PHILIP AND MAGGIE.
Poor Tom bore his severe pain like a hero, but there was a terrible
dread weighing on his mind--so terrible that he dared not ask the
question which might bring the fatal "yes"--he dared not ask the
surgeon or Mr. Stelling, "Shall I be lame, sir?"
It had not occurred to either of these gentlemen to set the lad's mind
at rest with hopeful words. But Philip watched the surgeon out of the
house, and waylaid Mr. Stelling to ask the very question that Tom had
not dared to ask for himself.
"I beg your pardon, sir, but does Mr. Askern say Tulliver will be lame?"
"Oh no, oh no," said Mr. Stelling; "only for a little while."
"Did he tell Tulliver so, sir, do you think?"
"No; nothing was said to him on the subject."
"Then I may go and tell him, sir?"
"Yes, to be sure. Now you mention it, I dare say he may be troubling
about that. Go to his bedroom, but be very quiet."
It had been Philip's first thought when he heard of the accident, "Will
Tulliver be lame? It will be very hard for him if he is." And Tom's
offences against himself were all washed out by that pity.
"Mr. Askern says you'll soon be all right again, Tulliver; did you
know?" he said, rather timidly, as he stepped gently up to Tom's bed.
"I've just been to ask Mr. Stelling, and he says you'll walk as well as
ever again, by-and-by."
Tom looked up with that stopping of the breath which comes with a
sudden joy; then he gave a long sigh, and turned his blue-gray eyes
straight on Philip's face, as he had not done for a fortnight or more.
As for Maggie, the bare idea of Tom's being always lame overcame her,
and she clung to him and cried afresh.
"Don't be a little silly, Magsie," said Tom tenderly, feeling very
brave now. "I shall soon get well."
"Good-bye, Tulliver," said Philip, putting out his small, delicate
hand, which Tom clasped with his strong fingers.
"I say," said Tom, "ask Mr. Stelling to let you come and sit with me
sometimes, till I get up again, Wakem, and tell me about Robert Bruce,
you know."
After that Philip spent all his time out of lesson hours with Tom and
Maggie. Tom liked to hear fighting stories as much as ever; but he
said he was sure that those great fighters, who did so many wonderful
things and came off unhurt, wore excellent armour from head to foot,
which made fighting easy work.
One day, soon after Philip had been to visit Tom, he and Maggie were in
the study alone together while Tom's foot was being dressed. Philip
was at his books, and Maggie went and leaned on the table near him to
see what he was doing; for they were quite old friends now, and
perfectly at home with each other.
"What are you reading about in Greek?" she said. "It's poetry; I can
see that, because the lines are so short."
"It's about the lame man I was telling you of yesterday," he answered,
resting his head on his hand, and looking at her as if he were not at
all sorry to stop. Maggie continued to lean forward, resting on her
arms, while her dark eyes got more and more fixed and vacant, as if she
had quite forgotten Philip and his book.
"Maggie," said Philip, after a minute or two, still leaning on his
elbow and looking at her, "if you had had a brother like me, do you
think you should have loved him as well as Tom?"
Maggie started a little and said, "What?" Philip repeated his question.
"Oh yes--better," she answered immediately. "No, not better, because I
don't think I could love you better than Tom; but I should be so
sorry--so sorry for you."
Philip coloured. Maggie, young as she was, felt her mistake. Hitherto
she had behaved as if she were quite unconscious of Philip's deformity.
"But you are so very clever, Philip, and you can play and sing," she
added quickly. "I wish you were my brother. I'm very fond of you.
And you would stay at home with me when Tom went out, and you would
teach me everything, wouldn't you--Greek, and everything?"
"But you'll go away soon, and go to school, Maggie," said Philip, "and
then you'll forget all about me, and not care for me any more. And
then I shall see you when you're grown up, and you'll hardly take any
notice of me."
"Oh no, I shan't forget you, I'm sure," said Maggie, shaking her head
very seriously. "I never forget anything, and I think about everybody
when I'm away from them. I think about poor Yap. He's got a lump in
his throat, and Luke says he'll die. Only don't you tell Tom, because
it will vex him so. You never saw Yap. He's a queer little dog;
nobody cares about him but Tom and me."
"Do you care as much about me as you do about Yap, Maggie?" said
Philip, smiling rather sadly.
"Oh yes, I should think so," said Maggie, laughing.
"I'm very fond of you, Maggie; I shall never forget you," said Philip.
"And when I'm very unhappy, I shall always think of you, and wish I had
a sister with dark eyes, just like yours."
"Why do you like my eyes?" said Maggie, well pleased. She had never
heard of any one but her father speak of her eyes as if they had merit.
