About this time it was announced to the world in general, that Miss
Oswald's marriage was to take place immediately. Her friends thought
she had been very kind and considerate to stay with her father and her
brothers and sisters so long. Miss Oswald was a discreet young lady,
and knew how to manage her own affairs to her own satisfaction. Perhaps
the knowledge that her own establishment must be in a different style
from that of her father's, helped her considerateness a little, and made
her more willing to continue at home. However that might be, when her
father set before her certain reasons for economy in household matters,
for decided retrenchment indeed, she very considerately suggested that
her Aunt Livy would be a very suitable person to see her father's wishes
in this direction carried out, and advised that she should be sent for,
and then she set about her own preparations. With these, of course, no
one at the bridge house had anything to do, except Violet. But for the
glimpses that she had behind the scenes, she might have been a little
dazzled and unsettled by the gaiety and splendour in the midst of which
she found herself. For Miss Oswald's arrangements were on the grandest
scale. Everything that she considered "proper" on the occasion, she
exacted to the uttermost, with no thoughts of necessary economy. There
were fine clothes, fine presents, a fine wedding breakfast, and the
proper number of fine brides-maids, of whom Violet was one.
Even the wise and sensible Letty was not above a feeling of girlish
delight in being prettily dressed and admired as one of the gay company;
but the knowledge that she was only chosen at the last minute to supply
the place of a young lady whose illness had disarranged Miss Oswald's
plans, and a few other drawbacks, kept her from being unduly elated with
the honour and pleasure, and she was very glad when it was all over, and
so was everybody concerned. So Miss Oswald went away. Mrs Mavor and
Miss Livy came to the big house to reign in her stead, and all in it
were beginning to settle down to a quiet and happy summer again.
But trouble came first. Scarlet fever had broken out in the
neighbourhood of the bridge house, and in other parts of the town, and
first little Polly took it, and then Jessie and Ned, and Violet came
home to help her mother to nurse them. They were not very ill--that is,
the fever did not run very high, and at no time did the doctor suppose
them to be in danger, but there was much anxiety and fatigue in taking
care of them. The weather was very hot, too, and the bridge house stood
too low to catch the infrequent breeze, and though they were soon able
to be up and even to be out of doors, the children did not get strong.
In the meantime both Charlotte and Sarah Oswald had taken the disease,
and Mr Oswald himself came to the bridge house to entreat that Violet
might be permitted to come to them. Their sister Selina had gone away
after the wedding to visit in a distant city, and as she had never had
the disease, her father did not like to send for her to come home. The
children did not take to their aunt. It had been possible to get on
when they were very ill, but when they began to be better they were
peevish and fretful, and Aunt Livy could not please them, and nothing
would do but Violet must come to them again. It did not seem possible
that she could leave home, but David was to be spared as much as
possible to help with the little ones, and so she went.
But between her anxiety for the children at home, and her weariness with
the little Oswalds, she had rather a hard time of it. Frank helped her
for a while, but he was not very well, and was threatened with the old
trouble in his eyes, so that he was not a very cheerful companion,
either for her or the children. Mr Philip had commenced an irregular
sort of attendance at the bank, but he had a good deal of time still at
his disposal, and kindly bestowed a share of it on his little sisters.
"Philip could be very nice when he liked," they agreed, and he very
often "liked" about this time.
He went sometimes to the bridge house, too, and was as popular as ever
among the little people there. They were not getting well very fast.
Charlotte and Sarah were up and out in the garden, and able to amuse
themselves with their dolls and their games, when Violet, going home one
day, found Jessie and Ned languid and fretful, and poor wee Polly lying
limp and white in her cot. Her mother looked worn and anxious, David
came home with a headache, and Jem was the only one among them whose
health and spirits were in a satisfactory condition.
"I cannot stay to-night, mamma, because they expect me back," said
Violet. "But I shall come home to-morrow. They don't need me half as
much as you do, and I must come. You are sick yourself, mamma."
"No, I am tired, that is all; and the weather is so warm. Don't come
till the children are well. It is your proper place there, and even you
cannot help us here while the weather is so warm."
