on me," he said presently; then, "and A'm awfully sorry. Ah wish you'd forgive me!" insucha beseeching sort of tone that I could have laughed right out.But Nonie didn't laugh, or even smile; she just answered, a little more kindly than before: "It's not a question ofmyforgiving you that will set the matter right; the thing is to give up that way of living. Surely there are plenty of other ways of amusing yourself,—nice honourable ways that belong to a gentleman. Then—people—would be able to respect as well as like you. I wonder that Max has let this sort of thing go on.""Oh, he doesn't know," Chad said, with a quick glance over his shoulder at the door, as if he thought Max might be there, ready to walk in on him."Tellhim," advised Nora,—she just loves to advise people,—"and get him to help you. You could study for college, or—go into business, if you preferred that."Chad was looking intently at her; suddenly he threw the roses on the schoolroom table,—with such force that they slid across and fell on the floor on the other side,—and made a step or two toward Nora, with his hands extended,exclaiming eagerly, "Oh, Nora, if I thought thatyoucared—"But like a flash Nora got behind her chair, putting it between herself and Chad. "Don't sayanotherword!" she broke in imperiously, standing very straight, and looking proudly at him over the back of the chair. "Jack, pick up those flowers and return them to Mr. Whitcombe, and then open the door for him."Chad was so startled that he jumped,—you see he hadn't noticed that I was there,—and didn't he look foolish! andblush! why, his face actually got mahogany colour. He snatched the poor roses from me and just bolted through that schoolroom door.Well, I had to laugh; and when I turned back into the room, after seeing him to the head of the stairs, I said, "I'm justgladyou gave it to him, Nonie!""There is nothing for you to laugh at, Jack," Nora said sharply, turning on me. "Remember you are only a little boy, and this is none of your affair." With that she picked up her writing materials and walked off. Aren't girls thefunniest!XXI.THROUGH THE SLOUGH OF DESPOND.TOLD BY JACK.THE man to massage Felix came the next day; but, except for the time he was there, Phil took entire charge of Fee. He had always declared he wasn't of any use in a sick-room, but now he seemed to get on very well; you can't think how kind and gentle he was!For one thing, Fee wasn't hard to suit, and that helped things a great deal. If Phil made a mistake, or did something awkwardly, Fee just turned it off in a joking way. He was very white and languid, but not at all sad; in fact, he kept our spirits up with his funny sayings. We all thought it was amazing; nurse said he was "a born angel," and now and then I saw Phil look wistfully at Fee, as if wondering how hecouldbe so brave. And Felix, when he caught Phil's eye, would give a roguish little smile, and say something so merry that we had to laugh.The only part that troubled me was that Philstuck so closely to Fee that nobody else got a chance to do anything for him. I just longed to go in and sit with Fee a while, but the doctor didn't want more than one to be with him at a time; and what with Nora, and nurse, and Phil, I didn't get any chance at all until about the third day that Fee'd been ill. A telegram came that morning from Miss Marston, saying she was on the way home, and would arrive early in the afternoon, and that we would start for the Cottage the next day,—she didn't know about Fee; we'd been so upset that nobody had thought of writing her.Well, that threw Nora into what Phil calls "a state of mind," and she and nurse began getting things together and packing 'em.I just hate packing times; you have to keep running up and down stairs carrying things, and all that, and you don't have a minute to yourself for reading. But of course I had to help, and I was busy in the nursery handing things to nurse off a shelf, when Phil came to the door with his hat on. He looked brighter than he had for some time. "Jack," he said, "will you sit with Felix for a while? I have to go out; but I'll be back as soon as I can."Of course I was only too glad, and I went right to Fee's room. He looked tired, and those circles under his eyes were very big and dark; but he smiled at me, and chatted for a fewminutes. Then presently, after Phil'd gone, he said: "Would you mind taking a seat over there in the window, Jack? I want to do a little quiet thinking. There's a nice book on the table; take it. Phil said he wouldn't be away long."illus376"PACKING TIMES."I was disappointed,—I wanted to talk with him; but I took the book and went over to the window.It was a capital story, and I soon got interested in it. I don't know how long I'd read—I was enjoying the story so much—when I heard a queer, smothered sound, and it came from the direction of Felix.In a minute I was by his side, exclaiming, "Why, what's the matter, Fee?"He had slipped down in the bed, and while his poor helpless legs still lay stretched straight out, he'd twisted the upper part of his body so that he was now lying a little on his side, hugging one of the pillows, and with his face buried in it. His shoulders were shaking, and when he raised his head to answer me, I saw the tears were streaming down his cheeks."Shut the door—quick!" he cried, gasping between the words. "Lock it—pile the furniture against it—don't let a creature in—oh,don'tlet them see me!"I flew to the door and locked it; and by the time I got back to the bed, Fee seemed to have lost all control over himself. He twisted and twitched, rolling his head restlessly from side to side,—one minute throwing his arms out wildly as far as they could reach, the next snatching at the pillows or the bed-clothes, and trying to stuff them into his mouth. And all the time he kept making that horrible sharp gasping noise,—as if he were almost losing his breath.I wasdreadfullyscared at first,—thatFelix,of all people, should act this way! I got goose-flesh all over, and just stood there staring at Fee, and that seemed only to make him worse."Don't stare at me like that. Oh, don't, don't,don't!" he cried out. "I can't help this—really—I can't, Ican't! Oh, if I could onlyscreamwithout the others hearing me!" He threw his head back and beat the pillows with his outstretched arms.Then, somehow, I began to understand: a great lump came in my throat, and taking hold of one of Fee's cold, clammy hands, I commenced stroking and patting it without a word.His fingers were twitching so I could hardly hold them, and he talked very fast,—almost as if he couldn't stop himself."Don't tell them of this, Jack," he begged, in that sharp gasping voice, "don'ttell them! they wouldn't understand—they'd worry—and poor Phil would be wretched. I know what this is to him,—poor old fellow! I see the misery in his face from day to day, and I've tried—so hard—to keep everything in—and be cheerful—so he shouldn't guess—until I thought Ishouldgomad! Oh, think of what thismeansto me, Jack! College, profession, hopes, ambitions—goneforever—nothing left but to lie here—for the rest of my life—a useless hulk—a cumberer of the ground. Only seventeen, Jack, and I may live to be eighty—likethis!never to go about—never to walk again. Oh, if I mightdie!"