When the first delight of their meeting was abated, Simon sent to let
Arthur Manson know that his brother was there. For Arthur had all this
time been with Simon, to whom Richard, saving enough from his allowance,
had prevented him from being a burden.
He looked much better, and was enchanted to see his brother again, and
learn the good news of his recognition by his father. “I'm so glad it's
you and not me, Richard!” he said. “It makes me feel quite safe and
happy. We shall have nothing now but fair play all round, the rest of
our lives! How happy Alice will be!”
“Is Alice still in the old place? I haven't heard of her for some time,”
said Richard.
“Don't you know?” exclaimed Arthur. “She's been at the parsonage for
months and months! Mrs. Wingfold went and fetched her away, to work for
her, and be near me. She's as happy now as the day is long. She says
if everybody was as good as her master and mistress, there would be no
misery left in the world.”
“I don't doubt it,” answered Richard. “--But I've just parted with Mr.
Wingfold, and he didn't say a word about her!”
“When anything has to be done, Mr. Wingfold never forgets it,” said
Arthur; “but I should just like to hear all the things Mr. Wingfold did
and forgot in a month!”
“Arthur's getting on.” thought Richard.
But he had to learn how much Wingfold had done for him. First of all he
had set himself, by talking to him and lending him books, to find out
his bent, or at least something he was capable of. But for months he
could not wake him enough to know anything of what was in him: the
poor fellow was weary almost to death. At last, however, he got him to
observe a little. Then he began to set him certain tasks; and as he
was an invalid, the first was what he called “The task of twelve
o'clock;”--which was, for a quarter of an hour from every noon during a
month, to write down what he then saw going on in the world.
The first day he had nothing to show: he had seen nothing!
“What were the clouds doing?” Mr. Wingfold asked. “What were the horses
in the fields doing?--What were the birds you saw doing?--What were the
ducks and hens doing?--Put down whatever you see any creature about.”
The next evening, he went to him again, and asked him for his paper.
Arthur handed him a folded sheet.
“Now,” said Mr. Wingfold, “I am not going to look at this for the
present. I am going to lay it in one of my drawers, and you must write
another for me to-morrow. If you are able, bring it over to me; if not,
lay it by, and do not look at it, but write another, and another--one
every day, and give them all to me the next time I come, which will
be soon. We shall go on that way for a month, and then we shall see
something!”
At the end of the month, Mr. Wingfold took all the papers, and fastened
them together in their proper order. Then they read them together, and
did indeed see something! The growth of Arthur's observation both in
extent and quality, also the growth of his faculty for narrating what he
saw, were remarkable both to himself and his instructor. The number of
things and circumstances he was able to see by the end of the month,
compared with the number he had seen in the beginning of it, was
wonderful; while the mode of his record had changed from that of a child
to that almost of a man.
Mr. Wingfold next, as by that time the weather was quite warm, set him
“The task of six o'clock in the evening,” when the things that presented
themselves to his notice would be very different. After a fortnight, he
changed again the hour of his observation, and went on changing it.
So that at length the youth who had, twice every day, walked along
Cheapside almost without seeing that one face differed from another,
knew most of the birds and many of the insects, and could in general
tell what they were about, while the domestic animals were his familiar
friends. He delighted in the grass and the wild flowers, the sky and the
clouds and the stars, and knew, after a real, vital fashion, the world
in which he lived. He entered into the life that was going on about him,
and so in the house of God became one of the family. He had ten times
his former consciousness; his life was ten times the size it was before.
As was natural, his health had improved marvellously. There is nothing
like interest in life to quicken the vital forces--the secret of which
is, that they are left freer to work.
Richard was rejoiced with the change in him, and reckoned of what he
might learn from Arthur in the long days before them; while he in turn
would tell him many things he would now be prepared to hear. The soul
that had seemed rapidly sinking into the joyless dark, was now burning
clear as a torch of heaven.