_HUGH'S PROMISE._
It was time to start for church, and John went down to find his sisters.
His face was pale, and there was a disappointed look about him which was
very unusual in the bright boy.
Agnes saw it, and walked along by his side, trying to think of something
cheering to say. But, after all, when the heart is sore there is only
One who can truly comfort.
Alice and Minnie had gone in to fetch aunt Phyllis, so the brother and
sister were alone.
"Agnes," exclaimed John at last, when they came in sight of the church,
"I'm so vexed with myself, so 'taken down a peg,' if you can comprehend
such a phrase."
He gave a little sad laugh to hide a deeper feeling which Agnes
perfectly understood.
"It's dreadfully unpleasant," she answered, "but I've gone through it
before now."
"You?"
"Heaps of times. Don't you suppose, John, we all trust in ourselves ever
so much too much?"
"I suppose we do."
"Don't be discouraged," she said cheerily, "it's a comfort to feel He
has got us in hand."
"What do you call 'in hand'?" asked John.
"Not letting us go our own way unhindered."
"But that's just what I didn't want, Agnes; I wanted with all my heart
to go His way, and yet I failed."
"Yes," said Agnes slowly; "and He knew that. But perhaps, John----"
"Say on."
"Perhaps--I don't know, I only guess by myself--perhaps you felt you
were strong, and could stand alone."
Agnes glanced up with eyes that glittered with tears as they went up the
steps beneath the deep portico.
John squeezed her arm, and they entered the church.
If Agnes had given John a lesson, she had taught herself one too. That
Christmas morning was a time never to be forgotten; and to John, who had
gone there hoping for a little quiet time to renew his vows, to ask
afresh what his Lord would have him to do, there came a very different
discipline. Instead of being a soldier buckling on his bright armour, he
found himself a beaten-down combatant who was returning home wounded
and sore.
But a comforting thought came to him as he knelt with his face buried in
his hands; all the same for his wounds and feeling of defeat, he was
fighting under the great Captain, who loved him in spite of all.
And when the text was given out his lesson came home to him, and he
raised his head joyfully as his eyes sought those of his sister.
"Now unto Him that is able to keep you from falling, and to present you
faultless before His presence with exceeding joy, be glory for ever.
Amen."
After an instant's pause their minister began.
"I am not going to speak to the joyful this Christmas, for they do not
need it so much; but I am going to speak to the downcast, that they may
look forward to this exceeding joy."
Every word might have been meant for John, and he took it all humbly
home to his heart. Never had his face looked like that before, and when
they came out there were two people happy among the throng at anyrate.
Aunt Phyllis took Agnes's arm, while the rest lingered for a moment to
shake hands with some friends.
"Agnes," said Miss Headley, "what has come to John; he looks different?"
Agnes pressed her aunt's arm, and whispered. "Don't say a word, auntie;
but _God_ has been speaking to him."
Aunt Phyllis gazed at her, then, with a wondrous gladness in her pale
face, turned homewards.
They all separated at their different doors. "The children," as they
were called, promising to come in at the right time.
"No fear of our punctuality to-day, auntie," said John, smiling.
"I don't know," answered his aunt. "I have known unpunctual people as
late on great occasions as on small."
"Have you? Then we shall prove ourselves, I hope, to be not unpunctual
people."
They ran up their own steps and found Hugh taking off his coat in the
hall.
"Make haste, Hugh," said John; "auntie has been giving us a lecture on
not being late."
"I don't call it much of a lecture," said Alice. "Aunt Phyllis never
lectures."
The girls went upstairs "to make themselves smart," as Hugh called it,
and the two brothers walked into the dining-room.
John glanced at Hugh, but his face did not invite conversation, so he
took up his new book and sat down in the window.
"What a smell of beer!" he suddenly exclaimed. "I wonder what it is?"
Hugh turned scarlet. "I've had a glass," he said defiantly.
"_You?_" said John, too surprised to hide his grieved dismay.
"There's no sin in that, I hope," answered Hugh coldly.
John thought a moment. "No--no, Hugh, I don't know that there is."
"Then why blame a fellow?"
"I don't think I blamed you; at least, not in words. But----"
"Have it out then. Cut me up to your heart's content."
"I wouldn't for the world, Hugh, dear boy. What would father have wished
you to do?"
"He never bound us."
"I think he did. He never thought we should wish to take any till we
were of an age to decide for ourselves."
"Don't you call fourteen old enough? Tom says he calls it absurd to tie
us down to an idea."
"Tom knows nothing about it, Hugh."
"How doesn't he?"
"Nothing about father's opinions, nor the principle of the thing."
"Do you mean to say father has ever forbidden me?"
"Perhaps not in so many words."
"Do you think he would have, if I had waited to ask him?"
"I believe so."
"I did not do it as an act of disobedience," said Hugh, "and your
making it out so is horrid. I thought I was free to take it if I liked,
so long as I didn't take much."
John sat down by the fire, his face grave and troubled.
"Hugh," he exclaimed, in a beseeching tone, "say you won't be tempted to
take it again till father comes home. Oh, Hugh, I would give everything
I possess if you hadn't!"
Hugh was silent. In his present mood he did not feel inclined to
promise.
"Where's the harm?" he asked at last.
"Father trusted us not to take it till we were old enough to judge of
its dangers; he said we must take his judgment till then."
"And how long was that to last?"
"I don't know, but I was quite willing to leave it till then. Hugh, what
does our text say, as father is not here?"
John's voice was low, and his face full of feeling.
"I hadn't _that_ to look at out there!" murmured Hugh.
"No. Oh, Hugh, _say_ you will not again till they come home?"
"I'm sure I wish I had not, now you say so much about it. John, you
won't tell the girls?"
"Not 'the girls;' but I must tell Agnes."
"Then I shan't promise!"
John was staggered for a moment, but after an instant he said:
"I must not do evil that good may come. I'm sure you will think better
of it, Hugh dear; and it would be such a comfort to me if you would."
"At anyrate don't tell Agnes to-day, till I have had time to think it
over. Do as much as that for me, John."
"I think I may promise that," answered John. "Hugh, we've had such a
beautiful sermon this morning on, 'Able to keep you from falling;' it
has helped me ever so much."
Then John left the room, and Hugh got up and walked round the table, and
stood in front of the new frame: he stood long and silently, and did not
move till the others came in.
"You are not dressed," said Alice; "we shall be late after all!"
"I shan't take long," said Hugh, hurriedly leaving the room.
"There is time yet," said John; "don't be a fidget, Alice. Is Minnie
going to take her beloved baby?"
"Of course I am. Do you suppose I'm such a bad mamma that I should
neglect my children?"
John laughed merrily. "Sometimes mothers like to show them off; that's
one way, you know. Minnie."
"Well, you're not a mother, so you can't judge," answered Minnie
saucily.
"Oh, that's it! Very well. But if you don't mind, I'll play 'father;'
and see if you don't find the tables are turned."
John shook his head so comically that Minnie hugged her new treasure
closer, and retired behind Agnes, who said:
"You may trust John, Minnie; he will not do you or Dolly any harm."
"But I don't like being teased," said Minnie, looking shy; "I'd a great
deal rather not, please John."
Just then Hugh came in, looking very fresh and nice, and the girls threw
on their shawls and went in next door, bonnetless for once.
As they all crowded up their grandmama's steps, John felt a twitch at
his coat, and Hugh's voice whispered:
"I'm awfully sorry now, John; and I'll promise."
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