"WEEPING MAY ENDURE FOR A NIGHT."
GUY had lost his cheerfulness, his sisters thought. Certainly he had not
his old gayety of manner, and they anxiously inquired if he were sick.
"I am sure you must be," urged Ruth; "won't you see a doctor, Guy? Then
there is another thing, you read too much; indeed you will injure
yourself if you continue to study so."
But he only laughed at their fears, and continued to spend his evenings
at home over his books. Seeing that he did not seek other society, the
girls gave little entertainments; not costing much to be sure, not more
perhaps than some little things they needed, but now did without, so
that he might be surrounded by pleasant company, and acquire a taste
for the society of good people.
Now it never once occurred to Guy that his sisters were doing this for
him. He thought they must be becoming more fond of society, and it
pleased him very much, for he did not see why they should not shine in
the very highest circles. Before long he meant that they should. And now
when their friends came, he did his best to entertain them for their
sake, and they were overjoyed at his returns of brilliancy and wit.
Now that the winter had really set in, and promised to be severe, Ruth
recollected that Guy's overcoat had not been taken out of the cedar
chest, where it had been laid in Spring.
"It is no wonder he has not asked for it," she thought, as she looked at
the thread-bare sleeves, and noticed the rusty appearance of the whole
coat. Spreading it out, she looked at it, then sitting down thought of
what could be done. "Now there is hartshorn, that dissolved in water,
cleans cloth beautifully; but even if I did scour it, Guy could never
wear a thread-bare coat."
Then came the question: "How can he get another? I know if he could, he
would have had it by this time. I must have been thinking of myself and
my own clothes, or I should not have lost sight of this so long. I will
see how much money there is; at any rate if it should take every cent in
the house, Guy must have the coat."
For a long time Ruth sat in the cold room making plans; finally she
decided to have a talk with Agnes about it, because it would never do,
not to let her have a share in the pleasure of making Guy comfortable.
That night the bed-post and rocking-chair were appropriated, and there
was a long, earnest talk. Agnes was not so much surprised as her sister
anticipated, when she found that Guy was a great way off from making a
fortune. For ever since the time Ruth refused to purchase her dress,
Agnes had been finding out things she never dreamed of before. It was
Ruth who was surprised to find that Agnes knew so much of the real state
of affairs. In one way it was a relief, now that she did know, and Ruth
felt that a great part of her burden had gone; but it was gone from her
to be laid on Agnes, and that thought was more painful than the burden
had been.
"It is to be divided equally, remember," said Agnes. "O, I am so glad
that I am earning money, Ruth."
Ruth urged that as she was older, she should bear the greater part of
the expense; but Agnes would not consent to this; and finally it was
settled that each should give half. Then they were perplexed as to the
manner of doing it. Agnes thought it best to tell him, and let him order
it himself; but Ruth was sure he would not take the money. Three months
before, she would not have hesitated to offer it; but he had changed
since then, and something told her he had resolved to be less dependent
in the future.
"I don't like concealments," urged Agnes; "I felt meanly in acting so
about your dress, Ruth."
Ruth smiled, and said: "You always had a tender conscience, child, but
there is no other way of doing this, I am convinced."
Agnes yielded to Ruth's judgment, and Martha was sent with the old coat
to the tailor, and told to say that Miss Ruth would call in the
afternoon.
"When is it to be done?" asked Agnes, eagerly, when Ruth returned.
"On Christmas eve; and only think, Agnes, it will be four dollars less
than we supposed. He will make it of the finest cloth too."
"Christmas is coming," said the children many, many times, during the
ten days that followed. Ruth's visit to the tailor, and "Christmas is
coming," said she and Agnes, as many times as the children. Yes,
Christmas was coming, it was drawing near, bringing gladness as it
always does; but something else was coming, and drawing still nearer.
The shadow of a great sorrow had fallen. Had they looked in Guy's face
they would have seen it; but they were busy with their little presents
for each other, and for Martha and Philip. Besides, they rather avoided
Guy, for fear he should read their secret. So it grew and grew, until
they could escape it no longer. Guy was ill of a fever.
All at once, without a word of complaint, he was taken down, and to all
their entreaties that he would speak to them just once, there was no
reply.
"O Guy, my brother, my darling, speak," moaned Ruth, as with an agonized
voice and look she bent over him. "To think of your lying here alone,
suffering through the long night, and no one near to give you even a
drink of water."
So she went on talking and bathing his burning brow, while Agnes, giving
one earnest look, in which her whole soul seemed to go out, hurried to
send Martha for the doctor; then she went back, and putting her arm
round Ruth, drew her away.
"Don't take me from him, Agnes; I have the best right here," she cried,
fiercely, starting up from the seat into which Agnes had placed her. "I
did not help to benefit him; I set him no good example. I must save him
now, even if I should die for him."
"Sister Ruth," and her words were slow and measured, "our lives cannot
save Guy; only one power can. Look to God, dear sister; he is our only
help. And He _will_ help us," she added with strong emphasis.
"O, will He, Agnes; are you sure?" and Ruth looked into the face of her
sister, waiting for her reply, as if into the face of God.
"He will help us," came again. Then they threw their arms round each
other and cried.
"What is it?" asked Agnes, when the doctor shook his head.
"Brain fever, I fear," was the reply.
"Will he die?" almost shrieked Ruth. "You will save him, doctor. O, you
won't let Guy die."