It was very hot and close, and Violet fancied that from the low fields
beyond, where there was water still standing, a sickly odour came.
"No wonder they don't get strong," said she.
Mr Oswald had spoken in the morning about sending his little girls to
the country, or to the seaside. The doctor had suggested this as the
best thing that could be done for them. Violet thought of their large
house, with its many rooms, and of the garden in which it stood, and
looked at her little sisters and brothers growing so pale and languid in
the close air, which there was no hope of changing, with a feeling very
like envy or discontent rising in her heart.
"Mamma," said she, "it is a dreadful thing to be poor;" and then she
told of the plan for sending the Oswalds away for change of air, and how
they were already well and strong in comparison to their own poor
darlings, and then she said, again, "It is a dreadful thing to be so
poor."
"We are not so poor as we might be?" said her mother, gravely. "Think
how it would have been if we had lost one of them, dear. God has been
very good to us, and we must not be so ungrateful as to murmur because
we have not all that others have, or all that we might wish for."
"I know it, mamma. But look at these pale cheeks. Poor wee Polly! she
is only a shadow of our baby. If we could only send her to Gourlay for
a little while."
"Do you think her looking so poorly? I think it is the heat that is
keeping them all so languid. Don't look so miserable. If it is
necessary for them to go to the country, we shall manage to send them in
some way. But we are quite in the country here, and when we have had
rain the air will be changed, and the heat may be less, and then they
will all be better."
"Have you made any plan about going to the country?" asked Violet,
eagerly.
"No, my dear. I trust it will not be necessary. It could not be easily
managed," said Mrs Inglis, with a sigh.
"If we were only not quite so poor," said Violet.
"I say, Letty, don't you think mamma has trouble enough without your
bother?" said Jem, sharply, as his mother went out of the room. Violet
looked at him in astonishment.
"If we were only not quite so poor!" repeated Jem, in the doleful tone
she had used. "You have said that three times within half an hour. You
had better stay up at the big house, if that is all the good you can do
by coming home."
"That will do, Jem! Don't spoil your sermon by making it too long,"
said David, laughing.
"Sermon! No, I leave that to you, Davie. But what is the use of being
so dismal? And it isn't a bit like Letty."
"But, Jem, it is true. The children look so ill, and if they could only
get a change of air--"
"And don't you suppose mamma knows all that better than you can tell
her? What is the good of telling her? She has been looking all day for
you to come and cheer us up and brighten us a little, and now that you
have come you are as dismal as--I don't know what. You have been having
too easy times lately, and can't bear hardness," said Jem, severely.
"Have I?" said Violet, with an uncertain little laugh.
"Softly, Jem, lad!" said his mother, who had come in again. "I think
she has been having a rather hard time, only it will not do her much
good to tell her so."
"I dare say Jem is right, mamma, and I am cross."
"Not cross, Letty, only dismal, which is a great deal worse, I think,"
said Jem.
"Well, I won't be dismal any more to-night, if I can help it. Davie,
take Polly, and, mamma, lie down on the sofa and rest while I make the
tea. Jem, you shall help me by making up the fire. We will all have
tea to-night, because I am a visitor."
"All right!" said Jem. "Anything to please all round; and the hot tea
will cool us nicely, won't it?"
"It will refresh us at any rate."
And so the little cloud passed away, and Violet's cheerfulness lasted
through the rest of the visit, and up to the moment that she bade Jem
good-bye at Mr Oswald's gate. It did not last much longer, however.
It was nearly dark, and Mr Oswald and his sister and Frank were sitting
on the lawn to catch the faint breeze that was stirring among the
chestnut trees.
"I thought you were not coming home to-night," said Miss Livy, in an
aggrieved tone.
"I was detained," said Violet. "How are the children?"
"They are in bed at last. You should not have told them that you would
be home before their bed-time, unless you had intended to come.
However, they are in bed now. Pray don't go and disturb them again.
Philip had to go to them at last. He is up-stairs now. They are
dreadfully spoiled."
Violet dropped down in the nearest chair.
