THE RIDE TO STAVEMOOR.
A month after Aleck's arrival at Braycombe, it seemed so perfectly natural to have him with us—he had fitted so completely into the position of companion, play-fellow, school-fellow, brother—that I could scarcely fancy how it felt before he came.
My uncle and aunt had left us after a fortnight's visit, and were now on the Continent. The parting was hard work—harder, I fancy, to them than to him, for boys soon get over trouble, whereas it was plain to see in my aunt's wistful eyes that it was a sore trial to her to leave her child behind. I believe that she did not anticipate, in as sanguine a spirit as did her husband, the happy meeting again that was talked of for the spring, after a winter in Madeira.
It was a subject of great thankfulness, to both my uncle and aunt, that Aleck and I had formed such a friendship for each other. They had scarcely driven from the door, and Aleck's eyes were still wet with tears, when he told me that he did not think he could be so happy anywhere away from his papa and mamma as at Braycombe, with me for his companion; and I answered by assuring him I should never be happy again if he were to go away from me.
We soon settled down into our school-room occupations together. Mr. Glengelly, who used to come three times in the week, now came daily, staying for the whole morning, and leaving us always lessons to prepare for the next day. Aleck and I spent almost the whole of our play-time down at the Cove; his passionate enjoyment of everything connected with the sea continuing in full force, whilst two or three times every week we had walks, rides, or drives with one or both of my parents.
Aleck could ride beautifully, having been accustomed to it at his own home, and I was delighted to lend him my pony from time to time—more ready at first, if the truth is to be told, than afterwards. He also learned to row, though not so quickly nor so easily as I should have expected; and feathering remained an impossible mystery to him, being, as he said, more than could be expected from his clumsy fingers.
In this one point—that of being unskilful in the use of his hands—Aleck was below the mark; in lessons he was far my superior, being, as I soon found, more than his year ahead of me. But, oddly enough, as it seemed to me, it was always in matters requiring skilled fingers that he was anxious to excel. He was never tired of playing at sailing the "Fair Alice," but would daily, before we launched her, examine afresh all the different parts of the little vessel, and sigh over the neatness of their workmanship, and ask himself and myself whether it were possible he should ever be able to make a ship like it. Various abortive attempts were to be seen in our play-room—pieces of wood cut, and shaped, and thrown away in disgust; but as yet he made no progress towards anything like skill in carpentry. The old play-boat of mine which I had given, to him afforded very little pleasure: it was not like a real vessel. Having seen the "Fair Alice," anything that fell short of it gave him no satisfaction. It added greatly to the pleasure which I had always felt in this possession, to see how ardently my cousin admired it, and how much he thought of the title of captain, which, as owner, had been playfully adjudged to me.
I scarcely know when it was that the feeling first began to steal over me that I was not always quite so glad as I had been at first that my cousin was living with us. It was an unworthy feeling, and I felt ashamed to confess it to myself; but there it was, and I discovered it at last.
Perhaps it was because of his quickness at lessons; perhaps because, from time to time in his turn, enjoyments which could not be shared by both were permitted to him—I had only the half, where before I should have had the whole; perhaps it was all this together, combined with the secret evils I had not hitherto found out in my own heart and disposition; but the result was, that I had now and then such miserable moments of being angry, and provoked, and unhappy, not because my cousin had done anything unkind, but simply because he had, in some unintentional manner, interfered with my pleasure, that I was ready to wish I had never had a cousin, or that he had never come to Braycombe.
It is not to be supposed that this was my settled, constant state of mind. Far from it. In general, we two boys were as frisky, and merry, and happy with each other, as boys could be; but these dark feelings came and went, and came and went, until I began to be less surprised at them than when I first found them out. For some time my mother had no idea of their existence. To all outward appearance we were just as we had been in the early days of our friendship; and if I did not so often enlarge upon the happiness of having Aleck to live with me, I know now that she only put it down to the novelty of the companionship wearing off. I remember quite distinctly the first time that she noticed some little indication of the secret mischief that was going on. It was the time of afternoon preparation of lessons for the following morning, and I was sitting with my books before me at the school-room table, writing a Latin exercise; or perhaps it would be more correct to say, not writing my Latin exercise, for my pen had stopped half-way to the ink-bottle, and my chin was resting on my left hand and my elbow on the table, and I was indulging uninterruptedly in my own reflections, when the door opened, and my mother entered the room.
"Where's Aleck?" was her first inquiry, as she looked round and saw that I was alone.
"He's been gone five minutes," I replied, without raising my eyes, and in a tone which I meant to convey—and, I am aware, did convey—that I was in no pleasant mood.
