LITTLE JACK AT DEATH'S DOOR.
LATE that night, when all the household had presumably gone to rest,
a little figure, clad in a scarlet dressing-gown, stole softly into
Jack's bedroom, and, carefully closing the door, crept up to the bed.
"Is that you, Theodore?" Jack asked anxiously. "I thought you would
come. Oh! I have been so very unhappy! Dear Theo, what is the matter?
What did father say to you?"
For Theodore was weeping bitterly. He climbed on the edge of the bed,
and laying his head on the pillow, sobbed as though his heart would
break. Much distressed, Jack put his arm lovingly around his
stepbrother's neck, and wept in sympathy. But Theodore's tears
did not last long; he presently sat up, and explained the whole story
of his troubles and misdeeds to his attentive listener.
"You set fire to the hay-rick!" Jack cried in dismay, when he at last
understood Theodore's somewhat rambling statement.
"Yes. Of course I did not mean to—I suppose Tom or I must have
dropped a lighted match in some loose hay without knowing it.
Oh, dear, isn't it dreadful?"
"Was father very angry, Theo?"
"I don't know—not angry exactly, but sorry, and—and disappointed.
He said he thought he could have trusted me," Theodore explained,
with a choking sob. "I was very naughty, very disobedient, and I
can't think what made me be so wicked. I was never so sorry about
anything in my life before. Father said I ought not to have gone
into the lower meadow with Tom; I ought just to have spoken to him,
and gone home."
"Yes, yes!"
"Do you hate me, Jack?"
"No, no, Theo! I love you dearly—dearly!"
"I don't deserve you should. I expect she hates me," Theodore said
with a sigh.
"She? Who?"
"Your mother."
"Oh, no! I'm sure she doesn't!"
"I don't think I shall ever be good, Jack; and I do want to be."
"Jesus will help you, Theo. You know that, don't you? I'll tell you
a verse out of the Bible that mother told me to remember, when I
wanted to do something wrong, shall I?"
"Yes, do. What is it?"
"'Thou God seest me.' You know, Theo, you wouldn't have liked father,
or mother, or even me to have seen you smoking with Tom Blake this
morning, would you, now?"
"No," Theodore answered truthfully.
"God saw you, only you didn't think of Him, did you?"
Theodore sighed deeply, and was silent for a long while. It was quite
dark, so that the children could not discern each other's faces, but
Jack held Theodore's hand firmly in his thin little fingers.
"You must never think anyone hates you, Theo," Jack said at length.
"No one could—you are so kind! I think you will be a hero when you
are a man—brave and strong, and I—"
Jack paused abruptly. He could picture a future for his stepbrother,
but not for himself.
"Do you feel ill to-night, Jack?" Theodore asked uneasily, struck by
an intonation of wistfulness in the other's voice.
"No, not ill—only tired."
"I ought not to have come, bothering you so. Jane would be dreadfully
angry if she knew I was not in bed."
"I felt sure you would come! I should not have been able to sleep
all night if you had stayed away. Has father forgiven you, Theo?"
"Yes. He was very kind to me, and he made me feel so ashamed
of myself. I was sorry when I saw how sorry he was! I thought
at first he was only annoyed about my smoking, but when he said most
likely I set the rick on fire, I expected he might thrash me, and I
was awfully frightened. Somehow he seemed to understand how I felt.
I think father's a brick, don't you?"
"Oh, yes, he is!" Jack agreed cordially.
"I mean always to try and please him for the future," Theodore
proceeded earnestly. "He said the hay-rick was worth many pounds,
but he didn't mind the loss of the money half so much as my having
been with Tom Blake."
"You'll give up Tom Blake now, won't you?" Jack enquired anxiously.
"Yes," was the prompt reply. "Well, I suppose I must go now.
Good night, old fellow!"
"Good night, Theo."