"How are the children at home?" asked Mr Oswald, kindly.
"They are--not better."
"I hope they are not spoiled," said Frank, laughing. "Did they cry when
you came away, Violet?"
"They were rather fretful. They are not strong."
"You are not very well yourself, to-night," said Mr Oswald. "The
change will do you as much good as any of them."
"I am quite well," said Violet.
"We have been speaking about sending the girls to the country for a
change of air," went on Mr Oswald. "Will you go with them? Betsey
will go too, of course, but they will scarcely be happy without you, and
the change will do you good."
"Thank you. You are very kind. But the children need me at home. I
could not think of leaving mamma while they are so poorly to go away for
pleasure."
"It would not be quite all pleasure, I fancy," said Mr Philip. "They
are asleep at last. It cannot be a very easy thing to keep them amused
all day, as they are just now."
"They are quite spoiled," said Aunt Livy.
"Oh! no. Not quite. They are good little things in general, as
children go. You can't judge now, aunt," said Philip. "Miss Inglis,
are you not a little dismal to-night?"
"So Jem told me. I am tired. I think I shall say good-night and go
up-stairs."
"It should be settled at once about the children, where they are to go,
and who is to go with them," said Aunt Livy.
"There is no haste," said Mr Oswald. "Perhaps the children at home may
be better able to spare you in a day or two, Miss Violet."
"Thank you. It would be very pleasant, but--"
"Why not send all together?" said Philip. "Ned and Jessie and wee
Polly, with Charlotte and Sarah? I dare say they would all be better of
a change, poor little souls!"
"I dare say they can do without it, thank you," said Violet, stiffly.
"For what? My suggestion? They would like it, I am sure."
"People cannot get all they like in this world."
"Violet," said Frank, solemnly, "I believe you are cross."
"I am almost afraid I am," said Violet, laughing uneasily.
"For the first time in your life. Something dreadful must have happened
at the bridge house to-day!"
"No; nothing happened."
"The children are not better, that is what is the matter," said Philip;
"though it ought not to make you cross, only sorry. Depend on it, it is
change they want," said Philip, with the air of a doctor.
"It is worth thinking about; and it would be very nice if they could all
go together, with you to take care of them," said Mr Oswald. "Very
nice for our little girls, I mean. Think of it, and speak to your
mother."
"Thank you; I will," said Violet.
"Much they know about it," said she to herself, as she went up-stairs in
the dark. "An extra orange or a cup of strawberries for the little
darlings has to be considered in our house, and they speak of change as
coolly as possible. And I didn't know better than to trouble mamma with
just such foolish talk. We must try and have mamma and Polly go to
Gourlay for a week or two. June not half over, and how shall we ever
get through the two not months! Oh, dear! I am so tired!"
Violet was so tired in the morning that she slept late, and a good many
things had happened next morning before she came down-stairs. When she
opened the dining-room door she thought, for a minute, she must be
sleeping still and dreaming; for, instead of the usual decorous
breakfast-table, Aunt Livy seemed to be presiding at a large children's
party. Everybody laughed at her astonished face, and little Mary held
out her arms to be taken.
"My precious wee Polly! Have you got a pair of wings?" said she,
clasping and kissing her little sister.
"We are to stay all day, if we are good. You are to tell mamma how we
behave," said Jessie. "We came in a carriage, with Mr Philip and Jem."
Violet looked a little anxiously from Aunt Livy to Mr Oswald, and saw
nothing to make her doubt the children's welcome. Mr Oswald smiled;
Miss Livy nodded.
"They seem very well-behaved children," said she. "Not at all spoiled."
"We haven't been here long," said Jessie, gravely. "But we are going to
be good, Letty. We promised mamma."
And they were very good, considering all things. Still, it was a
fatiguing day to Violet. She followed them out and she followed them
in; and when they grew tired, and their little legs and their tempers
failed, she beguiled them into the wide gallery, shaded by vines, and
told them stories, and comforted them with toys and picture-books and
something nice to eat. It would have been a better day, as far as the
visitors were concerned, if there had been less to see and to admire.
