AN UNLOOKED-FOR HOLIDAY.
"Nor love thy life, nor hate; but whilst thou liv'st
Live well; how long, how short, permit to heaven."
MILTON.
ON returning to consciousness, Joseph became aware of a crowd of
people, a buzz of voices, and intense pain in his left arm.
For the moment, he had lost all recollection of what had occurred,
and could only utter a faint moan. But as his senses came back, he
remembered the ladder, and glanced quickly towards it.
"Is Richards safe?" he asked.
"Here," answered the man, pushing forwards towards him. "I'm afraid
you've paid dearly, poor lad!"
"I'm all right," gasped Joseph, catching his breath with the pain as he
tried to move, "except this arm. It must be broken."
"Do you think you can walk?" asked Richards.
"I can try," answered the brave fellow, wincing again, but quickly
recovering himself. "I'm only a bit shaken."
"And well you may be!" remarked an onlooker who, having satisfied
himself that life was preserved, was preparing to turn on his way. "It
came near being an ugly business."
"Stupid job, attempting to haul a pole without a rope to it," remarked
another. "It was a lucky escape; a mere chance, as one may say."
The crowd now began to disperse, whilst those who had no special reason
for hurry commenced discussing the various conjectures put forth as
to how the accident happened, and so on. But one man chose to take up
a different aspect of the question. He was a painter who frequently
worked in Mr. Glover's employ, and was well-known as a freethinker and
scoffer.
"'No such thing as chance,' they say," he jeered. "It's all 'design';
ruled and predestined by a wise Providence. What about a slip like
that, I wonder! I suppose your preachers can make it come right
somehow. 'All things work together for good,' they say. Don't tell me!
How about the widowed mother? She wouldn't find much 'good' in losing
her only support. There's more chance than Providence in the matter."
Joseph caught these words and looked round. "Who said that?" he asked.
"Me," answered the man; "right enough. You can't make much out o' this
job to 'thank the Lord for,' I'll lay," he added.
"That He has spared my life," returned Joseph; "I do thank Him for
that."
"Ah! Of course; not so bad but it might have been worse. A very
cheerful principle to go upon too! Suppose, now, it had been the neck
instead of the arm. Not much 'good' to be worked out o' that, hey?"
Joseph looked him steadily in the face. He well knew the man's creed.
"My poor mother would have found comfort," he answered; "and as for
myself, I am not afraid of death. 'For me to live is Christ, and to die
is gain.'"
The man uttered a loud guffaw. "Take my advice and drop that cant," he
said. "It won't serve you against a scaffold-pole."
"It will serve me beyond the grave some day," answered Joseph firmly;
"and you cannot affirm that much of any belief you hold, Mr. Robbins."
The man looked somewhat taken aback by the lad's boldness. But at this
juncture Richards interfered, saying, that as soon as Joseph felt able
to try and move, it would be advisable to get him to a doctor's. So
they forthwith set about helping him to his feet and taking him to the
nearest surgery.
His arm was found to be broken in two places. But beyond a few bruises
and a severe shaking, he had escaped without further injury. And after
having the broken limb attended to, he was able to proceed home to his
lodgings, where his good friends, Ned Vigus and Nancy, received him
with expressions of the deepest concern.
"No fear for me," was Joseph's cheerful reply. "I shall do well enough
with a little of your nursing, Miss Vigus; though I'm afraid I shall
give you some trouble with this helpless bundle of splints hanging
round my neck."
"Never mind about that," responded Miss Vigus warmly, "so that I
haven't any bad news to tell your poor mother. That's all I think of."
"That was all I thought of at first," said Joseph. "A fall like that
confuses the brains somewhat. I was too much 'astonished' to have many
ideas left. The principal thing seemed to be alive, and to know that
I wasn't hopelessly maimed. But it begins to strike me that I didn't
particularly want an idle time just now. I shall have to ask you for
credit, Mr. Vigus. I sent all my surplus cash to my mother on Saturday;
and I shan't be in working trim yet awhile."
"Oh! If it comes to that, we can but go shares in the accident,"
returned good Ned Vigus. "Your patterns have been a wonderful help to
my fretwork; and Nancy's needle is very busy just now, with the spring
season coming on. But, unless I'm much mistaken, Mr. Glover will make
that all straight. He's a Humane Society all to himself, is Mr. Glover;
and he'll have a gold medal ready for you."
