WINIFRED’S BROTHERS.
Winifred went away from little Phil’s home in a grave and quiet mood;
but she did not feel unhappy, and she did not feel afraid.
This serious mood lasted for many days, during which the child did a
great deal of thinking, although, with the invariable reticence of
childhood, she did not speak of her thoughts to those about her.
She did not leave Phil’s couch under any distinct impression of
approaching death. What had passed between the two children was not
sufficient to make Winnie think she was going to die; but the talk
with the sick boy had put new thoughts into her head, made plain some
puzzling questions which had troubled her before, and given her food
for much meditation.
The sense of approaching change seemed to overshadow her more and more
as days passed on.
Nobody spoke to her of any journey, and yet something in Winnie’s heart
seemed to tell her every day that she was going away--that a time would
soon come when she would have to say good-bye to those around her, and
go, she knew not whither.
She watched the swallows with an ever-increasing interest, for were
they not going too before very long? They, too, were feeling as she was
feeling, that some power stronger than themselves was working within
them, and would in time urge them to the last flight. They would have
to go when they were bidden, and they would obey the voiceless call
without a murmur and without a fear, and why should she not do the same?
“They don’t know where they are going, and I don’t know where I am
going,” mused the child sometimes. “They don’t know the way, and I
don’t know the way. But they aren’t afraid to go. They know that
something will show them the way, and will take them to a nice place
where they can be happy. I don’t see why I need be afraid either.
Mamma knows where I am going, I think. She will take care of me; and
God knows too, and He will take care of me. I think it must be God who
takes care of the swallows and shows them where to go. If He is so kind
to the birds, He is sure not to forget me. I don’t see why we need ever
be afraid of anything, because He can always take care of us.”
But in the midst of new thoughts Winifred did not forget the old wish,
to do things for other people, and make herself of use.
She took the boys’ play-room under her special care. She looked after
their toys, their books, and all those nameless treasures which a
housemaid despises, and destroys, but which she could appreciate and
care for.
She let them come to her now with all their stories, either of sorrow
or joy, and was always ready with sympathy or congratulation. She
mended their gloves, and sewed on refractory buttons, and never sent
them out of the nursery because their noise made her head ache.
Charley and Ronald were affectionate boys, and very fond of their
little sister. Now that she had begun to be interested in their
affairs, and to encourage their attentions, it seemed as if they could
not make enough of her, and a very happy nursery party was always to
be found round the fire each evening, the brothers chattering away
to Winnie of all the day’s adventures, she listening with unfeigned
interest, and more often than not working with her active little
fingers at some light task in their service.
She liked to hear about the other boys who shared her brothers’ studies
with the tutor in the nearest town. She soon learnt to know their
names, their characters, and dispositions, and to take an interest in
every one; and by-and-by she revealed a little plan which had long been
working in her head.
“Charley,” she said one evening, “do you think it would be nice to give
a tea-party?”
“A tea-party, Winnie?”
“Yes, a sort of a tea-party on a Saturday afternoon, and ask all the
boys. Do you think they would care to come?” asked the little girl.
“Come here!”
Charley and Ronald looked pleased and interested; and both fastened
their eyes eagerly upon Winifred, as if to make sure of her meaning.
“Yes, I feel as if I should like to see them, before--I mean I have
heard about them and I think it would be nice to know them a little. Do
you think they would come?”
“I’m sure they would!” cried Ronald, “they’d like it awfully.”
“Would you like it too?”
“Of course we should. You’re a brick, Winnie, for thinking of it,”
cried Charley. “What could have put it into your head?”
Winifred smiled in the quiet way which had grown upon her of late.
“I don’t quite know. I seem to think of a lot of things now.”
“You do,” assented Charley with an emphasis that brought a flush of
pleasure to Winifred’s pale face. “You think of everything now. I can’t
think what we did before you were well enough to look after our things.
I knew they were always in a horrid muddle.”
Winnie smiled and sighed too.
“I wish I’d begun before,” she said, “when I had more time. I wish I
hadn’t been so lazy before.”
“You weren’t lazy, you were ill,” said Charley stoutly. “But you’re
getting better now--you’ll soon be well, won’t you, Winnie?”
Charley spoke with a certain earnestness of manner which made his
sister look at him to see what made him ask the question.