But the great house and garden were beautiful and wonderful to their
unaccustomed eyes, and they had tired themselves so utterly that they
grew fretful and out of sorts, and were glad when it came night and time
to go home; and so was Violet.
The next day they came they were stronger and better, but they needed
constant attention, lest mischief should happen among them; and, on the
third morning, Violet was not sorry to hear the rain pattering on the
window. Not that she would have minded ten times the trouble for
herself, so that the children were the better for it, but it was as well
not to try Miss Livy's forbearance too far. Miss Livy had had very
little to do with children since she was a child herself, and that
little led her decidedly to agree with the generally-received opinion
that the children of the present day are not so well brought up as
children used to be. This opinion did not make her more patient with
them, but rather less so; and so Violet was not sorry for the rain that
kept her little sisters at home.
At breakfast, the subject of sending the little girls, Charlotte and
Sarah, to the country for awhile was again brought up by their aunt,
and, in the afternoon, Violet, at Mr Oswald's request, went home to
speak to her mother about it; but she had fully determined beforehand
how the matter was to be decided, as far as she was concerned.
However, everything was put out of her mind by the surprise that awaited
her; for, at the bridge house, they were entertaining an angel unawares,
in the person of Miss Bethia Barnes. And was not Violet glad to see
her? So glad that she put her arms round her neck and kissed her, and
then laughed and then cried a little, not quite knowing what she did.
"It is good to see you, Aunt Bethia," said she.
"You are the only one of the family who looks better for Singleton,"
said Miss Bethia, regarding her with pleased wonder.
Miss Bethia had considered Violet a little girl when she left Singleton;
but she was a little girl no longer, but a young woman, and a very
pretty young woman, too, Miss Bethia acknowledged. If Violet had not
been so glad to see her, and shown it so plainly as to disarm her, she
must, even at the first moment, have uttered some word of counsel or
warning, for to be pretty, and not aware of it, or vain of it, was a
state of things that she could not believe in. However, she reserved
her advice for a future occasion, and, in the meantime, drew her own
conclusions from the brightening of the mother's face at the coming of
her eldest daughter, and from the eager way in which little Mary clung
to her, and the others claimed her attention.
"You must stay at home to-night, Letty," said Jem.
"May I, mamma? I am to be sent for later; but may I not send a message
that Miss Bethia has come, and that you cannot spare me?"
"But I can spare you all the better that Miss Bethia is here," said her
mother, smiling.
"Yes, I know mamma; but I want to stay so much."
"You would not think it polite in her to go away to-night? Now, would
you? Aunt Bethia," said Jem.
"Politeness ain't the only thing to think of," said Miss Bethia.
"Violet is not quite at our disposal just now," said Mrs Inglis; "and I
am afraid you will be missed up there, dear, by the children. They have
had the fever, too, poor little things, and their sister is away, and
they hardly know this aunt yet, and Violet has charge of them. They are
fond of Violet."
"Oh, yes! they are all fond of Violet up there; but so are we," said
Jem. "Let her stay, mamma."
"And how do you like earning your living?" asked Miss Bethia.
Violet laughed.
"Oh, I like it. When did you come, Miss Bethia? You are not looking
very well."
"I haven't been well--had a sharp turn of rheumatism. I had some
business, and I came yesterday."
"And how are all the Gourlay people? And you live in our house now.
How strange it must seem! And what a shame that your old place is
spoiled!"
"I thought so at the time, but it might have been worse."
And then Violet had a great many questions to ask, and listened with
many exclamations of wonder and pleasure to all that she heard; and Miss
Bethia, pleased with the interest she displayed, made no pause till Ned
called out that young Mr Oswald was driving Davie over the bridge, and
that now Violet would have to go.
"Mamma," said Violet, "I have not told you why I came yet. Mr Oswald
sent me, and I cannot tell it all at once. Let me stay till after tea,
and Jem can take me home."
"All right," said Jem. "I have no objections, if nobody else has none."