—his voice got shrill,—"if God wouldonlylet me die! I've always been a poor useless creature,—and now,now, of what good am I in the world? Nothing but a burden and a care. Oh, how shall I ever,everendure it!"I was so nervous that I began shaking inside, and I had to speak very slowly to keep my voice from shaking too. "Don't talk so foolishly, Fee," I said,—but not unkindly, you know. "Why, I don't know what we'd all do without you,—having you to ask things of, and to tell us what to do. I know papa depends on you an awful lot; and Miss Marston said the day she went away that she wouldn't've gone if she hadn't known you would be here to look after us and keep things straight; and whatwouldNannie do without you? Talk about being of no use,—just think what you've saved Phil from!""Iamthankful for that," broke in Felix, "mostthankful! I don't regret what I did that night, Jack. I'd do it again if need be, even knowing that it must end likethis,"—with a despairing motion of his hand toward his helpless legs.Then he added eagerly, breathlessly, "Don't ever tell Phil about this morning, Jack,—that I feel so terribly about the accident. Don't tell him,—'twould break his heart. I hope he'llneverknow. I pretended to be cheerful, I laughed and talked to cheer him up, but my heart grew heavier and heavier, and my head felt as if it were being wound up; I was afraid I'd go mad and tell the whole thing out. Oh, Jack, it's those dreary days, those endless years of uselessness that terrify me. Oh, help me to be strong! Oh, Jack, help me!helpme!"His arms began to fly about again; he had thrown off his glasses, and his big hollow eyes stared at me with a wild, beseeching expression in them."I'm so afraid—I'll scream out—and then they'll all hear me—and know," he gasped. "Oh, give me something,quick—oh, do something for me before I lose entire control of myself."I flew to the table and got him some water; I didn't know what else to do, and he wouldn't let me call anybody,—even just speaking of it made him wild. Then I fanned him, and knelt by the bed stroking one of his hands. But nothing seemed to help him. And then—God must have put the thought into my mind—I said suddenly, "Fee, dear, I'm going to sing to you;" and before he could say no, I began.At first I could hardly keep my voice steady,—on account of that horrid, inward shaking,—but I went right on, and gradually it got better.I sang very softly and went from one hymnto the other, just as they came to my mind: First, "O Mother dear, Jerusalem,"—I love that old hymn!—then, "And now we fight the battle, but then shall win the crown;" and then, "The Son of God goes forth to war." That's one of Fee's favourites, and he sobbed right out when I sang,—"'Who best can drink his cup of woe,Triumphant over pain;Who patient bears his cross below,—He follows in His train.'"But I kept on,—really, I felt as if I couldn't stop,—and when I got to the last line of "For all the saints who from their labours rest," Fee whispered, "Sing those verses again, Jack."I knew which he meant; so I sang:—"'Thou wast their Rock, their Fortress, and their Might;Thou, Lord, their Captain in the well-fought fight;Thou, in the darkness drear, the one true Light.Alleluia!"O may Thy soldiers, faithful, true, and bold,Fight as the saints who nobly fought of old,And win, with them, the victor's crown of gold.Alleluia!"And when the strife is fierce, the warfare long,Steals on the ear the distant triumph-song,And hearts are brave again, and arms are strong.Alleluia!'"Fee lay quiet when I finished. He was still twitching, and tears were slipping down hischeeks from under his closed lids; but he no longer made that dreadful gasping sound, and there was a beautiful expression on his mouth,—so sweet and patient. "I've not been a soldier 'faithful, true, and bold,'" he said sadly, "but a miserable coward. Ah! how we must weary God with our grumblings and complainings, our broken resolutions and weaknesses. I prayed with all my heart and strength for Phil, that he might be saved from that crowd. And now that God has granted my prayer, I bewail His way of doing it. I was willing then to say, 'At any cost to myself,' and here I am shrinking from the share He has given me! dreading the pain and loneliness. A faithless soldier, Jack,—not worthy to be called a soldier.""Oh! not faithless," I put in eagerly; "indeed, Fee, you'renotfaithless. Even if you do shrink from this—this trouble—it's only just here between us; you are going to be brave over it,—you know you are.Goingto be! why, Fee, I think youarethebravestboy! the truest, noblest—" I had to stop; that lump was just swelling up in my throat."No," Fee said mournfully, drawing his breath in as Kathie does hers sometimes when she's been crying for a long while; "no, Jack, I'm not really brave,—not yet! I'm going to bear this only because I must—because Ican'tescape it. Perhaps, by and by, strength maycome to endure the trial more patiently; but now—Idreadit. I wouldflyfrom it if I could; I woulddierather than face those awful years of helplessness! See what a poor creature your 'brave boy' is, Jack." His lips were quivering, and he folded one arm over his eyes.Then all at once there came back to me a talk which mamma and I once had, and I thought perhaps 'twould comfort poor Felix, so I tried to tell him as well as I could. "Fee, dear," I said, holding his hand tight in mine, and snuggling my head close up to his on the pillow, so I could whisper, "once, when mamma and I were talking, she said always to remember that God knows it's awfully hard for people to bear suffering and trouble; and that He always helps them and makes allowances for them, because He's our Father, and for the sake of His own dear Son, who had to go through so much trouble here on earth."AndHeknows, too, Fee,—Jesus knowsjusthow you feel about this; don't you remember how He prayed that last night in Gethsemane that—if God would—He might not have to go through the awful trial of the cross? He meant to carry it right through, you know, all the time,—that's what He came on earth for; He meant to do every single thing that God had given Him to do, and just asbravely! But, all the same, He felt, too, howawfullyhard 'twasgoing to be, and just for a little while beforehand Hedreadedit,—just as you dread the years that'll have to pass before you can be well. See?"And He knows your heart, Fee; He knows that you're going to be just asbraveandpatientas you can be, and He'll help you every time. Nannie and I'll ask Him for you—and Betty—and poor old Phil—all of us. And dear mamma's up there, too; perhaps she's asking Him to comfort you and make you strong. I feel as if she must be doing it,—she loved you so!"Fee drew his hand out of mine, and raising his arm, touched my cheek softly with his feeble fingers, and