CONCLUSION.
FOUR years have come and gone, four very bright and happy years; and the
good people of Arlingham are wont to say that things have never gone so
well with them, that times have never seemed so smooth and prosperous,
since the Squire’s sweet lady and her children lived at the Manor House
and made the place bright and homelike with their presence.
Several minor changes have now taken place since Mr. and Mrs. Arbuthnot
came to take possession of their house. Two little mites of children
play now in the nurseries where Queenie once ruled supreme; and Bertie
is never tired of watching the gambols and the antics of his tiny
brother and sister, and, as he recounts to the Squire every detail of
their wonderful performances, it is quite evident that he considers them
the most remarkable children that ever lived.
When little Frank first began to try to “walk on his hind legs,” as the
elder brother phrased it, Bertie’s admiration knew no bounds; and now
that Winnie is beginning the same interesting process, his pride and
delight in her is intense, and it is a pretty sight to see the boy out
in the garden with the two little ones, carrying them about in his
strong arms, and playing with them with a patience and good temper that
never seems exhausted.
Bertie is still the Squire’s boy, and has never wavered in his
allegiance to his adopted father. He follows him about like his shadow,
is his companion on his every expedition, and no father and son could
ever have been more deeply attached than is this elderly man to the son
of his adoption, who now wears his name and is acknowledged as his heir.
Bertie is growing a tall, strong lad now, and has quite shaken off the
childish delicacy that had given some anxiety at first. His open-air
life has done wonders for him, and he is as active and agile as any of
the boys who have in old days climbed the trees he climbs now, or jumped
the hedges and ditches that intersect the fields round his home.
Yet with all this new strength and health, Bertie has never lost the
reflective and thoughtful cast of mind that characterized him as a
child, and his manner is always quiet and gentle, and marked, when he
and the Squire are alone together, with a peculiar affection and
respect.
The tie that binds those two together is very close and strong. It would
be hard, perhaps, to define its nature; but it had bound together two
lonely hearts in the days when each had been so desolate and isolated;
and as time passed on, and they grew more and more to each other, the
cord of love seemed to wind more closely and firmly about each heart.
And Bertie’s mother rejoices to see that it is so. No jealousy has power
to disturb her sweet and noble nature; nor, indeed, has she any cause to
cherish it, for her boy is loyal and true and loving towards her always,
and she knows by sweet experience that one great love does not cast out
another, but rather increases the capacity for loving within the heart
that holds the two.
Bertie is her boy, too, as well as the Squire’s; and when love is the
law of households there is no clashing of interests and no divided duty.
The Squire walks into Uncle Fred’s study as freely as if it were his
own, or puts his head into Mrs. Arbuthnot’s morning-room to nod
“Good-morning,” or strays up into the nursery to play with the babies,
just as if the house were his own; whilst Bertie’s mother is as much at
home in the Manor House as in her own domain, and is Mrs. Pritchard’s
general referee for any little matter about which she feels any doubt.
If the Squire grew old in a single week of his life now nearly twenty
years ago, it has certainly seemed to the good people of Arlingham that
he has grown younger and more hale and hearty during the later portion
of that time.
“He’s been a new man since Master Bertie came,” is a common saying in
the village; and certainly they ought to know, since he has been born
and grown old amongst them.
Certainly the grey-headed yet upright and vigorous man so often to be
seen riding through the village with his son at his side, visiting those
houses he once thought never to enter again, and playing in the garden
with Mrs. Arbuthnot’s pretty curly-headed babies, is strangely different
from the heavy-browed, bowed-down Squire of five years ago; and the many
tenants and servants who have loved him and served him for so many years
rejoice at the change in one who has always been to them a true friend
as well as a just and watchful master.
David has been promoted to the post of the “young Squire’s groom.” For
Bertie is often called that now, and accepts a position he understands
the Squire wishes him to occupy with the ready willingness and obedience
that has characterized his conduct throughout. David may be his groom,
but he is also his friend; for Bertie is tenacious of first impressions,
and never forgets that he owes to David the first gleam of real
happiness that seemed to gild his once lonely lot.