“Oh yes, I think so, Charley,” she answered. “I think I’m going to get
well quite soon.”
Ronald’s thoughts were busy with the proposed plan of the tea-party.
“It would be jolly,” he said, “awfully jolly. Do you think mamma will
let us have it?”
“Oh yes, I am almost sure she will,” answered Winnie. “I will ask her
to-night. I was waiting till I had asked you, because I wanted to know
first if you thought it would be nice.”
“Will it be soon?” Ronald asked eagerly.
“I should like it to be soon,” answered Winnie, “just as soon as we can
have it. Next Saturday, perhaps. That is three days off.”
“Oh, jolly!” cried Ronald. “I like things to come soon. I can’t bear to
wait.”
“No, I don’t think it would do to wait,” answered the little girl, her
eyes turning towards the window, which overlooked the water-meadows
where the swallows were beginning to gather.
Charley’s eyes followed the direction of her glance, and then returned
to her face.
“Why wouldn’t it do to wait?” he asked with a touch of uneasiness in
his voice. “What are you thinking of, Winnie?”
“Of the swallows,” she answered still absently; “we must have it before
they go, you know!”
“Why?” and Charley opened his eyes wide, not seeing the connection.
Winifred awoke from her daydream with a little start, and smiled.
“Oh, I don’t quite know. Perhaps it is all fancy. Only it seems
sometimes as if everything would be different when the swallows go.”
Charley looked still half-uneasy and half-puzzled; but Ronald had so
many questions to ask about the tea-party that there was no time to
wonder more about Winifred’s thoughts.
“Will anybody else come beside our fellows?”
“I shall ask Violet,” answered Winifred. “She will be pleased to come,
and can stay with me whilst you and the boys are playing in the garden
before tea. We will get it all ready for you. Violet will like that;
I don’t think I have been quite kind lately. I have forgotten her
sometimes; and poor little Vi has no brothers, and not half so many
nice things as I have. I wish I hadn’t been so selfish.”
Winifred sighed a little, and Charley stood up and put his arm about
her neck.
“You’re not selfish, Winnie. You’re just as nice as you can be.
Everybody says so. Everybody loves you--I know it, if you don’t.”
“Of course they do, Win,” added Ronald, waking up to what was passing.
“All the fellows ask about you. They all want to know how you are
when you’re ill. They don’t know you hardly at all; but they all like
you--everybody does.”
Winifred was pleased to hear this, although she hardly felt to deserve
praise.
“People are very nice and kind,” she said smiling. “I shall like to see
the boys. I know mamma will let us have a very nice tea-party. Cook
will be pleased too; she will like to make us nice things.”
“Jolly!” cried Ronald again, whilst Charley said more gravely:
“People like doing what you want them to, I think, Winnie.”
Winifred was silent a moment, thinking, then she said half-shyly:
“Should you like to do something that I wanted you to, Charley?”
“Yes, to be sure I should.”
“So should I,” added Ronald.
It was a little while before Winifred spoke: but the boys waited
eagerly to hear her commands. They had been wishing one to another that
they could do something to please their little sister.
“I should like very much, if you didn’t mind, if you would go every
week to see little Phil at the lodge. He is so lonely.”
“Oh yes, I’ll go!” answered Charley. “I like poor Phil, but I’m afraid
I’ve forgotten him often; but he likes you best, Winnie.”
“I shall go to see him as long as I can,” answered Winnie. “But--but--”
“Why, Winnie!” cried Ronald, “you’re not going to be ill again this
winter, are you?”
“Oh no, I hope not--I don’t think so. Only--I--I fancy perhaps I shan’t
be able to go and see poor little Phil very much longer. I should like
to think you would go instead, and talk to him and lend him books, so
that he will not miss me very much. Sometimes I think he’ll die before
very long.”
Charley’s face was grave and troubled; but all he said was:
“We’ll take care of him, Winnie. He shan’t be dull if we can help it.
I’ll never forget him any more, I promise you.”
“Thank you,” said Winnie gratefully, and her heart felt the lighter for
this promise. She knew Charley would not fail when he had once pledged
himself.
Mrs. Digby gave a willing consent to Winifred’s plan for the proposed
tea-party; and entered into an animated discussion of its every detail.
It was arranged for the following Saturday. The guests were to be
invited for three o’clock, to have games in the garden, tea in the
nursery, charades in the play-room, and fireworks after supper just
before going home.