There was a little pleasant confusion after Mr Philip and David came
in, two or three speaking at once, and all eager to be heard, and then
Mr Philip was introduced to the visitor. There was no mistaking the
look she bent upon him. It was searching and critical, admiring, but
not altogether approving.
"You have never been out Gourlay way?" said she.
"No, I never have, as yet."
"He did not know what nice people the Gourlay people are, or he would
have been," said Jem.
"I expect so," said Miss Bethia. "It ain't too late to go yet."
"Thank you, Miss Barnes. I shall be happy to accept your kind
invitation," said Philip.
In the meantime, Violet had been telling her mother of Mr Oswald's
proposal. It was a matter of too great importance to be dismissed with
a single word of refusal, as Violet would have liked, and time must be
taken to consider it.
"Violet is not going with you, Mr Philip," said Jessie. "She is going
to stay and take tea with Miss Bethia."
"I am sorry you should have had the trouble of coming round this way for
nothing, Mr Philip," said Mrs Inglis. "We want Violet a little while
to-night. Miss Barnes does not know how soon she may go, and Violet
thinks she can be spared to-night, perhaps."
"Of course, she can be spared. And it was no trouble, but a pleasure,
to come round. Shall I come back again?"
"Pray, do not. Jem will go with me. I shall like the walk."
"All right!" said Jem. "I consider myself responsible for her. She
will be up there at the proper time."
"All right!" said Philip cheerfully. "Aunt Mary, you might ask me to
have tea too."
"You haven't had your dinner yet," said Jessie.
"And you could not keep your horse standing so long," said Ned.
"And, besides, I am not to be invited," said Philip, laughing.
They all watched him and his fine horse as they went over the bridge and
along the street. Then Violet said:
"Now, mamma, you are to sit down and I am to get tea. I can do all
quite well."
And, so tying on an apron over her dress, she made herself very busy for
the next half-hour, passing in and out, pausing to listen or put in her
word now and then, sometimes claiming help from Jem or Davie in some
household matter to which she put her hand. At last, with an air of
pride and pleasure that Miss Bethia thought pretty to see, she called
them to tea.
"You have got to be quite a house-keeper," said Miss Bethia, as they sat
down to the table.
"Hasn't she?" said Jem and Davie in a breath.
"I mean to be, at any rate," said Violet, nodding and laughing gaily.
"I like it a great deal better than teaching children, only, you know,
it doesn't pay quite so well."
"I guess it will, in the long run," said Miss Barnes.
"I am going to be house-keeper for the next two months. Sarah and
Charlotte are to have no lessons for that time, and Betsey can take care
of them in the country quite as well as I--better, indeed. Mamma needs
me at home. Don't you think so, Davie? I can find enough to do at
home; can't I?"
"But, as you say, it wouldn't pay so well."
"In one way, perhaps, it wouldn't, but in another way it would. But
mamma doesn't say anything," added Violet, disconsolately.
"We must sleep upon it, mamma thinks," said Jem.
"We need not be in haste to decide upon it for a day or two," said Mrs
Inglis.
"I am afraid we must, mamma. The sooner the better, Mr Oswald says;
and that is why I came to-day."
"I wish you would come and keep house for me. I am getting tired of
it," said Miss Bethia.
"I should like it well--with mamma and the children."
"Of course, that is understood," said Miss Bethia. "And you could take
these others with you, couldn't you? And what their father would pay
for them would help your house-keeping."
"Miss Bethia spoke as coolly as if she had been speaking about the
stirring up of a Johnny cake," Jem said. Violet looked eagerly from her
to her mother. There was a little stir and murmur of excitement went
round the table, but all awaited for their mother to speak. But she
said nothing, and Miss Bethia went on, not at all as if she were saying
anything to surprise anybody, but just as she would have told any piece
of news.
"I've thought of it considerable. Serepta Stone has concluded to go
away to a water-cure place in the States. If Debby should conclude to
go to another place, I shouldn't care about staying in that big house
alone. I can let it next fall, I expect. But this summer, Mrs Inglis,
if you say so, you can have the house as well as not. It won't cost you
a cent, and it won't be a cent's loss to me. And I don't see why that
won't suit pretty well all round."
