A LOSS.
ALL Littleburgh mourned for Mr. Wilmot, for he had been a friend to all.
Of Annie's grief it is needless to speak. The blow almost crushed her.
She felt herself alone in the world, bereft of him who had been father,
mother, friend, and companion to her. She had indeed other friends, and
a choice of homes for the future, but none could ever fill his place in
her heart.
Yet, in the worst of her woe, Annie could not but be thankful. She
could not but know how very tenderly her Heavenly Father had dealt with
them both. When she thought of the terrible death which might have been
his portion, this most childlike falling "asleep in the Arms of Jesus"
did indeed seem only mercy.
Almost all Littleburgh went to the funeral. So great a throng had never
before been seen in the cemetery. Few dry eyes could be perceived
throughout the concourse of people, and more than once a widespread
burst of weeping drowned the voice of the clergyman who read the
service.
For Arthur Wilmot had given up his life for others; had spent lavishly
time and powers, money and strength, upon those who needed help. No
marvel that years of outpoured sympathies should have brought a wealth
of love in return.
Mrs. Stuart like others had been to the cemetery, and like others she
had wept there freely for the friend whose face she could never see
again on earth. Since returning home, she had sat long in thought,
giving vent to no remarks.
Archie had noted his mother's gravity and absence of mind since the day
of Mr. Wilmot's death—not grimness, which was usual, but a softened
gravity which was unusual. He noted too that her manner of speaking was
gentler, more humble, less stiff and self-asserting. He felt sure that
she was grieving deeply over the loss they had all sustained.
"It was a wonderful sight this afternoon, mother, wasn't it?" he said,
to break in upon a silence which lasted long. Archie had been to the
funeral as well as his mother: and so had many scores of working-men,
set free from work for the purpose by their employers.
"Ay," she said, with a deep sigh.
"There wasn't a soul stayed away that could manage to go," pursued
Archie.
"Ay," repeated Mrs. Stuart. "'Twould have been a deal more wonderful if
they hadn't gone, after all he's been and done."
"I'm afraid we'll never get another Rector like him, mother."
Mrs. Stuart sighed again.
"And to think of his being bitten after all by that dog,—and nobody
knowing all this while what might come of it," said Archie; for the
fact had become known in the town. There was no longer any reason for
concealing what had occurred. It was well that the people should know
to the full the brave and self-sacrificing spirit of the man who so
long had lived among them. If any more were needed to make them cling
to the memory of their beloved Rector, that "more" was now supplied.
He had not, indeed, in one sense, died from the results of the bite or
scratch; but in another sense, he perhaps had, since without it, the
break-down of his health might have been long postponed. There could
be no question as to the tremendous and terrible peril which he had
willingly incurred for the sake of helpless little ones.
"It isn't many would do what he did," said Mrs. Stuart.
"It isn't many would have thought of such a thing, either," added
Archie. "I'm sure I shouldn't. But I liked that what the preacher said
to-day, mother, about Mr. Wilmot being willing to give up his life for
the children, and about God's pity being greater, and the Son of God
giving up His life for us. It seemed to bring the thought out so clear.
I don't know as I ever saw it so plain before. And I can remember Mr.
Wilmot telling us how pretty near all the kindness and pity we do see
round us was learnt from Christ."
Mrs. Stuart said "Yes" thoughtfully. After a pause, she added, "You put
your life in danger too, Archie, for the sake of Nancy Dunn."
Archie was very much astonished at such a remark from his mother. He
did not, however, show his astonishment, but said only—"It wasn't for
Nancy, mother. I didn't see her to be Nancy till after. I hope I'd do
all I could for any girl in danger—though what I did wasn't what Mr.
Wilmot did."
"But you'd sooner help Nancy than any other girl?" said Mrs. Stuart.
"Yes—I would," said Archie, his face kindling. "Mother, I love Nannie
so much—I do think I could die for her."
"That's easy enough said," rejoined Mrs. Stuart. "It wouldn't be so
easy if you'd got to do it. But you're a brave lad, I know. And as the
preacher told us to-day—it's one thing to be willing to die for one
that loves us, and another thing to die for them that hates us. There
wouldn't be many who'd do the last."
"Only Christ," said Archie, wondering anew at his mother's mood.
"Only—Christ," she repeated. "Yes—He did. I don't know as I've hated
Him, like some do—but I haven't cared. I haven't thought about Him;
and that's bad enough, after all He's done. And I hope I shan't go on
so—not any longer. You needn't tell what I'm saying—not to anybody,
Archie. But it did seem as if I must say it to somebody. And Mr. Wilmot
'll never come again. He'd have helped me—and there's nobody now."
"Mother, there's One," said Archie shyly; "there's One who'll help, if
anybody asks Him—and He's best of all. Mr. Wilmot would tell you to go
to Him."
"But if He shouldn't want me?" she said.
"I shouldn't think there's any chance of that, mother," said Archie.
"I should think, if He cared enough about you to die for you, when you
weren't even born—why, it isn't likely He'd stop caring, and turn away,
just the minute you're beginning to want to know Him."
"No—I think you're about right," said Mrs. Stuart. And she stood up
slowly, left him alone, and went upstairs to her bedroom for a while.
There are times when one needs to be all alone with God.