for a few minutes we neither of us said a word.Then there came a knock at the door; I scrambled to my feet, and going over, turned the key. Somebody brushed quickly by me with the swish of a girl's dress, and there was Nannie in the middle of the room! She ran toward Felix with her arms out, her brown eyes shining with love. "Oh, my darling!" she cried out, "mydear!"I heard Fee's glad, breathless exclamation, "Mytwinnie!" Then Phil's arm went over my shoulders and drew me into the hall, and Phil's voice said softly in my ear, "Come, Rosebud, let's leave them alone for a while."XXII.AUF WIEDERSEHEN.TOLD BY JACK.MISS Marston arrived that afternoon, and the next day we started, bag and baggage, for the Cottage. And here we've been for nearly three months; in a week or two more we'll be thinking of going back to the city. Dr. Gordon came up with us, and he and Phil did all they could to make the journey easier for Felix. But he was dreadfully used up by the time we got him to the house, and for days no one but Phil and Nannie were allowed in his room.Papa came a few days after we did, looking ever so much better than when he went away, and he settled down to work at once. Betty's here, too. From what she lets out now and then, I'm pretty sure she's had a real good time; but, do you know, shewon'tacknowledge it. Still, I notice she doesn't make such fun of Hilliard as she used to; and I will say Betty's improving. She doesn't romp and tear about so much, norflare out at people so often, and of course that makes her much more comfortable to live with. I'm ever so glad she's here; if she hadn't been, I'm afraid I'd have had an awfully stupid time this summer. You see Betty and I are in the middle; we come between the big and the little ones in the family, and we 'most always go together on that account.illus386"OUT OF DOORS."Nannie's had her hands full, what with helping papa with the Fetich, and doing all sorts of things for her twin. Nora's looked after Phil and cheered him up when he got blue about Felix, and Phil has just devoted himself to Fee. He's with him almost the whole time, and you can't think how gentle and considerate Phil is these days.Fee is out of doors a great deal; Phil carrieshim out on fine days, and lays him on his bamboo lounge under the big maples; and there you're sure to find the whole family gathered, some time or other, every day that he is there.It seems as if we love Fee more and more dearly every day,—he's so bright and merry and sweet, and he triessohard to be patient and make the best of things. Of course he has times—what he calls his "dark days"—when his courage sinks, and he gets cranky and sarcastic; but they don't come as often as at first. And we all make allowances, for we know there isn't one of us that in his place would be as unselfish and helpful. We go to him with everything,—even papa has got in the way of sitting and talking with Fee; anyway, it seems as if papa were more with us now than he used to be, and he's ever so much nicer,—more like other people's fathers are, you know!Felix has got back the use of his fingers since we've been in the country; he can paint or play his violin for a little while at a time, but his legs are still useless. The doctor, though, declares he can see a slight improvement in them. He says now that perhaps—after several years—Fee may be able to get around on crutches! Betty and I felt awfully disappointed when we heard this,—we've been so sure Fee would get perfectly well; but Fee himself was very happy over it. "Once let me assume the perpendicular, even on crutches," he said, smiling at Phil, who sat sadly beside him, "and you see if, after a while, these old pegs don't come up to their duty bravely. I may yet dance at your wedding, Philippus."Max comes up to the Cottage quite often, and stays from Saturday to Monday. He's just as nice and kind as he can be,—why, he doesn't seem to mind one bit going off on jolly long drives in the old depot-wagon, or on larks, with only Nannie and us children; and he's teaching Mädel how to manage G. W. L. Spry and make him go, without being thrown off.Phil and Felix and Max had a long talk together the first time Max came up, and I have an idea 'twas about Chad, for Max looked very grave. I don't know what he did about it, but the other day I heard him tell Nora that Chad had positively made up his mind to go into business. "He says he has broken loose from a very bad set he was in," Max said, "and seems very much in earnest to make the best of himself,—which is, of course, a great relief to me. I hope his good resolutions will amount to something.""Perhaps they will," Nora answered, rather indifferently, but her cheeks got real red. I shouldn't wonder if she thought Chad'd done it because she advised him to.We have a way this summer, on Sunday afternoons, of all sitting with Felix under the maple-trees, talking, and singing our chants and hymns there instead of in the parlour. We were all there—the whole ten of us—one afternoon, when papa came across the lawn and sat down in the basket-chair that Phil rushed off and got him. We'd just finished singing, "O Mother dear, Jerusalem," Fee accompanying us on his violin, and we didn't begin anything else, for there was a queer—sort of excited—look on papa's face that somehow made us think he had something to tell us. And sure enough he had."My children," he said presently, and his voice wasn't as quiet and even as it usually is, "I have this to tell you,—that last night I finished my life work; my History is completed!"The Fetich finished! we just looked at each other with wide-open eyes.Then Nannie knelt down by papa's chair and kissed him warmly, and Phil, who was sitting on the edge of Fee's lounge, leaned over and shook hands with papa in a kind of grown-up, manly way."Allow me to congratulate you, sir," Fee said earnestly, with shining eyes. "It is a great piece of work, and your children areveryproud of it and of you."The rest of us didn't know what to say, so we just sat and looked at papa."I began it years ago," papa said after a minute or two, in a dreamy voice, as if talking moreto himself than to us, and looking away at the sunset with a sad, far-off expression in his eyes, "yearsago; just after I met—Margaret. But for her encouragement—her loving help—her perfect faith in my ability—it could never have been accomplished. Now it is finished—I am here alone—and she—is far away—at peace!" Papa's lips were working; he put his hand up quickly and shielded his eyes from us.We were all very still; we older ones felt very sad. And then, soft and low—almost like an angel's voice—there came from Fee's violin the sweet strains of Handel's "Largo." The music rose and fell a bar or two, and then Nannie and Nora and Phil sang together very softly:—"The souls of the righteous are in the hand of God. There shall no sorrow touch them. In the sight of the unwise they seemed to die; but they are in peace, for so He giveth His beloved sleep."
illus359"THERE SAT PHIL ON THE EDGE OF OUR BED."