Everything sounded delightful, and the boys went off in high spirits to
prepare their lessons.
“Mamma,” said Winnie, after she was in bed, her mother still remaining
beside her, “may I give away some of my books and toys to Violet when
she comes?”
“What makes you wish to do so, dear?”
“I have so many, you know, mamma, and Violet has so few, and she would
be so pleased. Besides, I feel sometimes as if I was growing older. I
don’t seem to care so much for toys and fairy tales. I like some of my
books better than ever; but I hardly ever read the stories I used to be
so fond of, and I haven’t played with my dolls--Oh, I don’t know when!”
“And so you would like Violet to have them instead, would you?” asked
Mrs. Digby, caressing the child’s head.
“Yes, mamma, if you don’t mind. I feel as if I’d not been quite kind
to Violet all this while. She would have liked to come here oftener to
play, and I haven’t asked her; and I haven’t been to see her when I
know she would have liked it. I didn’t think about things once; but I
do now, and I know it wasn’t quite right of me.”
“And you think Violet would be pleased by having the dolls and fairy
tales?”
“I think she would; and I should like to feel that she had them. You
don’t mind, do you, mamma?”
“No, dearest. If you do not want your toys yourself, it is better to
give them to some one who will be pleased by having them.”
“Yes; and it will be nice to have seen the boys’ friends, and to have
made Vi happy. I wonder I never thought about it before. Mamma, the
swallows won’t have gone by Saturday, will they?”
“No, darling, no,” and it seemed as if Mrs. Digby’s voice shook. “They
will gather a long while yet. What makes my little girl think so much
of the swallows?”
“I don’t quite know, mamma. Sometimes I can’t help fancying that
everything will be different when the swallows have gone.”
The mother kissed her child very fervently and tenderly, and left the
room without another word.
To her surprise she found Charley lingering about the door, as if
waiting for her. His face wore a troubled look, and he did not speak
at once, but followed his mother down the passage, and did not speak
until they reached the window at the end of the corridor near to the
staircase, which looked over the water-meadows.
“Mamma,” he said then, looking up into her face, “have you been crying?”
“Just a tear or two, my boy. What makes you ask?”
Charley was nearly fifteen, and old enough to have been made anxious by
one or two things he had heard and seen of late.
“Were you crying about Winnie? Mamma, is there anything the matter with
Winnie?”
“Your little sister is in a very precarious state of health, Charley.”
“I know, mamma, she is pale and thin and weak; but she was much worse
last winter.”
“She _seemed_ to be worse, my boy.”
“Mamma, mamma!” cried Charley anxiously, “you don’t mean--Oh, mamma,
she isn’t--”
The boy could not say the words, but his eyes spoke his meaning
plainly enough. Mrs. Digby’s tears fell for a moment fast and freely;
but then they were checked, and she answered steadily:
“We are in God’s hands, dear Charley, and our precious little child is
under His care. He may be willing to spare her to us a little longer.
We may all pray and even hope; God’s ways are not our ways, and He is
very merciful.”
Charley’s face grew pale. He saw by his mother’s looks how little hope
she had.
“Mamma!” he cried; “Oh, mamma!”
“Dear Charley,” she said tenderly, “we must all be brave; we may still
pray to God to spare our darling, only we must pray first ‘Thy will be
done.’”
The boy choked and a lump rose in his throat; then he commanded his
voice and asked:
“What does Dr. Howard say?”
“He says that--that--he thinks Winifred cannot get any better.”
There was silence after this, and then the boy said more slowly and
calmly:
“Does Winnie know?”
“I do not know how much; but from what she says I feel sure she knows
something.”
“It was her talk to-day made me begin to think,” said the boy with a
tearless sob. “Oh mamma, she is such a dear Winnie; and she talks just
as if she were going away.”
“My poor Charley, we shall all miss our sweet little girl; but, dear
boy, we must remember where she has gone, and Who has taken her.”
The boy sobbed on still.
“She will never come back any more.”
“No, Charley--could we really wish her back? She will not come to us;
but we may go to her. That must then be more than ever the aim of our
lives.”
“Yes, yes,” said the boy; and by-and-by he asked in a whisper, “When?”
“Ah, Charley, I ask that question every day. Sometimes I think it will
not be very long after the swallows go.”