"I SHALL LEARN TO BE GOOD NOW."
"Dick, Dick! is it really you? O my dear boy, I can hardly believe
it!" and Winnie clasped her feeble arms tighter round the young
sailor's neck, as if fearful of waking and finding it all a dream.
"Yes, it's the same old fellow turned up again, Win," was the reply,
given half chokingly. "Nip me, and you will find I am neither ghost
nor spirit, but real flesh and blood." And the boy, kneeling by the
invalid's couch, felt his eyes growing dim and misty again at the sound
of the weak young voice lingering so lovingly over his name.
"I am so glad," said the child, lying back amongst her soft cushions,
and looking at the big stalwart form before her. "I have been longing
and longing to see you, Dick, through each weary day and night;
yearning for the touch of your hand and sound of your voice: and now,
to think you are really, truly here, alive and well! God is very good,
dear," and the low voice uttered the last words solemnly and reverently.
The boy looked at his little sister wonderingly. "Have you learned to
say that from the heart, Win?" he asked with greater earnestness in his
tones. "Looking at your life as it is now, as it is likely to be all
through the future years, can you still repeat the words, 'God is very
good'!"
The child's lips drooped, and a sad look brooded over the pale white
face; but the meek voice continued, perhaps somewhat tremulously, "Not
always, Dick; but that is in the wicked hours, when I am full of
sinful, rebellious thoughts. Some days like just now, however, his
goodness seems to stand out in a bright, clear light, and a great hush
of peace falling on me, I find myself whispering over and over again,
'God is very good.' Aunt Judith says it may be a long time, but sooner
or later I shall be able to repeat those words, not only now and then,
but every day of my life, even in the darkest hours; and that will be
splendid. You must not be too sorry for me, dear old boy. Do you
remember asking me before you went away to try to live as I ought to
live, and do my duty nobly and well? I could not keep my promise,
Dick. When I was able to go about in the bright, beautiful world, I
did wicked, wrong things whenever I felt inclined. I enjoyed every
pleasure to the very full, no matter who suffered; but now--I shall
learn to be good now."
Dick was almost overcome again. "Win," he said huskily, "you're an
angel! When you speak like that you cause all my sins and shortcomings
to rise up before me, and I feel as if I were not worthy of your love
and tenderness. Ah, little sister, it is little pure souls like yours
that help to keep men right in this world, and guard them in the hours
of temptation and danger. God bless you, Winnie darling. I thank him
for giving me such a precious sister."
And this was the boy laughed at and mocked by the other members of the
family; spoken of as a dunce and scapegrace, and who would never make
his mark in the world. Ah, well! what did it matter? The true, honest
life now beginning to declare itself would soon tell its own tale, and
prove that there are more Sir Galahads walking on the earth than people
dream of, whose "strength is the strength of ten, because their hearts
are pure."
For a long time the two, brother and sister, sat talking
together--talking over past, present, and future, and feeling that the
long separation had only served to deepen and intensify the love they
bore each other. And now a new link was knitting the twain more firmly
together,--the link of pain and helplessness on the one side, and
strong protecting strength on the other.
After that the days fled all too rapidly. Sailor Dick made a great
difference in the house. It was something new to hear the fresh,
hearty voice trolling out wild sea-songs, and to listen to yarn after
yarn told with infinite gravity, and yet brimful of the ridiculous and
impossible. The rough, hardy sea-faring life had improved the boy
wondrously, bringing out the noblest traits in his character, making
him less sensitive and more self-reliant. Captain Inglis, who had
called on Mr. Blake, and was now a welcome visitor at the house in
Victoria Square, stated his thorough satisfaction at Dick's conduct
during the whole voyage, and spoke of him in the most praise-worthy
terms. Altogether there was great cause for commendation; and the boy
awoke to the delightful knowledge that he was no longer being
down-trodden and treated with disrespect, and that some day Winnie's
prophecy might be verified of his father being proud of him yet.
"Blessings on the skipper's head," he said one afternoon to Winnie,
when she told of Captain Inglis's genuine satisfaction. "He's a
thoroughly good old chap, and not one of the crew could say a word
against him. But I say, Win, what makes him come poking about here so
often? Why should he not give his old mother the benefit of his spare
time? Poor body! it's rather hard lines being left so much alone."
"She's coming to see me," put in Winnie laughingly. "Captain Inglis
had been telling her about the cross invalid sister you possessed, and
she asked if she might be allowed to call some day."
Dick whistled.
"So that's the way the wind is blowing?" he muttered under his breath.
"Well, this is a truly wonderful world in which we live." Then aloud
to Winnie: "You'll like her, Win; she's a first-rate old lady, brimming
over with kindness. Shouldn't wonder if she invites you to stay with
her later on; and, my eye! if she does, just you go. She'll pet and
molly-coddle you till you won't know whether you're standing on your
head or feet; and I'll bet you'll be as snug as a bird in its nest."
Winnie looked interested. "Has she a nice house?"
"Tip-top, and nobody in it save herself and the servants. The skipper
has plenty of money, and goes to sea from choice, not necessity.--Why,
I declare, Win, here he is again, coming along the street. He gave me
a half-holiday, but I did not think he was going to take one himself as
well. If this kind of thing continues much longer, you may
congratulate yourself on having another brother soon;" and Dick winked
knowingly.