"Oh, Phil,Phil!" I cried out; then I sat and stared at him, and wondered if I were really awake, or if this were some dreadful dream.
"His back was weak from the start," went on Phil, drearily, "and probably would have been to the end of his life; but at least he would have been able to get around—to go to college—to enter a profession. Now all that is over and done with. Isn't itawful!"
"Oh, but that can't be true," I broke in eagerly. "Why, Phil, Fee was in a dreadful way that last attack, I told the doctor about it,"—Phil nodded; "he couldn't stand on his feet at all,—and yet he got better. Oh, he may now; he may, Phil, only with a longer time! See?"
"I thought of that when Gordon told me what you had told him, and I begged for some hope of that sort,—begged as I wouldn't now for my own life, Jack." Phil's voice got so unsteady that he had to stop for a minute. "After a good deal of talking and pleading," he went on presently, "I got him to admit that thereisa bare chance, on account of his being so young, that Feemayget around again, in a sort of a way; but it's too slim to be counted on, and it could only be after a long time,—two or three years or longer. Dr. Archard'll be in town to-morrow, and they will consult; but Gordon says he's had cases of this kind before, and knows the symptoms well. I think he would have given us hope if he could. You see Fee isn't strong; oh, if it hadonlybeenI!—great, uncouth, ugly brute that I am!" Phil struck his hand so fiercely on the bed that the springs just bounced me up and down.
"Fee's feet and legs are utterly useless," hebegan again; "his spine is so weak he can't sit up. Even his fingers are affected,—he can't close them on anything; he's lost his grip. And he may lie in this condition for years; he mayneverrecover from it. Oh, think of that, Jack!" Phil broke out excitedly; "thinkof it! Our Fee, with his splendid, clever mind, with all his bright hopes and ambitions, with the certainty of going to college so near at hand,—to have to lie there, day in and day out, a helpless, useless creature! And brought to it bymydoing,—his own brother!Oh!" He drew his knee up, and folding his arms round it, laid his face down with a moan.
I slipped over to his side and threw my arm across his shoulder. "Phil, dear," I said, to comfort him, "try and not think of that part; I'm sure Fee wouldn't want you to. You know he had that other attack—and—perhaps this would have come any way—"
But Phil interrupted, looking at me with those miserable, hollow eyes. "Not like this," he said. "Dr. Gordon told me himself that the blow Fee got was what did the mischief this time; with medical care he might have got over those other attacks. Gordon didn't dream that I was the infuriated drunken brute who flung him against that chair. Drunken! I think I must have been possessed by adevil! ThatIshould have raised my hand against Fee,—thebrother I love so dearly, my chum, my comrade, mother's boy, of whom she was so tender! Oh,God! shall I have to carry this awful remorse all the rest of my life!" His voice broke in a kind of a wail, and he threw his clinched hands up over his head.
"Oh, Phil,dearPhil! Oh,pleasedon't," I begged. "Oh, Feewouldn'twant you to talk like this."
"I know he wouldn't. God bless him!" Phil answered in a quieter tone, dropping his arms by his sides. "Oh, Jack, it cuts me up awfully to see him lying there so cheerful and serene when he knows that what's happened has just spoiled his whole life—"
"Oh,doeshe know?" I exclaimed.
"He insisted on knowing, and bore it like a soldier. When I broke down he smiled at me, actuallysmiled, Jack, with, 'Why, old fellow, it isn't so bad—as all that'—o-oh!" Phil choked up, and, throwing himself on the bed, he buried his face deep in the pillows, that Fee in the next room might not hear his sobs.
That was a miserable day. Dr. Archard came quite early, and after the consultation we heard that, in the main, he agreed with Dr. Gordon. "Still," he said to Nora and me, as he was going, "Felixmaysurprise us all by recovering much faster and more fully than we expect.The thing is to get him out of townjustas soon as we can, and in the mean time to follow directions and keep him quiet and cheerful. Phil seems to have taken charge of the boy, and I do believe he's going to develop into a nurse. I'll send you round amasseur, and I'll write to your father, so he'll not be alarmed. Keep up your spirits, and your roses, my dear," patting Nora's cheek. Then he got into his carriage and drove away.
Because the doctor said that about keeping Fee quiet, no one but Phil or nurse was allowed in his room all day. But late in the afternoon nurse let me take something up to him,—she had to see to the children's dinner, or something or other downstairs; she said if Phil were with him I wasn't to stay.
I knocked, but not very hard,—my hands were pretty full; and then, as nobody answered, I opened the door softly, and went in. Fee was lying sort of hunched up among the pillows, which weren't any whiter than his face. Oh!didn'the look delicate!
He had on his glasses again, and now his eyes were shining through them, and there was a very sweet expression on his lips. Phil was sitting on the edge of the bed, talking in a low, unsteady voice: "I didn't really care for them," he was saying, "and there were times when I fairly loathed them; but somehow they got roundme, and—I began to go there regularly. They drank and gambled; they said all young fellows did it, and they laughed at me when I objected. I held out for a good while,—then one night I gave in. I was a fool; I dreaded their ridicule. There were times, though, when I wasdisgustedwith myself. Then I began to win at cards, and—well—I thought I'd save the money for a purpose; though in my heart I knew full well that—the—the—the person I was saving for wouldn't touch a penny got that way. Well, then something happened that made that money I was saving quite unnecessary, and then I just played to lose. I wanted those fellows to have their money back; after that I thought I'd cut loose from 'em. That was the reason I wanted to go back to Chad's that night,—was itonlylast night? It seems likeyearsago!"
Phil dropped his face down in his hands for a minute; then he went on: "I started out this morning and gave each of the fellows his money back. They didn't want to take it,—they think me a crazy loon; but I insisted. I've got beyond caring for their opinion. And now, Fee, the rest of my life belongs to you; you've paid an awful price for it, old fellow,—I'm not worth it. Think of your college course—your profession—all the things we planned! I'm not worth it!"
Phil's voice failed, but he cleared his throatquickly, and spoke out clearly and solemnly. "Felix," he said, "I willneverplay cards again as long as I live; and I willneverdrink another drop of liquor,—so help me God." He raised his hand as he spoke, as if registering the oath. Then he bent over and buried his face in the bed-clothes.
