PEOPLE AND THINGS.
MANY weeks had gone by, and Mrs. Stuart was pretty well recovered from
her accident. She limped a little, it is true, and was unable to walk
any distance; still, on the whole, she might be counted convalescent.
Archie had been a good son to her through those weeks. Nobody could
question it. Even Mrs. Stuart did not deny the fact.
It may seem an odd thing to say, considering the mother's love for
her boy, but, undoubtedly, Mrs. Stuart had not quite forgiven Archie
for being in some sort the cause of her accident. If Archie had not
left her all those hours alone, she would not have gone searching
after him in the brick-fields. Mrs. Stuart was wont to dilate on this
very self-evident truth; while she forgot to mention the equally
self-evident truth that if she had not given way to ill-temper, Archie
would not have left her. Archie had been to blame, no question as to
that. But Mrs. Stuart herself could scarcely be reckoned blameless.
And Mrs. Stuart was not of a generous nature. When her foot was at
its worst, she seemed to find a particular gratification in reminding
Archie that it was "all his doing." A generous nature would have shrunk
from allowing Archie to see how much she suffered, for fear he should
blame himself too far.
Archie bore his mother's reproaches patiently—so patiently that Mrs.
Dunn often wondered, looking on. For she knew the young fellow to be of
a quick and hasty disposition; and she did not know yet how a strong
new principle was taking root in Archie Stuart's heart, and beginning
already to show in his life.
One result of Mrs. Stuart's accident was a great pleasure to Archie.
His friendship with the Dunns was no longer a thing forbidden. Mrs.
Stuart hardly could prevent it, after Susan Dunn's kind care of her.
But she still did not care to see more of the Dunns than was necessary;
and if Archie spoke of Nannie, Mrs. Stuart was sure to spend some sulky
hours in consequence.
It was very difficult for him to abstain from speaking of Nancy; for by
this time he thought of her more than of any other human being. Nancy's
pretty face was before his mind's eye perpetually. When he looked
forward to the future, it was always a future with Nancy Dunn—not
always as Nancy Dunn. But he had not spoken out to anybody yet of his
wish. He wanted his mother to learn to like Nancy first.
"Why don't you come to see my mother oftener?" he asked one day, and
Nancy answered frankly—
"I don't think she cares to have me come. She always seems so busy."
This was true, and Archie could not deny it. The thought troubled him
much, but he tried to wait quietly. Meanwhile he was very often in and
out at Woodbine Cottage; and the more he saw of the Dunns, the more
thoroughly he respected and wished to be like them.
For there was nothing half-hearted, nothing inconsistent, about these
Dunns. They were not great talkers, but neither did they hide their
religion. In Richard Dunn's life, the leading aim was to serve that
dear Lord and Master who had died for him on the Cross, and this aim
was followed out with steady persistence. If need arose, he could speak
of his heart's desire; if required to do aught which he believed to be
contrary to God's will, he could refuse quietly, and without bluster.
Lesser aims were included in the one great aim. He was a steady
workman; he sought to keep his wife and children in comfort; he loved
to have a tasteful and well-furnished little house. These things were
right. It was well that he should be the better workman, because he
served first a Heavenly Master; and it was well that while striving to
do God's will, he should seek to please his wife, and make his children
happy.
Things were much the same with Susan Dunn and with Nancy. Setting first
before them the desire to please in all things a Heavenly Master and
Friend, they did, as a matter of course, their best in all things.
But there was nothing sombre, nothing gloomy, in the atmosphere of
Woodbine Cottage. How should there be? Richard Dunn was a man of
cheerful spirit. You need not suppose for a moment that he or his
family were the less cheerful because of their religion. Why, how
should they be? Real religion—the religion of Christ—is rest, and joy,
and safety now, and the looking forward to a glorious by-and-by. That
doesn't make people gloomy. No doubt a great many true servants of
God are gloomy, but they find their gloom in themselves, not in their
religion, if it is indeed according to the teaching of Christ.
You would not have heard merrier children's voices anywhere in the
neighbourhood than in Woodbine Cottage, or a sweeter laugh than
Nancy's; nor would you have seen a sunnier face than Susan's, or a
busier and happier life than Richard Dunn's. He was always at work upon
something, even in leisure hours; reading a book, or doing a bit of
carpentering, or tending his plants, or having a game with his little
ones. There was no time in his life for idle lounging, any more than
there was in Susan's or Nancy's for gossiping.
Some people may count it odd to talk of a man being "at work" when he
reads a book or plays with his children. But there are many different
kinds of work. Reading may be very hard work indeed—not of course
just looking at a shallow article in a paper, or glancing through a
worthless novel, but real steady mastering of facts worth knowing in
a volume of history or science. And though playing with a child is
not hard work, yet it may really be in one sense work for God, if
the father is lovingly trying to win his little one's heart in every
possible way, and to please God in so doing.
Archie Stuart being much in and out of Woodbine Cottage, noticed all
these items of the way in which his friends lived and acted, and
gradually, he seemed to catch something of the same spirit. He began
to feel that for a man to live only to himself is not grand; that
to please one's self always is very easy, but not beautiful. He saw
slowly, more and more, how grand and beautiful, aye, and how manly
a thing it is, to be permitted to fight on God's side in the mighty
world-wide battle between good and evil.
No namby-pamby matter this, as Archie soon discovered. For with all his
young vigour and his strong will, he found soon how little he could do,
how strong were the powers of evil; and then it was that his friends
could speak to him of One "mighty to save," in whose great strength
Archie should, if he willed, be "more than conqueror." And then, Archie
learned to pray.
That was how Archie grew more kind and patient during the weeks of
his mother's illness. He did not think it himself. He had never found
self-restraint harder, or the temptation to sharp self-defence more
keen. But others looking on saw the difference in him already.
This learning to pray is a great step in anybody's life. Archie no
longer went to Church merely as a dull duty, to listen to words which
had as yet no meaning for him, because his eyes were not open to their
meaning. He went now to ask God, in common with others, for things
which he and they needed, to offer thanks for things already given.
Both in Church, and in his own little room, he had begun to draw nearer
to the footstool of Christ the King, to know Him as the Crucified, to
trust Him as the Saviour, to be taught of His Spirit, to bow before Him
as Lord.
For all this Archie lost no whit of his growing manliness. Was
it likely? Does any one lose in force or manliness through daily
intercourse with a mind infinitely greater and wiser than his own?
Besides, what is more manly than self-control, than conquests over
one's evil tempers, than a spirit of kindness and generosity to those
weaker than one's self? Archie was growing in these things more manly,
not less manly, day by day, and many remarked that it was so. The Dunns
saw it especially.