"What do you mean?" asked Winnie, staring open-eyed; but the
mischievous boy had vanished and left her alone in her bewilderment.
All good things come to an end, and every day has its close. The _Maid
of Astolat_ was ready to set sail again, and once more the time drew
near to say good-bye.
"Farewell, Win, my little angel sister," whispered Dick, kissing the
sweet face with dimmed, misty eyes. "God keep you for ever and ever,
and bring me safe home to you again." Then followed a long, lingering
embrace; and Winnie was left to wait and hope till the long months and
days would pass and her sailor boy return once more.
"Yes, I miss him sorely, Aunt Judith," she said one evening to Miss
Latimer about a fortnight after the ship had sailed; "but I have so
much to be thankful for, that I feel as it I dared not grumble. You
have no idea how greatly he is improved, and how much more highly he is
thought of now by every one in the house. I wish you had been able to
see him, Aunt Judith."
"So do I, Winnie; but I was too ill the day he called, and this is only
my second walk out of doors."
"Were you very unwell?" questioned Winnie, again scrutinizing her
friend's face anxiously. "Aunt Judith, I don't believe you are nearly
better. There are great hollows round your eyes, and your face looks
haggard and worn."
"Nonsense, dear," answered the kind voice, and Miss Latimer's smile was
very bright. "Remember I am an old woman, and pain leaves traces on an
aged face.--What about yourself, Winnie? is the darkness brightening
yet?"
"I think so, Aunt Judith; and Dick helped me so much. Perhaps the
beautiful life is within my reach after all."
"There's no 'perhaps' in the matter, dear," said Miss Latimer softly;
"but my little Winnie must be patient, for the grand, sweet song of
life has its beginning, and the opening chords may be tremulous and
low. Child," she continued passionately, "the grandest songs--the
songs that echo and re-echo through eternity's limitless bounds--are
wrung from hearts crushed and bleeding with anguish, and the infinite
peace and calm come only after long strife and pain. Darling, my
earnest prayer for you is that God would perfect in you his own image,
and that you may come forth from the furnace of affliction with
Christ's own brightness shining in your face."
That was the last talk Miss Latimer ever had with Winnie. She had been
far from well lately, and after reaching home that night complained of
feeling very tired.
"Go to bed, auntie," pleaded Nellie; "I am sure you are fit for no work
to-night;" and Aunt Debby seconded the words. But Miss Latimer shook
her head with a slow, sweet smile.
"My last chapter must be finished this evening, child," she said,
gently yet firmly; "after that I shall please you all by taking a long,
long rest."
Persuasion seemed useless; and the midnight hour found Aunt Judith busy
at her desk, filling up page after page with those wonderful thoughts
of hers.
Aunt Debby could not rest that night. Something in Miss Latimer's
manner and appearance had awed and frightened her, driving the sleep
from her little bright eyes and chilling her heart with a vague,
undefined sense of fear. At length, in the middle of the night, she
rose, unable to quell the uneasy thoughts which haunted her, and
stealing softly downstairs, opened the door of her sister's sanctum and
looked in. The lamp had burned low in the socket, and was casting a
sickly gleam over all; the fire had died out, and the gray-white ashes
gave a dreary, deserted appearance to the room. A great hush brooded
around; and yet not so awful was that intense stillness as the solemn
calm which seemed to infold the quiet figure sitting so silently in the
midst.
Aunt Judith sat before her desk, her head bent slightly forward on her
hands. There was nothing unnatural or alarming in the position, but an
awful dread stole into Miss Deborah's heart and caused it to beat with
a wild fear.
"Judith!" she called tremblingly; but the quiet figure never stirred,
and no response came from the pallid lips. Aunt Debby flashed the
light of her candle full on Miss Latimer, and then started back with an
exceeding bitter cry, for the face on which the light shone so clearly
was white and rigid in death. The eyes, wide-open, were fixed on the
sheets of manuscript before her, as if she had been earnestly studying
the closing words; and the face, though white with the pallor of the
dead, still retained its own sweet expression. Looking down at the
written sheets, Aunt Debby noticed the last chapter was finished, and
knew Aunt Judith's life-work had ended with it.
[Illustration: The eyes, wide open, were fixed on the sheets of
manuscript before her.]
"My last chapter must be written to-night, child; after that I shall
please you all by taking a long, long rest." How those words rung in
Miss Deborah's ears as she stood gazing on that silent figure, sitting
so quietly in that awful death-hush! Not the quiver of an eyelid; not
a tremble of the lip; only that great, solemn calm. It was all over
now. The pain and weariness; the constant striving after the true and
beautiful; the daily self-renunciation; the life so completely devoted
to the service of others; and the last lingering notes of the grand,
sweet song had been sung in silence and alone. "Goodness and mercy
have followed me all the days of my life," she had remarked to Aunt
Debby not so long ago, "and, thank God, even in the darkest night I
have never failed to find a star brightening through the gloom." Now
the earthly shadows were done with for ever; the bleeding feet had trod
the last steps of the thorny way, and entered by the gate into the holy
Jerusalem, where "eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have
entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for
them that love him."