Slowly Fee's poor helpless hand went out and fell on Phil's head. "What is all the rest compared withthis," he said, oh, so tenderly! then, with a little unsteady laugh, "Philippus, I always said there wasn't a mean bone in your body." And then Phil threw his arms round Felix and kissed him.
I laid what I had brought down on the table, and went quickly away, shutting the door a little hard that they might know somebody'd gone out. I should have left just as soon as I found they were talking,—I know I should,—but it seemed as if Phil's words just held me there. I've told Phil and Felix all about it since then, and they say they don't mind my having heard; but between what I felt for them both, and for my having done such a mean thing as to listen to what wasn't meant for me to hear, I was a pretty miserable boy that afternoon.
I flew upstairs to the schoolroom, and throwing myself down on the old sofa I just had a good cry. It seems as if I were an awful cry-baby those days; but how could a person help it, with such dreadful things happening?
Well, I hadn't been there very long when in came Nora and opened the windows to let in the lovely afternoon light, and of course then I got up.
I guess I must have been a forlorn-looking object, for Nora smoothed my hair back off my forehead and kissed me,—she doesn't often do those things. "I'm going to write to Nannie," she said, laying some note-paper on the schoolroom table. "It is the first minute I've had in which to do it; perhaps,"—slowly,—"if she had been here, all this trouble might not have happened. Why don't you send Betty a few lines, Jack? You know she will want to hear of Fee; but don't frighten her about him."
So I thought I would write Betty,—I owed her a letter. After all, she wasn't having at all a bad time with the Ervengs; in fact, I fancy she was enjoying herself, though she was careful not to say so.
Nora and I were sitting at the same table, but far apart, and I'd just called out and asked her if there were two l's in wonderful—I was writing about Fee—when the schoolroom door opened, and in walked Chad Whitcombe! As usual, he looked a regular dandy, and he held a bunch of roses in his hand. He came forward with his hand out and smiling: "I've—aw—just called in for a minute," he said. "I thought—aw—you might care for these flowers—"
But Nora rose quickly from her chair, pushing it a little from her, and putting her hands behind her back, she faced him with her head up in the air. My! how handsome she looked,—like a queen, or something grand like that! "I thank you for your polite intention," she said very stiffly and proudly, "but hereafter I prefer to have neither flowers nor visits from you."
Well, you should have seen Chad's face! he'd been stroking his moustache, but now, positively, he stood staring at Nora with his mouth open, he was so astonished. "Wha—what's wrong?" he stammered. "What've I done?"
Then Nora gave it to him; she didn't mince matters,—truly, she made me think of Betty. "What have you done?" she repeated, opening her grey eyes at him. "Oh! only acted as I have never known any one calling himself a gentleman to act. Mr. Whitcombe,"—with a toss of her head equal to anything Betty could have done,—"I willnothave the acquaintance of a man who drinks and gambles."
ThenIwas the one to be astonished; I didn't dream Nora knew anything about that part. Phil must have told her that day.
illus368"'HEREAFTER I PREFER TO HAVE NEITHER FLOWERS NOR VISITS FROM YOU.'"
"And who not only does those dreadful things himself," went on Nora, "but inveigles others into doing them, too. The idea of coming hereamong us as a friend, and then leading Phil off,—trying to ruin his life!" Nonie's cheeks were scarlet; she was getting madder and madder with every word she said.
"Why, that isn't gambling; we just play for small amounts," exclaimed Chad, eagerly, forgetting his affectation, and speaking just like anybody. "All the fellows do it; why, I've played cards and drunk liquor since I was twelve years old. It hasn't hurt me."
"No?" said Nora, coldly. "We don't agree on that point;" then, curling her lip in a disgusted way: "What an unfortunate, neglected little boy you must have been. If Jack should do either of those low, wicked things, I should consider a sound thrashing entirely too mild treatment for him. And allow me to tell you thatallthe young fellows we know arenotafter your kind: they neither drink, nor play cards; and yet, strange to say,—that is, from your point of view,—they are extremely manly."
"I'm sorry, you know; but I didn't suppose you'd mind—so much," Chad began, in the meekest sort of tone. "You always seemed to understand lots of things that the others didn't, and—"
But Nora interrupted: "I made allowances for you," she said, with her little superior air, "knowing that you had lost your parents as a little boy, and that you had had so little—nowI will sayno—home training. Besides, I thought, perhaps"—she hesitated, then went on—"that perhaps the others were a little hard on you; it seemed rather unjust, simply because you were—well—different from ourselves. But I didn't imagine for one moment that you were this sort of a person. It isn't honourable to do those things,—don't you know that? It is low and wicked."
"I only wanted Phil to have a good time; I never thought he was such a baby he'd get any harm," exclaimed Chad, a little sulkily, getting awfully red, even to his ears. "And as to Felix, he came of his own free will. It's he that has told you all this, and set you up against me. Felix doesn't like me, and he hasn't taken any pains to hide it. I don't see why he came up there last night, if he thinks we're so wicked."
"I will tell you why," cried Nora; "he came in the hope that seeinghimthere would shame Phil, and induce him to get out of such a set. And ithasgotten him out,—though not in the way that Fee expected. When I think of all that has happened since you and Phil went out together last evening,—of all the trouble you have brought on us,—I really wish you would go away; I prefer to have nothing more to say to you."
She made a motion of her hand as if dismissing him, but Chad never moved. He just stood there, holding the roses upside down, and looking very gloomy. "You'reawfullydown on me," he said presently; then, "and A'm awfully sorry. Ah wish you'd forgive me!" insucha beseeching sort of tone that I could have laughed right out.
But Nonie didn't laugh, or even smile; she just answered, a little more kindly than before: "It's not a question ofmyforgiving you that will set the matter right; the thing is to give up that way of living. Surely there are plenty of other ways of amusing yourself,—nice honourable ways that belong to a gentleman. Then—people—would be able to respect as well as like you. I wonder that Max has let this sort of thing go on."
"Oh, he doesn't know," Chad said, with a quick glance over his shoulder at the door, as if he thought Max might be there, ready to walk in on him.