A chorus of "ohs," and "ahs," and "dear mammas," went round the table.
"It wouldn't cost more than living here," said David.
"Not so much," said Miss Bethia.
"And I am sure Mr Oswald would be delighted to have Charlotte and Sarah
go, mamma," said Violet.
"He would pay you the same as he'd pay to them at the other place, and
he might be sure he would get the worth of his money," said Miss Bethia.
"And I would keep house, and save you the trouble, mamma," said Violet.
"You and Debby Stone," said Miss Bethia, who seemed to consider that it
was as much her affair as theirs, and so put in her word between the
others.
"Davie, you'll have to lend me your fishing rod, to take to Gourlay with
me," said Ned.
"Bless the child! there's fishing rods enough," said Miss Bethia.
"It's mamma's turn to speak now," said Jessie. And "yes, mamma!" and
"oh! dear mamma!" were repeated again, eagerly.
There would be no use in telling all that Mrs Inglis said, or all that
Miss Bethia and the rest said. It was not quite decided that night that
they were to pass a part of the summer in Gourlay, but it looked so much
like it that Violet held a little private jubilation with little Polly,
as she undressed her for bed, before she went away, promising her, with
many kisses and sweet words, that she would be rosy and strong, and as
brown as a berry before she should see the bridge house again. Before
she was done with it, Jem called out.
"It is time to be going, Letty, if I am to be responsible for you at the
big house."
"Perhaps if you wait, Mr Philip will come for you. He said he would,"
said Jessie.
"And, just at the minute, he meant it, but we won't put him to the
trouble, even if he remembers, which is doubtful," said Violet. "Come,
Jem, I am ready."
"He seems a pretty likely young man, don't he?--young Mr Oswald, I
mean," said Miss Bethia.
The question was not addressed to any one in particular. Jem looked at
Letty, and Letty looked at Davie, and they all laughed merrily.
"Likely," in Miss Bethia's vocabulary, meant well-intentioned,
agreeable, promising, all in a moderate degree, and the description fell
so far short of Mr Philip's idea of himself and his merits, and indeed
of their idea of him that they could not help it.
"He seems to be a pleasant-spoken youth, and good-natured," said Miss
Bethia.
"Oh, yes! he is very good-natured," said Violet.
Everybody had something to say in his praise. The little ones were
quite enthusiastic. Jem said he was "smart" as well as good-natured,
and David, though he said less, acknowledged that he was very clever,
and added Mr Caldwell's opinion, that Mr Philip had all his father's
talent for business, and would do well if he were really in earnest
about it, and would settle down to it. Several instances of his
kindness to the children and to his own little sisters were repeated,
and Mrs Inglis spoke warmly in his praise.
"Only, mamma," said Violet, with some hesitation, "all these things are
agreeable to himself. He does such things because he likes to do them."
"And ain't that to be put to his credit," said Miss Bethia. "It is well
when one does right things and likes to do them, ain't it?"
"Yes; but people ought to do right things because they are right, and
not just because they are pleasant. If very different things were
agreeable to him, he would do them all the same."
"Stuff, Letty! with your buts and your ifs. Mr Phil, is just like
other people. It is only you and Davie that have such high-flown
notions about right and wrong, and duty, and all that."
"Our ideas of `duty and all that' are just like other people's, Jem, I
think," said David. "They are just like Miss Bethia's, at any rate, and
mamma's."
"And like Jem's own ideas, though not like Mr Philip's" said Violet.
"Violet means that if he had to choose between what is right and what is
pleasant, the chances are he would choose to do what is pleasant," said
Davie.
"He would not wait to choose," said Violet, gravely. "He would just do
what was pleasant without at all thinking about the other."
"Mamma, do you call that charitable?" said Jem.
"I think Violet means--and Davie--that his actions are, as a general
thing, guided and governed by impulse rather than by principle," said
Mrs Inglis; "and you know, Jem, the same reliance cannot be placed on
such a person as on--"
"On a steady old rock, like Mr Caldwell or our Davie," said Jem. "Yes,
I know; still I like Phil."