"How's that?" rejoined my mother, taking no notice of my manner. "Aleck was told not to leave the school-room until his lessons were finished. He knows my rule, and is not generally disobedient. I must go and see about him. Where is he?"
"In his room, I suppose"—still in my former sulky manner; and, without further words, my mother left the room, and went in search of my cousin. I presently heard her voice calling to him at the foot of the stair-case leading to our rooms, and Aleck's voice more distantly replying to her. As, however, he did not immediately appear, I heard afterwards that she had gone up-stairs, and found him pulling down his sleeves and shaking off pieces of wood, and generally endeavouring to render his appearance respectable; which was made the more difficult as, in the course of his operations, he had dipped his elbow in the glue-pot, and was considerably embarrassed by the fringe of shavings which he was unable to detach.
"I'm coming as fast as I can, auntie," he said, pulling at the shavings, and giving himself a rub with a duster in hopes that would make him right.
"But, Aleck, how is it you're not in the school-room?" said my mother. "I have just seen Willie there alone. You know the rule about not leaving until lessons are finished. I fear that you have been tempted away too soon by your ship-building tastes."
"Did not Willie tell you I had finished my lessons?" said Aleck, quickly. "Oh, auntie, I would not have left before."
"Really finished, Aleck? Take care to be quite honest with yourself, for indeed you've had but short time."
"Really and truly, auntie. I tried to be very quick to-day, because I do so want to get on with this last ship I've begun. It seems coming more like than the others. See, the stern is very like a real one."
My mother carefully inspected the unshapely block upon which my cousin was at work, gave him a word or two of advice upon the subject, and came down-stairs again to me; having decided in her own mind, as she afterwards told me, to be present the next morning when Mr. Glengelly came, and notice whether Aleck's work had been thoroughly prepared.
"How soon shall you have finished, my child?" she said, laying her hand softly on my shoulder, and bending down to inspect my writing. "Let me see what there is to be done."
"This exercise, and the verb to be learned, and my sum"—very grumpily.
"And how much have you done already?"
"Part of the exercise—not quite half; and I'm doing the verb now; and the sum is finished, all but the proving."
My lip was quivering as I completed the list of what I had achieved, and I was as nearly bursting into tears as possible.
My mother's loving, pleasant way staved off the sulky fit, however.
"These lessons begun, and not one of them finished off!" she exclaimed. "Let us see how long they will take you. First the exercise, we will allow a quarter of an hour for that; five minutes will prove your sum; and the verb, an old one you say and very nearly perfect, two minutes for that: less than twenty-five minutes, Willie, and you will be so perfectly prepared that you will be longing for ten o'clock to-morrow, and Mr. Glengelly to come, all the rest of the evening."
I could not help laughing at the notion of my pining for Mr. Glengelly's arrival, and a laugh is an excellent stepping-stone out of the sulks. My mother put her watch on the table, and stayed in the room, helping me by quiet sympathizing superintendence, and I set to work with such earnestness that I had completed my tasks in twenty minutes, and was off to the play-room without a trace of my wrong temper, as eager to join my cousin in the carpentry as if nothing had gone wrong between us, and only rejoicing that my lessons were over at last, without troubling myself to remember that the trial of Aleck's being so much quicker than myself at his studies was sure to recur again and again, and that, unless my dislike to his superiority could be conquered and stamped out, I should soon find every-day trouble in my every-day work.
And in truth the conquering and stamping out of such feelings as these is no easy task. It is unquestionably a real trial to find that work which takes you an hour's hard labour can be accomplished by your companion in not much more than half the time; that even though the lessons are apportioned so as to give him the heavier burden, he can always dispose of the heavier more readily than you can of the lighter. In my own case, Aleck was often very good-natured, and would linger in his work to give me a help in mine; or purposely keep pace with me, so that we might go out to play together. But this was not always the way; when he was very eagerly engaged in any play-time occupation, he would bend all his energies to getting his tasks finished off quickly, and then hurry away, without appearing in the least troubled that I could not accompany him. Upon which occasions I thought him selfish and unfeeling, and was inclined not a little to regret that he had ever come to Braycombe.
The worst of it was, that though I knew I was wrong, I could not muster courage to speak to either of my parents about it; no, not even in that moment of deepest confidence when my mother looked in to wish me good-night before I went to sleep, and sat, as she was wont to do, upon my bed talking to me about the various things which had happened during the day.
Many a time, on such occasions, I thought of telling her my troubles, but was afraid lest she should think me very naughty; so I tried at last to persuade myself there was not much to tell after all.