"Tellhim," advised Nora,—she just loves to advise people,—"and get him to help you. You could study for college, or—go into business, if you preferred that."
Chad was looking intently at her; suddenly he threw the roses on the schoolroom table,—with such force that they slid across and fell on the floor on the other side,—and made a step or two toward Nora, with his hands extended,exclaiming eagerly, "Oh, Nora, if I thought thatyoucared—"
But like a flash Nora got behind her chair, putting it between herself and Chad. "Don't sayanotherword!" she broke in imperiously, standing very straight, and looking proudly at him over the back of the chair. "Jack, pick up those flowers and return them to Mr. Whitcombe, and then open the door for him."
Chad was so startled that he jumped,—you see he hadn't noticed that I was there,—and didn't he look foolish! andblush! why, his face actually got mahogany colour. He snatched the poor roses from me and just bolted through that schoolroom door.
Well, I had to laugh; and when I turned back into the room, after seeing him to the head of the stairs, I said, "I'm justgladyou gave it to him, Nonie!"
"There is nothing for you to laugh at, Jack," Nora said sharply, turning on me. "Remember you are only a little boy, and this is none of your affair." With that she picked up her writing materials and walked off. Aren't girls thefunniest!
THE man to massage Felix came the next day; but, except for the time he was there, Phil took entire charge of Fee. He had always declared he wasn't of any use in a sick-room, but now he seemed to get on very well; you can't think how kind and gentle he was!
For one thing, Fee wasn't hard to suit, and that helped things a great deal. If Phil made a mistake, or did something awkwardly, Fee just turned it off in a joking way. He was very white and languid, but not at all sad; in fact, he kept our spirits up with his funny sayings. We all thought it was amazing; nurse said he was "a born angel," and now and then I saw Phil look wistfully at Fee, as if wondering how hecouldbe so brave. And Felix, when he caught Phil's eye, would give a roguish little smile, and say something so merry that we had to laugh.
The only part that troubled me was that Philstuck so closely to Fee that nobody else got a chance to do anything for him. I just longed to go in and sit with Fee a while, but the doctor didn't want more than one to be with him at a time; and what with Nora, and nurse, and Phil, I didn't get any chance at all until about the third day that Fee'd been ill. A telegram came that morning from Miss Marston, saying she was on the way home, and would arrive early in the afternoon, and that we would start for the Cottage the next day,—she didn't know about Fee; we'd been so upset that nobody had thought of writing her.
Well, that threw Nora into what Phil calls "a state of mind," and she and nurse began getting things together and packing 'em.
I just hate packing times; you have to keep running up and down stairs carrying things, and all that, and you don't have a minute to yourself for reading. But of course I had to help, and I was busy in the nursery handing things to nurse off a shelf, when Phil came to the door with his hat on. He looked brighter than he had for some time. "Jack," he said, "will you sit with Felix for a while? I have to go out; but I'll be back as soon as I can."
Of course I was only too glad, and I went right to Fee's room. He looked tired, and those circles under his eyes were very big and dark; but he smiled at me, and chatted for a fewminutes. Then presently, after Phil'd gone, he said: "Would you mind taking a seat over there in the window, Jack? I want to do a little quiet thinking. There's a nice book on the table; take it. Phil said he wouldn't be away long."
illus376"PACKING TIMES."
I was disappointed,—I wanted to talk with him; but I took the book and went over to the window.
It was a capital story, and I soon got interested in it. I don't know how long I'd read—I was enjoying the story so much—when I heard a queer, smothered sound, and it came from the direction of Felix.
In a minute I was by his side, exclaiming, "Why, what's the matter, Fee?"
He had slipped down in the bed, and while his poor helpless legs still lay stretched straight out, he'd twisted the upper part of his body so that he was now lying a little on his side, hugging one of the pillows, and with his face buried in it. His shoulders were shaking, and when he raised his head to answer me, I saw the tears were streaming down his cheeks.
"Shut the door—quick!" he cried, gasping between the words. "Lock it—pile the furniture against it—don't let a creature in—oh,don'tlet them see me!"
I flew to the door and locked it; and by the time I got back to the bed, Fee seemed to have lost all control over himself. He twisted and twitched, rolling his head restlessly from side to side,—one minute throwing his arms out wildly as far as they could reach, the next snatching at the pillows or the bed-clothes, and trying to stuff them into his mouth. And all the time he kept making that horrible sharp gasping noise,—as if he were almost losing his breath.
I wasdreadfullyscared at first,—thatFelix,of all people, should act this way! I got goose-flesh all over, and just stood there staring at Fee, and that seemed only to make him worse.
"Don't stare at me like that. Oh, don't, don't,don't!" he cried out. "I can't help this—really—I can't, Ican't! Oh, if I could onlyscreamwithout the others hearing me!" He threw his head back and beat the pillows with his outstretched arms.
Then, somehow, I began to understand: a great lump came in my throat, and taking hold of one of Fee's cold, clammy hands, I commenced stroking and patting it without a word.
His fingers were twitching so I could hardly hold them, and he talked very fast,—almost as if he couldn't stop himself.
"Don't tell them of this, Jack," he begged, in that sharp gasping voice, "don'ttell them! they wouldn't understand—they'd worry—and poor Phil would be wretched. I know what this is to him,—poor old fellow! I see the misery in his face from day to day, and I've tried—so hard—to keep everything in—and be cheerful—so he shouldn't guess—until I thought Ishouldgomad! Oh, think of what thismeansto me, Jack! College, profession, hopes, ambitions—goneforever—nothing left but to lie here—for the rest of my life—a useless hulk—a cumberer of the ground. Only seventeen, Jack, and I may live to be eighty—likethis!never to go about—never to walk again. Oh, if I mightdie!"—his voice got shrill,—"if God wouldonlylet me die! I've always been a poor useless creature,—and now,now, of what good am I in the world? Nothing but a burden and a care. Oh, how shall I ever,everendure it!"
I was so nervous that I began shaking inside, and I had to speak very slowly to keep my voice from shaking too. "Don't talk so foolishly, Fee," I said,—but not unkindly, you know. "Why, I don't know what we'd all do without you,—having you to ask things of, and to tell us what to do. I know papa depends on you an awful lot; and Miss Marston said the day she went away that she wouldn't've gone if she hadn't known you would be here to look after us and keep things straight; and whatwouldNannie do without you? Talk about being of no use,—just think what you've saved Phil from!"