"Do you know, my child, you can kill your brother, and you will if you
give way to this grief. I will leave no means untried. You are a
Christian; you know how to pray; there is greater comfort in that than
in any of my assurances; but I give them to you; your brother shall live
if it is in the power of man to save him."
Agnes murmured, "O God, give him skill, and give us strength," while
hope revived in Ruth's heart, and she listened eagerly to the doctor's
directions.
"You will have many days of nursing, it is probable, and you must take
it in turn," he said; "but at night it will be well to have a friend.
There is a great deal of restlessness then, and one feels lonely. Be
sure you give the medicine promptly, and keep up the ice applications,
as I shall be back in a few hours."
"Whom can we get?" asked Agnes, when he had gone.
"Don't let us have any one, Agnes; no stranger could take care of Guy,
as well as we," said Ruth, beseechingly.
"But, Ruth, if anything should happen, if Guy should grow worse, we
would blame ourselves for not doing all the doctor told us."
"Very well, then. You know best, Agnes. I can't think to-day."
Without saying more, Agnes went down stairs, and told Martha to see if
Miss Smithers was at home, and if so to tell her to come right away, but
not to sew. "Then leave this note with one of the school children," she
added.
She met Ruth's scholars as they came, and sent them away quietly,
telling them when Miss Ruth was ready she would send them word, and then
she tried to take her breakfast. "I must be strong," she said, and tried
to eat, but she could not swallow. There was Guy's place, but he was not
there. "Will he ever be again!" The question came, but she drove it
away. He was in God's hands and so was she. She could take nothing
back, but rest in the thought of His fatherly love and compassion.
Miss Smithers came, and Agnes was not mistaken in her. She was ready
for every emergency, and never failed to give the right comfort, at the
right time. Even Ruth grew to depend upon her, and to miss her kind face
when she was compelled to leave them, and seek rest. Agnes had not
thought of asking her to give up her work, only to have her stay with
them at night. But Miss Smithers did not mean to leave either day or
night, until Guy was out of danger, and Agnes gladly yielded the point.
When the sorrow through which the sisters was passing, became known,
they had the fullest sympathy of friends. Miss Smithers received all who
called, and thus saved them from many painful interviews. For at such
times when there are many hearts to feel for us, and to offer the most
delicate expressions of sympathy, there are always coarse natures who
know no other manner of showing their sympathy than by opening up our
wounds and making us bleed afresh.
"How many friends we have, Agnes. I did not know so many cared for us.
If Guy recovers we shall be very happy," said Ruth, as Miss Smithers
told them of the many who had called.
Guy lay still unconscious, while the fever leaped through his veins, and
almost purpled his fair face. Now he was at his books, then again he was
pleading; but all the time there was this thought: "I can't rob Ruth, I
can't take her money."
"O, if he would not talk so; if he would say anything else but that, I
could bear it," she moaned, and then she whispered that "Ruth, his own
dear Ruth was there, that he must not talk any more," but still he went
on in the same strain.
Poor Agnes was sorely tried. Here was Ruth breaking out in the wildest
frenzy, at times, refusing to eat or to leave the bedside; and here the
brother, far dearer to her than life, not able to look at her, nor to
say that he understood her when she did not yield to his wishes. If he
died, he could not know how great her love for him was. And then the
subtle tempter came: "If God loved His children He would not cause them
thus to suffer. _Your_ life has been harder than that of out-breaking
sinners." But while Agnes could not reason, thank God she could trust,
and reaching out her hand as a little child, she said: "Lead me in the
way that is best for me, and do not let me be afraid or discouraged."
Christmas had come and gone, but they would not have known it, had not
Guy's coat been sent home according to promise, the day before. They
had meant to hide it from Ruth, but she happened to be down stairs at
the time it came, and it was kissed and fondled as though it had been
Guy himself. Then it was laid away, no one else knew where. She forgot
that Agnes had a share in it, forgot everything but that it was Guy's,
and he her own darling brother.
Agnes had never asked the doctor any more questions since the day Guy
was taken ill. But she wrote down his directions for fear the least
thing should be overlooked, and never administered medicine, or rendered
him the slightest service, without breathing a prayer that it might lead
to his recovery. So the days passed wearily on, and the crisis drew
near.
"We must not tell them," said the doctor to Miss Smithers, on the
morning of the day. "It will only more completely unsettle Miss Ruth,
while the other poor child need have no more laid upon her. If the worst
comes, there will be strength given, and anticipated trouble is always
the hardest to bear. If you have any influence over Miss Ruth, keep her
very quiet, everything depends on that."
Miss Smithers went up to her room, and was there for a long time. When
she left it she carried with her something that made her heart strong
and her face bright. If you have ever known it you will understand; if
not, no words can give you the idea.
The day wore on and still Guy was restless. The doctor came, looked and
went away, but there was no outward change. Night closed over them as
they sat watching, the two to whom he was the dearest living thing, and
another whose heart had been drawn toward him as if he had been her
son.
If faith were dependent upon what is seen only, then Miss Smithers might
have yielded to the entreaties of Ruth and the imploring looks of Agnes,
to let them stay beside Guy, whose unrest was painful in the extreme,
for there surely could be no hope here. But she kept them beside her,
whispering: "Trust me this once, children;" and in some way they felt
that she must be right.
It was near midnight on the last day of the year. What would the New
Year bring?
[Illustration: Decoration]