"I don't know," said Philip. "They're not like any other eyes. They
seem trying to speak--trying to speak kindly. I don't like other
people to look at me much, but I like you to look at me, Maggie."
"Why, I think you're fonder of me than Tom is," said Maggie. Then,
wondering how she could convince Philip that she could like him just as
well, although he was crooked, she said,--
"Should you like me to kiss you, as I do Tom? I will, if you like."
"Yes, very much. Nobody kisses me."
Maggie put her arm round his neck and kissed him.
"There now," she said; "I shall always remember you, and kiss you when
I see you again, if it's ever so long. But I'll go now, because I
think Mr. Askern's done with Tom's foot."
When their father came the second time, Maggie said to him, "O father,
Philip Wakem is so very good to Tom; he is such a clever boy, and I do
love him.--And you love him too, Tom, don't you? Say you love him,"
she added entreatingly.
Tom coloured a little as he looked at his father, and said, "I shan't
be friends with him when I leave school, father. But we've made it up
now, since my foot has been bad; and he's taught me to play at
draughts, and I can beat him."
"Well, well," said Mr. Tulliver, "if he's good to you, try and make him
amends and be good to him. He's a poor crooked creatur, and takes
after his dead mother. But don't you be getting too thick with him;
he's got his father's blood in him too."
* * * * *
By the time Tom had reached his last quarter at King's Lorton the years
had made striking changes in him. He was a tall youth now, and wore
his tail-coat and his stand-up collars. Maggie, too, was tall now,
with braided and coiled hair. She was almost as tall as Tom, though
she was only thirteen; and she really looked older than he did.
At last the day came when Tom was to say good-bye to his tutor, and
Maggie came over to King's Lorton to fetch him home. Mr. Stelling put
his hand on Tom's shoulder, and said, "God bless you, my boy; let me
know how you get on." Then he pressed Maggie's hand; but there were no
audible good-byes. Tom had so often thought how joyful he should be
the day he left school "for good." And now that the great event had
come, his school years seemed like a holiday that had come to an end.
THE END
PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN
UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME.
GRIMM'S FAIRY TALES.
Contains ten Fairy Tales, with six Coloured and numerous other
Illustrations.
THE WATER-BABIES.
By CHARLES KINGSLEY. Four exquisite Coloured Pictures and many
Pen-and-ink Illustrations.
ALICE IN WONDERLAND.
By LEWIS CARROLL. Eight Coloured Plates by Harry Rountree. The
prettiest cheap edition of this delightful Children's Classic in
existence.
THE KING OF THE GOLDEN RIVER, and Other Stories.
By JOHN RUSKIN and Others. Eight Coloured Plates by John Hassall.
UNCLE REMUS.
By JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS. Brer Rabbit has become a household word, and
every child should know his adventures. Eight Coloured Plates.
KNIGHTS OF THE GRAIL.
The Legend of Lohengrin and the Story of Galahad. Eight Coloured
Plates.
JOHN DIETRICH.
Eight stories from "The Fairy Book" by Mrs. Craik. Eight Coloured
Plates.
AESOP'S FABLES.
MOTHER GOOSE.
LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF BARON MUNCHAUSEN.
THE LINDEN LEAF.
The Story of Siegfried from the _Nibelungen Lied_. Eight Coloured
Plates.
STORIES FROM TENNYSON.
COX'S GREEK STORIES.
Selections from "Tales of the Gods and Heroes." Eight Coloured Plates.
STORIES FROM SPENSER.
GULLIVER IN LILLIPUT.
ROBINSON CRUSOE. (Abridged.)
The famous story simply told in outline, but without loss of interest,
for children not yet able to read and understand the complete work of
Defoe.
THE UGLY DUCKLING.
A especially prepared edition of an evergreen nursery classic.
STORIES FROM THE ARABIAN NIGHTS.
THE ADVENTURES OF ULYSSES.
Simply told for children.
THE SIX GIFTS.
Stories retold for children from the "Earthly Paradise" of William
Morris.
JOHN HALIFAX'S BOYHOOD.
An adaptation and abridgment of the famous novel.
STORIES FROM "HIAWATHA."
The story of Longfellow's fine Indian Poem.
SIR THOMAS THUMB; or, The Wonderful Adventures of a Fairy Knight.
Eight Coloured Plates by Granville Fell
DON QUIXOTE
Told for children.
CHILDREN OF THE OLD TESTAMENT.
CHILDREN OF THE NEW TESTAMENT.
Six Coloured Plates in each.
_All these books are of high literary merit and of unusual artistic
charm._
OF ALL BOOKSELLERS.
THOMAS NELSON AND SONS, LTD.,
LONDON, EDINBURGH, AND NEW YORK.