"Iamthankful for that," broke in Felix, "mostthankful! I don't regret what I did that night, Jack. I'd do it again if need be, even knowing that it must end likethis,"—with a despairing motion of his hand toward his helpless legs.
Then he added eagerly, breathlessly, "Don't ever tell Phil about this morning, Jack,—that I feel so terribly about the accident. Don't tell him,—'twould break his heart. I hope he'llneverknow. I pretended to be cheerful, I laughed and talked to cheer him up, but my heart grew heavier and heavier, and my head felt as if it were being wound up; I was afraid I'd go mad and tell the whole thing out. Oh, Jack, it's those dreary days, those endless years of uselessness that terrify me. Oh, help me to be strong! Oh, Jack, help me!helpme!"
His arms began to fly about again; he had thrown off his glasses, and his big hollow eyes stared at me with a wild, beseeching expression in them.
"I'm so afraid—I'll scream out—and then they'll all hear me—and know," he gasped. "Oh, give me something,quick—oh, do something for me before I lose entire control of myself."
I flew to the table and got him some water; I didn't know what else to do, and he wouldn't let me call anybody,—even just speaking of it made him wild. Then I fanned him, and knelt by the bed stroking one of his hands. But nothing seemed to help him. And then—God must have put the thought into my mind—I said suddenly, "Fee, dear, I'm going to sing to you;" and before he could say no, I began.
At first I could hardly keep my voice steady,—on account of that horrid, inward shaking,—but I went right on, and gradually it got better.
I sang very softly and went from one hymnto the other, just as they came to my mind: First, "O Mother dear, Jerusalem,"—I love that old hymn!—then, "And now we fight the battle, but then shall win the crown;" and then, "The Son of God goes forth to war." That's one of Fee's favourites, and he sobbed right out when I sang,—
"'Who best can drink his cup of woe,Triumphant over pain;Who patient bears his cross below,—He follows in His train.'"
"'Who best can drink his cup of woe,Triumphant over pain;Who patient bears his cross below,—He follows in His train.'"
But I kept on,—really, I felt as if I couldn't stop,—and when I got to the last line of "For all the saints who from their labours rest," Fee whispered, "Sing those verses again, Jack."
I knew which he meant; so I sang:—
"'Thou wast their Rock, their Fortress, and their Might;Thou, Lord, their Captain in the well-fought fight;Thou, in the darkness drear, the one true Light.Alleluia!
"'Thou wast their Rock, their Fortress, and their Might;Thou, Lord, their Captain in the well-fought fight;Thou, in the darkness drear, the one true Light.Alleluia!
"O may Thy soldiers, faithful, true, and bold,Fight as the saints who nobly fought of old,And win, with them, the victor's crown of gold.Alleluia!
"O may Thy soldiers, faithful, true, and bold,Fight as the saints who nobly fought of old,And win, with them, the victor's crown of gold.Alleluia!
"And when the strife is fierce, the warfare long,Steals on the ear the distant triumph-song,And hearts are brave again, and arms are strong.Alleluia!'"
"And when the strife is fierce, the warfare long,Steals on the ear the distant triumph-song,And hearts are brave again, and arms are strong.Alleluia!'"
Fee lay quiet when I finished. He was still twitching, and tears were slipping down hischeeks from under his closed lids; but he no longer made that dreadful gasping sound, and there was a beautiful expression on his mouth,—so sweet and patient. "I've not been a soldier 'faithful, true, and bold,'" he said sadly, "but a miserable coward. Ah! how we must weary God with our grumblings and complainings, our broken resolutions and weaknesses. I prayed with all my heart and strength for Phil, that he might be saved from that crowd. And now that God has granted my prayer, I bewail His way of doing it. I was willing then to say, 'At any cost to myself,' and here I am shrinking from the share He has given me! dreading the pain and loneliness. A faithless soldier, Jack,—not worthy to be called a soldier."
"Oh! not faithless," I put in eagerly; "indeed, Fee, you'renotfaithless. Even if you do shrink from this—this trouble—it's only just here between us; you are going to be brave over it,—you know you are.Goingto be! why, Fee, I think youarethebravestboy! the truest, noblest—" I had to stop; that lump was just swelling up in my throat.
"No," Fee said mournfully, drawing his breath in as Kathie does hers sometimes when she's been crying for a long while; "no, Jack, I'm not really brave,—not yet! I'm going to bear this only because I must—because Ican'tescape it. Perhaps, by and by, strength maycome to endure the trial more patiently; but now—Idreadit. I wouldflyfrom it if I could; I woulddierather than face those awful years of helplessness! See what a poor creature your 'brave boy' is, Jack." His lips were quivering, and he folded one arm over his eyes.
Then all at once there came back to me a talk which mamma and I once had, and I thought perhaps 'twould comfort poor Felix, so I tried to tell him as well as I could. "Fee, dear," I said, holding his hand tight in mine, and snuggling my head close up to his on the pillow, so I could whisper, "once, when mamma and I were talking, she said always to remember that God knows it's awfully hard for people to bear suffering and trouble; and that He always helps them and makes allowances for them, because He's our Father, and for the sake of His own dear Son, who had to go through so much trouble here on earth.
"AndHeknows, too, Fee,—Jesus knowsjusthow you feel about this; don't you remember how He prayed that last night in Gethsemane that—if God would—He might not have to go through the awful trial of the cross? He meant to carry it right through, you know, all the time,—that's what He came on earth for; He meant to do every single thing that God had given Him to do, and just asbravely! But, all the same, He felt, too, howawfullyhard 'twasgoing to be, and just for a little while beforehand Hedreadedit,—just as you dread the years that'll have to pass before you can be well. See?
"And He knows your heart, Fee; He knows that you're going to be just asbraveandpatientas you can be, and He'll help you every time. Nannie and I'll ask Him for you—and Betty—and poor old Phil—all of us. And dear mamma's up there, too; perhaps she's asking Him to comfort you and make you strong. I feel as if she must be doing it,—she loved you so!"