Ned Vigus was right. On going down to the works after breakfast, Mr.
Glover heard all the particulars of Stacey's unlucky manœuvre, and
before the day was over, he came round to see the disabled hero.
"Well!" he said cheerily, after some talk. "You didn't ask me for a
holiday, or perhaps I might not have been so ready to give you one. But
you will have to lie by for a month or so, and the best thing you can
do is to go home and get some country air to set you up."
Joseph hesitated, uncertain how to take these words. "I don't know,
sir," he replied. "I can't go home to be a burden to my mother. And as
Mr. Vigus is willing to let my bill run, I think I had better remain
here. I must get to work as soon as possible, and right myself by
degrees."
But Mr. Glover shook his head.
"Miss Nancy doesn't want an invalid about, in the midst of all this
dressmaking," he said; "and your mother will be glad enough to have you
to nurse. When I speak of giving a holiday, I don't mean making you
the loser. So you can set off with a clear conscience as soon as the
doctor grants permission; and don't return until you can use your arm
properly."
Joseph hastened to express his sense of his employer's kindness,
whilst Ned Vigus nodded a "signe d'intelligence" at Nancy, thoroughly
satisfied at this fulfilment of his own prediction. And after a little
further conversation, Mr. Glover left.
The following week, Joseph—having previously written to his mother
to expect him—once more took train home, and was soon answering
endless questions concerning his disaster by the fireside in the old
keeping-room.
It was some considerable time before a subject of such vital interest
could wear itself out, especially as the helpless arm acted the part
of a perpetual reminder. But at length, Joseph began to make inquiries
about some of his old acquaintances—more especially the Andersons, of
whose downfall he had of course already heard. Walter, he now learned,
had left home, whilst Cicely still remained with her parents,—their
mainstay and comforter, in her dauntless courage and indomitable energy.
Then Mrs. Adams went on to relate what she knew of the cause and
circumstances of Horace Grandpont's flight from the country, adding,
"It has completely crushed his poor father and mother. But what else
could possibly result from a bringing-up which taught him to regard
pleasure as the main end of life, and himself as the principal person
in the world?"
Joseph remembered the adventure in the stable-yard, the day his father
died. "Riches are not everything after all, mother," he said.
"Your aunt and uncle are in trouble, too," Mrs. Adams continued.
"Neville has been seriously ill. They have been with him at Oxford for
the last month, and yesterday they brought him home."
Joseph expressed sincere concern upon hearing of the danger through
which his cousin had passed. Since the accident which had come so near
taking his own life, death had become more of a reality to him; and in
proportion as he himself could face it fearlessly, was he enabled to
appreciate the solemn aspect of such an illness to one who had lived so
carelessly.
"Let us hope it may be the means of good to him," he said. "It may have
been sent to save him."
The same thought had been in his mother's mind. She was by no means
ignorant of the perils of university life, for a pleasure-seeking young
man devoid of religious principle. And from hints she had gathered, she
had reason to believe that the commencement which her nephew had made
was such as could only bring sorrow and disgrace upon his parents.
However, Neville's danger for the present seemed past. The weather
was in his favour, and as soon as he had had time to recover from the
fatigue of his journey, he was seen driving out with Mina—well muffled
up, it is true, and looking a mere ghost of his former self, but still
so far recovered that he was able to benefit by the invigorating
influence of the mild spring air. His spirits seemed high, as usual.
Joseph met him one day, when out for a walk with Ruth. He was talking
in an animated way to Mina as they drove gaily along; and he nodded
carelessly to Joseph, and even turned his head with evident curiosity
on perceiving the sling.
But Joseph never forgot the look of his face. His cheeks were flushed
and his eyes bright; but not with the vigour of returning health. Folly
and imprudence had undermined the strength which otherwise might have
resisted the fatal tendency inherited from his mother's family, and the
stamp of consumption was on his brow. The transparent skin, the hectic
colour, the unnatural lustre of his eyes, all told that the hidden fire
was eating away his life, and that death had sealed him for its own.
Before that week was over, a wearing cough had come on, and in
consequence of a change of wind, he was confined to the house. He never
went out again.