Bertie has quite a circle of friends now, and he studies regularly with
his pastor, who takes pupils from several of the houses round about; but
he is still quite as fond of a quiet chat with David by the sea-shore,
where they talk over old times together, and lay plans for the future. A
good many boyish yet very earnest resolves are exchanged between those
two at such times, and they both find it helpful to talk together of
their faults and failures as well as of their aspirations and hopes.
They do not kneel down at the turn of the tide to ask God’s special
blessing, or to call themselves to His remembrance, for they know well
now that He is always watching over them, and that to Him all times and
seasons are alike; yet they often think of those days when they were
struggling out of the darkness into the light, and I think nothing would
ever make either of these two lads ashamed to say his prayers.
Queenie and Phil came every year to spend a pleasant visit with Uncle
Fred and Aunt Winifred; and the little girl often remains for many weeks
after her brother returns to school; for there is something in the
atmosphere of her aunt’s house which, as she expresses it, “does her
good,” and she is always very reluctant to leave.
She and Bertie are great friends, even if they are a little less
outspoken than in old days. Now and then she tells him, in moments of
unusual confidence, that she is trying to be more obedient, and does not
find it quite so tiresome as she expected. She has learned, too, to
believe in Bertie’s courage and high principles, and she has a warm and
increasing admiration for him, and ranks him in her heart as her
favorite next to Phil, and in some ways more of a hero, for Phil’s
unbounded flow of spirits hinders him from posing in any way that could
well be called heroic.
I think it will be easy for anybody to believe that Bertie’s life is a
very happy one. Of course he has his little trials and troubles and ups
and downs, as we all have, and without which we should be sadly disposed
to get careless and puffed up. He does not expect to be exempt from
these, and he tries to bear them bravely and cheerfully. He is very
grateful and happy in his life, and thinks that he is the most fortunate
boy in the world.
But, in spite of all this happiness, he has his moments of sadness,
moments when there comes over him a sense that all things here fade and
change, and that life will not always flow for him quite in this smooth
channel. Such thoughts come over him not unfrequently, and with no
little significance. For Sunday by Sunday he now stands for a few solemn
moments bareheaded by a quiet grave beneath the yew tree, where the
Squire has stood every Sunday of his life ever since his dear ones lay
below the sod; and sometimes the lad will feel the pressure of a hand
upon his shoulder, and will hear a familiar voice say, dreamily,—
“When I am lying with them, my boy, at rest after life’s long battle,
you will not forget me, will you?—nor the traditions of the old place
that will be yours after me? You will be a kind and a just master, and
keep up the honor of the old name? You will not forget the widow or the
fatherless children, nor suffer the aged to want for daily bread? You
will do as those before you have done, and more if the way opens before
you? You will try to be a credit to a name that I love and respect for
the sake of those who have borne it before me? When you are Squire of
Arlingham, Bertie, you will try to be a good one?”
It is hard for Bertie to answer questions like these, yet he looks up,
after a struggle with himself, and says,—
“I will try, father, I will try my very best; but I cannot bear to think
of it. It is so hard to think of being left alone again.”
The Squire with his quiet smile points to the words upon the marble
slab.
“My boy, when you lay me to rest beneath that stone, you must learn, as
I too had to learn, to say from your heart of hearts, ‘Thy will be
done.’”
Bertie lifts his eyes, and although tears are in them their expression
is resolute and brave.
“I will try, father, I will try. I will think of you and your courage
and resignation when you were left all alone.”
“Not quite alone, my boy, not quite alone,” answers the Squire, laying
his hand upon the lad’s head in a sort of benediction. “We have both
learned by personal experience that there is One who never leaves us
quite alone. In the fatherly care of that One I can leave you when the
time comes without one doubt or one fear. Only be strong and of a good
courage—He will never fail thee nor forsake thee.”
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● Transcriber’s Notes:
○ Missing or obscured punctuation was silently corrected.
○ Typographical errors were silently corrected.
○ Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were made consistent only
when a predominant form was found in this book.