Fee drew his hand out of mine, and raising his arm, touched my cheek softly with his feeble fingers, and for a few minutes we neither of us said a word.
Then there came a knock at the door; I scrambled to my feet, and going over, turned the key. Somebody brushed quickly by me with the swish of a girl's dress, and there was Nannie in the middle of the room! She ran toward Felix with her arms out, her brown eyes shining with love. "Oh, my darling!" she cried out, "mydear!"
I heard Fee's glad, breathless exclamation, "Mytwinnie!" Then Phil's arm went over my shoulders and drew me into the hall, and Phil's voice said softly in my ear, "Come, Rosebud, let's leave them alone for a while."
MISS Marston arrived that afternoon, and the next day we started, bag and baggage, for the Cottage. And here we've been for nearly three months; in a week or two more we'll be thinking of going back to the city. Dr. Gordon came up with us, and he and Phil did all they could to make the journey easier for Felix. But he was dreadfully used up by the time we got him to the house, and for days no one but Phil and Nannie were allowed in his room.
Papa came a few days after we did, looking ever so much better than when he went away, and he settled down to work at once. Betty's here, too. From what she lets out now and then, I'm pretty sure she's had a real good time; but, do you know, shewon'tacknowledge it. Still, I notice she doesn't make such fun of Hilliard as she used to; and I will say Betty's improving. She doesn't romp and tear about so much, norflare out at people so often, and of course that makes her much more comfortable to live with. I'm ever so glad she's here; if she hadn't been, I'm afraid I'd have had an awfully stupid time this summer. You see Betty and I are in the middle; we come between the big and the little ones in the family, and we 'most always go together on that account.
illus386"OUT OF DOORS."
Nannie's had her hands full, what with helping papa with the Fetich, and doing all sorts of things for her twin. Nora's looked after Phil and cheered him up when he got blue about Felix, and Phil has just devoted himself to Fee. He's with him almost the whole time, and you can't think how gentle and considerate Phil is these days.
Fee is out of doors a great deal; Phil carrieshim out on fine days, and lays him on his bamboo lounge under the big maples; and there you're sure to find the whole family gathered, some time or other, every day that he is there.
It seems as if we love Fee more and more dearly every day,—he's so bright and merry and sweet, and he triessohard to be patient and make the best of things. Of course he has times—what he calls his "dark days"—when his courage sinks, and he gets cranky and sarcastic; but they don't come as often as at first. And we all make allowances, for we know there isn't one of us that in his place would be as unselfish and helpful. We go to him with everything,—even papa has got in the way of sitting and talking with Fee; anyway, it seems as if papa were more with us now than he used to be, and he's ever so much nicer,—more like other people's fathers are, you know!
Felix has got back the use of his fingers since we've been in the country; he can paint or play his violin for a little while at a time, but his legs are still useless. The doctor, though, declares he can see a slight improvement in them. He says now that perhaps—after several years—Fee may be able to get around on crutches! Betty and I felt awfully disappointed when we heard this,—we've been so sure Fee would get perfectly well; but Fee himself was very happy over it. "Once let me assume the perpendicular, even on crutches," he said, smiling at Phil, who sat sadly beside him, "and you see if, after a while, these old pegs don't come up to their duty bravely. I may yet dance at your wedding, Philippus."
Max comes up to the Cottage quite often, and stays from Saturday to Monday. He's just as nice and kind as he can be,—why, he doesn't seem to mind one bit going off on jolly long drives in the old depot-wagon, or on larks, with only Nannie and us children; and he's teaching Mädel how to manage G. W. L. Spry and make him go, without being thrown off.
Phil and Felix and Max had a long talk together the first time Max came up, and I have an idea 'twas about Chad, for Max looked very grave. I don't know what he did about it, but the other day I heard him tell Nora that Chad had positively made up his mind to go into business. "He says he has broken loose from a very bad set he was in," Max said, "and seems very much in earnest to make the best of himself,—which is, of course, a great relief to me. I hope his good resolutions will amount to something."
"Perhaps they will," Nora answered, rather indifferently, but her cheeks got real red. I shouldn't wonder if she thought Chad'd done it because she advised him to.
We have a way this summer, on Sunday afternoons, of all sitting with Felix under the maple-trees, talking, and singing our chants and hymns there instead of in the parlour. We were all there—the whole ten of us—one afternoon, when papa came across the lawn and sat down in the basket-chair that Phil rushed off and got him. We'd just finished singing, "O Mother dear, Jerusalem," Fee accompanying us on his violin, and we didn't begin anything else, for there was a queer—sort of excited—look on papa's face that somehow made us think he had something to tell us. And sure enough he had.
"My children," he said presently, and his voice wasn't as quiet and even as it usually is, "I have this to tell you,—that last night I finished my life work; my History is completed!"
The Fetich finished! we just looked at each other with wide-open eyes.
Then Nannie knelt down by papa's chair and kissed him warmly, and Phil, who was sitting on the edge of Fee's lounge, leaned over and shook hands with papa in a kind of grown-up, manly way.
"Allow me to congratulate you, sir," Fee said earnestly, with shining eyes. "It is a great piece of work, and your children areveryproud of it and of you."
The rest of us didn't know what to say, so we just sat and looked at papa.
"I began it years ago," papa said after a minute or two, in a dreamy voice, as if talking moreto himself than to us, and looking away at the sunset with a sad, far-off expression in his eyes, "yearsago; just after I met—Margaret. But for her encouragement—her loving help—her perfect faith in my ability—it could never have been accomplished. Now it is finished—I am here alone—and she—is far away—at peace!" Papa's lips were working; he put his hand up quickly and shielded his eyes from us.
We were all very still; we older ones felt very sad. And then, soft and low—almost like an angel's voice—there came from Fee's violin the sweet strains of Handel's "Largo." The music rose and fell a bar or two, and then Nannie and Nora and Phil sang together very softly:—
"The souls of the righteous are in the hand of God. There shall no sorrow touch them. In the sight of the unwise they seemed to die; but they are in peace, for so He giveth His beloved sleep."
"The souls of the righteous are in the hand of God. There shall no sorrow touch them. In the sight of the unwise they seemed to die; but they are in peace, for so He giveth His beloved sleep."