"So we all like him," said Violet. "But, as mamma says, we do not rely
on him. He likes us and our ways, and our admiration of him, and he
likes to come here and talk with mamma, and get good advice, and all
that. But he likes to go to other places, and to talk with other
people, who are as different from mamma as darkness is from daylight.
He is so careless and good-tempered that anything pleases him for the
moment. He has no stability. One cannot help liking him, but one
cannot respect him."
Everybody looked surprised. Jem whistled.
"Why don't you tell him so? It might do him good."
"It wouldn't change his nature," said Violet, loftily. And then she
bade them all good-night, and she and Jem went away, and Miss Bethia
improved the occasion.
"I expect that his nature has got to be changed before he amounts to
much that is good. I hope, David, you will not let this frivolous young
man lead you away from the right path."
Mrs Inglis had gone out of the room, and David prepared himself for
what he knew would come sooner or later, Miss Bethia's never-failing
good advice.
"You are none too wise to be drawn away by a pleasant-spoken, careless
youth like that. His company might easily become a snare to you, and to
Jem too."
"Oh! he has very little to say to me, Miss Bethia. He is older than Jem
or I. He likes to talk to mamma, and you mustn't think ill of him from
what was said to-night."
"I suppose the trouble is in his bringing up," said Miss Bethia. "From
all I hear, I should fear that his father hasn't a realising sense of
the importance of religion for himself or his family, and what can be
expected of his son?"
David did not like the turn the conversation had taken, and he did not
like the next better.
"There is a great responsibility resting on you, David, with regard to
the people among whom your lot is cast. It is to be hoped they'll be
led to think more, and not less, of the Master you serve from your walk
and conversation."
David made no answer.
"David," said Miss Bethia, "have you been living a Christian life since
you came here? Such a life as would have given comfort to your father,
if he had been here to see it? Have you been keeping your armour
bright, David?"
"I have been trying, Miss Bethia," said David.
"Well, it is something to have been trying. It is something not to be
led away. But have you been content with that? You have a battle to
fight--a work to do in just the spot you stand in, and if you are
faithful, you may help that unstable youth to stand on firmer ground
than his feet have found yet."
David shook his head.
"You don't know me, Miss Bethia, nor him, or you would not say that."
"Your father would have made it his business to do him good."
"But I am not like my father, very far from that."
"Well, your father was nothing by himself. You are bound to do the same
work, and you can have the same help. And it will pay in the long run.
Oh, yes! it will pay!"
"I have been telling David that he may do that pleasant-spoken youth
much good, if he is faithful to him and to himself," added she, as Mrs
Inglis came into the room.
"And I have been telling Miss Bethia that she does not know me, or him,
or she wouldn't say that, mamma," said David.
"She must know you by this time, I think, Davie," said his mother,
smiling.
"I used to know him pretty well, and he seems to be getting along pretty
much so. I don't know as I see any change for the worse in him. He has
had great privileges, and he has great responsibility."
"Yes," said his mother, gravely; "and I quite agree with you, Miss
Bethia, he may do Mr Philip good by a diligent and faithful performance
of his daily duties, if in no other way. He has done so already."
"Oh, mamma!" said David, "Miss Bethia will think you are growing vain."
"No, I sha'n't. But he must be faithful in word as well as in deed.
Oh! I guess he'll get along pretty well--David, I mean, not young Mr
Oswald."
Jem came home while they were still talking.
"Mamma," said he, as he followed his mother out of the room, "we saw
Philip going into Dick's saloon as we were going up the street and
Violet said he'd be just as pleased and just as popular there as in our
own home among the children, and she said he was as weak as water. That
is all she knows! Violet is hard on Phil."
"She cannot think it right for him to spend his evenings in such a
place," said his mother.
"But he sees no harm in it, and I don't suppose there is much."
"I should think it great harm for one of my boys," said his mother,
gravely.
"All right, mamma!" said Jem. "But, then, as Miss Barnes says, our
bringing up has been different."