TOM'S PERSUASIONS.
"WE are going home to-morrow!" said Jean, with a sigh. "Auntie, are you
not very sorry? Now, confess!"
"Very sorry to leave this nice place, and the sea, but not to be going
home."
Tom, who was sitting on the grass at her feet, looked up suddenly.
"Is our home going to be yours?" he asked, gently and earnestly.
"I do not know, Tom!"
"Have mother and father asked you? Don't answer if you'd rather not,
auntie," he said, his cheeks burning, as he still looked in her face,
"but mother is better and back again now, and she said in her letter
this morning—"
"It was not curiosity," apologised Rose, "but because we did so hope
you might be able."
Aunt Ruth's eyes filled. "It makes me very happy to think you want me,"
she said in a low tone; "but I have not been able to decide yet."
"I am afraid I ought not to have asked," said Tom, earnestly; "but as
Rose said, we were so hoping you would, as mother told us before we
came away, she hoped it would be settled so—"
Aunt Ruth did not gainsay it. She was looking earnestly at the quiet
river and the golden trees, lighted up just now by the setting sun.
"I do not mind your having asked me in the least, dears. I have been
thinking about telling you about my— about the blow that came upon me
last year."
Their faces of sympathy and interest were enough encouragement to her
to go on.
"You know I lost my dear father then, and when everything was settled
up, instead of my having an income sufficient to keep me, through no
fault of his, but because some investments had gone down, it was found
there was not nearly enough to keep me—"
Jean showered kisses on the hand she was holding, and Oswald opened his
mouth as if to speak, but closed it again, and was silent.
Tom was the first to venture a remark, and his gentle, grave tone was
full of sympathy.
"I heard how bravely and sweetly you bore it, auntie—"
"There were many days when I could not; when I felt as if the waves
went over my head. You would not understand how many things hinged
on that insufficient income of mine; how hopes that had long been
cherished were blighted—"
"And yet, auntie," said Rose, "you told us the Lord was your 'Sun and
Shield.'"
"So He was, and is; I do not forget that, dears."
"Several homes have been offered to me, and I have been waiting to see
where God would let me go."
"To us, I hope," said Tom, earnestly.
"Your father and mother have been most kind, and not least in allowing
me time to decide, so as to do nothing in a hurry."
"Mother is far from strong," said Rose. "I know she would be very glad
if you were never to leave us—"
"But you and Jean will be able to help her in a year or two," said Aunt
Ruth, "what then?"
"Time enough for that," said downright Tom, "and if you're right in
coming to us now, when the next step comes, you'll be able to see it!
Eh, auntie?"
She smiled happily, and bent forward to kiss his forehead, as he knelt
before her.
"I've got hopes that in a year or two, there may be several things
altered," he said, decidedly.
Aunt Ruth looked earnestly at him. "What do you mean, dear?"
"I mean that there are 'promises' for you, auntie, just as much as
there are for us."
"'Promises?'" she asked, stroking his hair, and thinking that, for a
boy of fifteen, he had been a wonderful comfort to her all this year.
"Yes," he answered, not guessing her thoughts; "there's one that I've
had on my mind all the week, 'Casting all your care upon Him, for He
careth for you!'"
"Yes—" she answered, with a long-drawn breath, as if some heavy care
were rolling off as she spoke, "yes—I must not forget that."
"And you'll come and settle down with us till some other home wants you
more than we do?" asked Tom, with a gravity and sweetness which she
wondered at.
Aunt Ruth was silent, still stroking his sunny hair.
"You seem to think there are a great many homes likely to want me!" she
said, hesitating, with a questioning, shy look in her eyes.
"I did not say a great many," said Tom, gravely. "I know of one that
isn't ready yet—and in America—and till then we want you!"
Aunt Ruth pointed to the sunset, and rose to go in; but as Tom
struggled to his feet, she said softly: "Tom, I don't think there is
any home in America getting ready—"
"But I know there is," said Tom, bluntly; "meanwhile, and always, 'He
careth for you,' auntie!"
They went in at last, and as they were wishing good-night, Aunt Ruth
said: "Children, as you all seem to want me to live with you, I am only
too happy to come."
There was a bright joy on every face, and not least on Aunt Ruth's
patient one.
"You did persuade her well!" whispered Rose to Tom on the stairs.
"I think it was God's assurance did it," said Tom. "I told her that she
as well as we had His promise, 'He careth for you.'"