Half an hour spent with us in the school-room the next morning convinced my mother that Aleck's work had been well done. I fancy that she watched me a little closely for a few days, but I happened to be specially prosperous in my lessons, and nothing occurred to disturb my serenity, so that she dismissed after a time the anxiety which had begun to arise in her mind concerning me.
As for Aleck, he had no notion of the real state of things. I am sure he must have thought me selfish and cross very often, but almost as often he would win me into good temper again; and his own temperament was naturally so bright and sunshiny, that trouble never seemed to remain long with him.
It was about a fortnight later that I was sitting, after breakfast, in my father's study doing my arithmetic. Our school-room adjoined the study, and it was not an unfrequent arrangement, that whilst Aleck did his construing with Mr. Glengelly, I should take in my slate to my father's room and do my sums. I fancy he liked to have me with him; for whenever he was at home he would look up with quite a pleased expression when, after knocking at the door, I appeared with my slate and made the usual inquiry whether I should disturb him if I came in just then; and would tell me that I never disturbed him, and bid me show him my sum before I returned to the school-room, when he had always some pleasant remark to make upon it.
I then was sitting on my favourite seat in the window working at compound division, when my mother came into the room.
"I've been thinking," she said to my father, "that it's a pity both the boys should not go with you to Stavemoor: if you could manage without Rickson, or let him ride one of the carriage horses, I think you might trust Aleck on the gray."
I listened to every word, my pencil going slowly and more slowly, whilst I put down three times nine, twenty-seven—two, carry seven; and was hopelessly wrong afterwards in consequence. This ride to Stavemoor was a special pleasure in prospect. Both Aleck and I had wanted to go; but the pony being mine, I had taken it as a matter of course that I should be the one chosen, and my cousin had not thought of questioning my rights. But now to hear my mother quietly proposing, not only that Aleck should go, but that he should ride the gray—it was a sore trial to my feelings: that gray had for months been the object of my ambition, but I had not been thought a good enough rider to be trusted, and now that my cousin should be thus promoted was hard to bear.
The colour mounted to my face when I heard the proposition, and then my father's answer:—
"I am not sure about it; and yet the boy is at home in the saddle, and has a firm seat. I'll speak to Rickson. Aleck's been looking pale of late, and I think more rides than he can get when there's only the pony between the two boys, would do him good."
"Papa," I said, with quivering lip and reproachful voice, "you've never let me ride the gray. It's always Aleck now—he gets everything, it doesn't seem to matter about me."
My father gave one quick glance of surprise and consternation at my mother, and then turned to me:—
"Willie! my own little Willie!" he said, pausing as if for an explanation, and putting out his hand in a manner that meant I was to come to his side, which I did rather slowly.
"I've so often asked you to let me ride the gray, papa, and you've never allowed it, and now you're going to let Aleck. I don't want to go to Stavemoor—Aleck may have the pony; I wish I had said so at first; I don't want to ride the pony, and have him on the gray." And thereupon, almost frightened by the evident distress my sentiments had occasioned, I burst into a passionate fit of crying, which permitted only a few more broken words to the effect that I wished Aleck had never come to Braycombe; I hated his being there; and that my parents were very unkind to care for him more than they did for me.
My father held me there at his side whilst I sobbed and cried as if some tremendous calamity had overtaken me. I knew without looking up, which I was ashamed to do, that his eyes were resting upon me with an expression of sad surprise; and the silence became perfectly unbearable. He spoke at last:—
"My poor little Willie," he said, "what sad feelings you have allowed to creep into your heart! how unhappy they will make you! You have said very wrong words, my child, and I cannot tell you how much pain you have caused to me and your mamma. I hope that you will be very sorry by-and-by; but you know, Willie, being sorry will not undo your fault, nor take away the envious feelings which you have allowed to spring up within you; and unless such feelings as these are conquered you will be an unhappy little boy, and grow up to be an unhappy man. Willie," he added, after another pause only interrupted by my struggling sobs at longer intervals than at first, "you know, my child, whose strength you will need to help you in the battle: you are but a weak little boy, and cannot help yourself; you must pray for the help of God's Holy Spirit, or else you will never conquer these wrong feelings."
I hung my head, and remained silent.
"I trust Aleck knows nothing of all this," resumed my father. "We have promised to care for him as though he belonged to us. I will not allow him to feel that he is disliked by the boy who promised to love him."
"No, papa," I put in, for my temper had well-nigh expended itself; "I do like him still—rather—only not always. I like him very much sometimes: I think now I'm very glad he came—only I don't like his having things that I mayn't have."