Theodore's talk with Jack had done him good. He went quietly back
to his own room, and was soon asleep. But Jack lay awake for a long
while, thinking of his stepbrother; and in the morning, when his
mother came to see him, as she always did the first thing, she found
him feverish, and tossing about restlessly. Jack was ill; and, as
evening drew on, he grew rapidly worse.
The village doctor came, shook his head gravely, and spoke of further
advice. Then the great London physician was telegraphed for, and the
next morning he arrived, and was shut up for a long time in Jack's
room.
"I am glad he is here," Theodore said to Jane. "It will be all right
now, you'll see. He'll make Jack better, won't he?"
Jane made no answer, so Theodore went downstairs, meaning to wait
in the drawing-room till the doctors came down, hoping to hear what
they thought about his stepbrother. To his surprise he found his
aunts there.
"We are terribly shocked at the sad news," Miss Selina said, kindly
drawing the boy towards her, and kissing his troubled race. "We must
hope for the best, my dear. Jack is in God's hands."
"Oh, he has been very ill before, Aunt Selina, and has always got
well again!"
"Yes, but each attack must leave him weaker. He suffers terribly,
I hear?"
"Oh, yes, he does! Sometimes he can't help crying out; but I expect
the London doctor will give him something to stop the pain; don't you
think so?"
"I hope so."
"You seem very fond of him," Miss Penelope remarked, her voice
sounding unusually soft and gentle.
"I am, Aunt Pen. Oh! here's father!"
"It is very kind of you to come," Mr. Barton said, as he shook hands
with his aunts.
"Can we do anything in any way?" Miss Selina asked, her tone full of
genuine sympathy.
"No, I think not, thank you. The doctors are in the library
discussing their case. I fear there is a very slight hope this time.
The poor little fellow-seems to have no strength left."
"Oh, dear! I am so sorry. How is your wife?"
"Bearing up bravely. She will not break down whilst Jack wants her."
"Father!" cried Theodore, in an awestruck whisper. "Do you mean that
you think Jack will die?"
"I cannot say, my son. We shall know better what to think when we
hear what the doctors have to say. Run away to the nursery now,
Theodore, like a good boy."
Theodore obeyed, and spent the rest of the day most unhappily.
He heard the doctors leave, and listened anxiously to the report
Jane brought him that they thought Jack very dangerously ill, but it
was possible he might rally again if his strength held out. To this
hope, slight though it was, Theodore clung. He wandered aimlessly
about the house and grounds, questioning everyone he came across:
"You think Jack will get better, don't you?"
All hoped he would, for there was not an inmate of Afton Hall who did
not dearly love Theodore's stepbrother.
"It'll be as God wills," old John Bawdon replied, when appealed to
for his opinion. "Maybe the Lord wants the little lad."
"But I want him, John; we all want him!" Theodore cried rebelliously.
"Aye, aye, Master Theodore, so we do. But it's a bit selfish of us
to feel like that, I take it. '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.' And Master Jack loves the Lord
dearly. To think he may see Jesus before me after all! Well, well,
'tis hard to understand. Here am I, old, but hearty yet, and that bit
of a boy has had more suffering in the few years he has lived than I
have had all my long life! Oh, you mustn't grudge him to Jesus,
Master Theodore!"
But Theodore turned impatiently away, and stole once more to the door
of the room where his stepbrother lay. Once Mrs. Barton came out, and
the boy clutched at her dress, and pleaded earnestly to see Jack.
She shook her head sadly, but he persisted in his request.
"No, my dear, no," she whispered. "It cannot be. He is suffering
dreadfully; I cannot let you see him now."
Even as she spoke, Theodore heard a terrible wail from the little
sufferer, and he shrank away in dismay. He saw how the sound wrung
his stepmother's heart.
Her very lips turned pale as she breathed, "Oh, Theodore, pray for
him!"
"I will," he answered; "oh, I will!"
And Theodore went to his own room, and kneeling down by his bedside,
prayed as he had never prayed in his life before; and perhaps it was
the first real prayer his heart had ever offered, for self was
forgotten, and he spoke to God for Jack alone.
