THE SICK MAN AND THE FALLEN FOE.
Mrs. Craig had taken a fancy to Gray at once. Something in his
bright manly face had drawn out her confidence, and pointing to John
on his sick bed, she said--
"I wonder if you could cheer up my poor lad a bit; he's not so happy
as I would like."
"How's that?" he asked. "Does he not know the One above as his
friend?"
"Ah, that's just what he wants, but you know the Lord, don't you? and
I've asked Him to send some one here to speak to John, and now He's
done it. He's been a good son to me, and he's served the Lord too,
but he's not quite at peace now, you understand."
"How's that, my friend?" said Gray, sitting down at his bedside.
"The Lord surely is faithful?"
"He is faithful," slowly answered the sick man, "but I haven't
been--I was a wild one once, but I turned to the Lord--and I believe
I found the Saviour--and I tried to serve Him--and I taught the
young--I always loved the children--but something went wrong in the
Sunday School and I turned off, and after that I wandered from Him
somehow--I don't right know how. I haven't been faithful to Him, and
I might have been a better son to _her_," pointing to his mother.
"Never heed that, John," said the mother, eagerly, "I've forgiven all
that. You were always an obedient lad to me when you were at home."
"I must take the children away now, for the mother is anxious to hear
tidings of them, but I'll come in again and perhaps send a friend who
can speak to you better than I."
"We'll always make you welcome; be sure and come," said John,
anxiously.
"All right; I'll step in to-morrow and see how you are getting on.
Meantime, thank you for taking such kindly care of the children."
Harry Gray found it difficult to speak much about sacred things to
others, but on turning to leave, he said to John, "Remember, friend,
'The Rock never moves'; that's a comfort to me," and shaking hands
all round he started forth with the children.
The thought of the perambulator never occurred to Mr. Gray's mind,
but poor Ben had not forgotten it. With a great effort he said--
"The coach is up by the wood, I think. I couldn't find it when I
started in the storm, and I was afraid Kit would catch cold, so I
carried her to the lady's house as quick as I could, but I want to
run back to look for it. Can I go?"
"Whew--w! Let's hope the 'pram.' isn't lost, Ben. You must have
been careless about it. Yes, run back, the storm is over now, and
I'll come and meet you. Mother couldn't part with it."
No need to tell Ben to run; he scampered away as quick as his legs
could carry him.
All the branches of the trees and hedges were dripping after the
recent shower, and the air was fresh and sweet.
In a few minutes he reached the gate leading to the meadow, and the
first object that met his eyes was the perambulator; the second
object, Jim, sitting beside a bush, pale and frightened, his eyes
swollen with crying. He was moaning and holding his knees with both
hands, while he rocked backwards and forwards.
Ben bounded to the "coach" with an exclamation of surprise and
gladness, and seized the handle as if to secure it from Jim, while he
eyed him suspiciously.
"I suppose you interfered with Kit's carriage?" he cried, wheeling it
off. "It was too bad, Jim, I had to carry her down the road. What
did you do it for?"
"Stop that!" answered Jim, moaning again. "I was just having a bit
of fun. It was safe enough, if you had only used your eyes better.
Ah, dear! what will I do?"
Ben felt half inclined to run off with his recovered treasure, but a
better feeling prompted him to wait, and ask what was the matter.
At first Jim did not reply, but upon Ben coming up to him, and asking
if he were hurt, Jim broke down.
"I've hurt my knee, and I can't walk. Mother'll want to know where I
am, and I shall never get home?"
"I could help you," said Ben; "put your arm in mine."
"It isn't a bit of good, I can't walk a step."
"Will you get in the coach? It is a very strong one, and I'll wheel
you slowly," said Ben.
Jim hung his head sullenly. It was a very humbling thing for him to
get on to Kit's carriage, and be pushed along by Ben, but it was the
only thing to be done, and, though he felt very much ashamed when he
remembered his past conduct, after pretending to object a little to
the plan, he allowed Ben to help him on to the perambulator. It was
a good-sized double one, and so, without much difficulty, though
suffering a great deal of pain, he seated himself.
Very carefully did Ben wheel his vanquished enemy along, and very
different were the feelings of the boys.
"I'm glad I've got the 'coach,'" said Ben. "Kit's mother _would_
have been greatly upset if it had a been lost or stolen."
"It would not have been lost or stolen," answered Jim, "I only
wheeled it back into the bushes for fun."
He did not say how the fun he had looked forward to, was to see the
children search in vain, and commence their homeward walk in distress.
"It wasn't _real_ fun," replied Ben. "When did you get your knee
hurt?"
"I was up in a tree, and I fell down," he answered, shortly. "You
won't sneak about it, will you?"
"No--no--o, but you had better tell the truth. I will not say how
you vented your spite on Kit and me, but don't do it again, Jim.
Kit's a real nice little girl."
"No, I won't; that's truth for once; especially if you don't sneak on
me."
Jim did not tell how he climbed the tree to watch Ben's dismay at the
loss of the coach, neither did he tell how a vivid flash of lightning
alarmed him so that he hurried down too quickly and so fell on his
knee. But he had been justly punished.
Harry Gray met them half way and guessed pretty much how matters
stood. He spoke a word of stern, yet kindly warning to Jim, who was
heartily glad when he reached his own home. He was carried in to
make the best of the adventure he could. Ben, after a good tea, went
very happily to bed.