"Oh, God!" he cried, "do help Jack, and make him well. Don't mind
what I feel, only take away Jack's pain, for Jesus Christ's sake."
And as he prayed, Theodore felt assured that God was listening
to him, that he was not praying in vain. When he arose from his knees
he was much happier, and when Jane wanted him to go to bed,
he submitted to her wish passively.
It seemed to Theodore that he had been asleep but a short while when
he was aroused by his stepmother's voice.
"Theodore! Theodore!" she cried softly, "Jack wants you. Will you
come?"
He was out of bed in a moment, and not waiting even to slip on his
dressing-gown, followed Mrs. Barton into the passage. At the doorway
of Jack's room she paused, hesitated a moment, then asked anxiously:
"You are not afraid?"
"Afraid!" He lifted his fearless grey eyes to her face
in astonishment, wondering what she meant.
"You need not be; for though he has been so ill, he is not suffering
now," she added quickly, as she opened the door and went to the
bedside.
Theodore peeped into the room. No, Jack was not suffering now, for he
was lying back quietly on the pillows, his dark eyes wide-open,
turned in the direction of the door. The doctor and Mr. Barton stood
near, and Jane hovered in the background.
"Theodore has come to see you, my darling," Mrs. Barton said, as she
bent over her little son and kissed him tenderly.
"Theodore!"
Oh, the wealth of love in the weak voice! Theodore stole quietly
across the floor, and took up his favourite position on the edge
of the bed.
"How are you now, old fellow?" he asked gently. "Better."
The beautiful brown eyes rested contentedly on Theodore's face;
the frail hand sought Theodore's strong clasp.
"Better? that's right! You've been dreadfully bad this time, haven't
you? Never mind, you'll soon be well."
"I hope so."
"Oh, you will!" Theodore declared hopefully.
"I want to get well," Jack whispered faintly. "I wish you would sing
to me, Theo—will you? You know my favourite hymn."
So Theodore sang, "At even, ere the sun was set," quite unmindful
of the presence of any one but Jack, whose face grew radiant as he
listened. When it was ended the little invalid closed his eyes, as
though he was sleepy; but opening them again in a few moments,
he spoke in a distressed voice:
"Mother, I haven't said my prayers!"
"Shall I pray for you to-night, Jack, darling?"
"Please, mother; I can't remember."
His mother repeated very slowly and distinctly the first prayer
she had taught his baby lips to lisp—that prayer to our Father in
Heaven which embraces all our needs; and Jack faintly whispered
the words after her, a look of perfect happiness and contentment
settling on his face.
"Stay with me, Theo," he whispered. "Don't go away."
And Theodore, who was really very sleepy, replied drowsily,
"All right, old fellow," and laid his head on the pillow by his
stepbrother's side.
A few minutes later the doctor moved to the bed, and after a moment's
scrutiny of its occupants, turned a smiling glance towards the
others.
"Your little son will recover from this attack," he told the anxious
mother in a whisper, as he shook hands with her. "You had better let
the children remain as they are. They are both asleep."
He followed Mr. Barton out of the room, whilst Mrs. Barton approached
the bed and saw that the boys were indeed sleeping peacefully.
She gazed at them with a world of thankfulness depicted in her
expressive face, her eyes misty with tears. Jane fetched a warm shawl
and wrapped it around Theodore, who had laid himself down outside the
bedclothes.
The night was nearly gone, and the first streaks of dawn were
appearing in the eastern sky as the two women sat down to watch,
one on either side of the bed. No word was spoken, but each heart
was full to overflowing with joy and gladness at the knowledge that
little Jack was better! and Mrs. Barton, as her eyes rested on the
sleeping children, felt that Theodore, wilful and mistrustful of her
as he seemed to be, could never be otherwise than dear to her,
for the sake of the love he bore her little son.