"That, Willie," answered my father, "must be left to me to decide. I shall miss my little boy very much this afternoon; but I cannot allow you to come to Stavemoor with me to-day, after all that has passed."
There was just this ray of comfort in the announcement, that at least Aleck would not on this particular occasion gain the object of my ambition.
"Is Aleck to ride my pony, then?" I inquired, half ashamed of myself for asking.
The quick, decided manner, in which my father withdrew the arm he held around me, and answered,—
"Certainly not, unless I find Rickson thinks the gray would be unsafe," made me feel more unhappy than ever; and it was with a sorrowful heart that I obeyed a summons to the school-room brought in at that moment by my cousin, and showed up my incorrect and unfinished sum to Mr. Glengelly.
I suppose that he saw something had gone wrong with me, by my appearance; he was certainly more merciful than usual over my shortcomings in arithmetic, and the lesson-time went by so pleasantly that I was quite in good humour by the time it ended, and went out in restored spirits for the half hour's exercise which preceded our dinner, determining that, the first moment I could see my father, I would tell him I was sorry, revoke what I had said about Aleck, and ride my pony to Stavemoor.
In furtherance of these views, I ran round by the stables, and finding that only Peter the Great and the gray had been ordered, told Rickson in confidence that I had said to my father in the morning I would rather not ride; but, having changed my mind since then, he was to be sure and be ready to send round the pony as well.
Aleck, in the meantime, heard of the treat in store for him, and was greatly elated, chattering briskly during dinner about the expedition, without any idea that I was likely to be left behind.
My father was not a great luncheon eater, and when very busy, would often only have a glass of wine and a biscuit sent into the study, instead of joining us at table. Finding this was to be the case on the present occasion, I asked leave to carry in the tray, and was permitted to do so after I had finished my own dinner.
My father was at his writing, and looked up when he saw me, making a place amongst his papers at the same time for the tray.
"Papa," I said, when I had put it down, "I'm sorry for what I said this morning. I don't mind Aleck's riding the gray; and please I should like to ride my own pony. I saw Rickson before dinner, and told him I had changed my mind, and that very likely the pony would be wanted."
My father answered, in a quiet, grave voice: "You might have spared yourself the trouble, Willie, of speaking to Rickson, for, though I'm sorry to leave you behind, I cannot allow you the pleasure of the ride to Stavemoor this afternoon."
"But, papa," I pleaded, "you always forgive me when I say I am sorry."
"And I do not say now that I will not forgive the wrong things you said this morning," he answered; "but I cannot let your conduct pass without punishment. You must remember, my child," he added, drawing me towards him, "that forgiving and not punishing are very different things. Do you remember when God forgave David his sin, yet He punished him by the death of his son. And it would be contrary to His commands if Christian parents were to allow their children's faults to be unpunished, although it is a Christian duty to exercise a forgiving spirit."
The practical result of this statement was what I thought of most; it was clear to my mind that the ride to Stavemoor had to be given up, and my brow grew cloudy.
"Then, papa," I said, poutingly, "I mayn't go with you this afternoon?"
"Certainly not, Willie," very decidedly; "you will spend one hour, from the time we start, in your own room; and I trust that you will remember during that time—if you are really sorry—that mine is not the only forgiveness you have to seek."
"Aleck's, papa?"
"No, not Aleck's; I hope he will never have an idea of all the wrong feelings you have entertained towards him."
"You mean God's forgiveness," I said, more seriously; for that was a name never to be pronounced without deep reverence.
"Yes, Willie; don't forget, my child, that the youngest as well as the oldest of us has need to seek the Fountain opened for all uncleanness. No repentance will wash us clean. You must ask, through the Lord Jesus, not only that your sins may be forgiven, but that you may also have strength to do better for the future. You may go now. Remember what I said about the hour in your own room."
I departed accordingly, passing Aleck in the passage all ready and equipped for his ride. Brushing past him, without giving an answer to his inquiry whether I was going to get ready, I ran quickly up-stairs to my own room, shut the door, and burst into tears.
By-and-by I heard the horses coming round; then I wiped my eyes, and kneeling upon a chair at the window, where I could not be seen, watched all the proceedings.
Rickson, faithful to my interests, had, I perceived, brought up the pony ready saddled. I almost hoped that Aleck would have had it after all. But no; I saw him in another moment mounted upon the gray, which, apparently conscious of a lighter weight than usual, began shaking its head, and showing off its mettle. Rickson held it firmly. "So-ho! so-ho!" I heard him saying. "Ease her a bit, Master Gordon; ease her mouth; there—there—so-ho!"
Aleck held the reins firmly, and his ringing voice came up cheerily through the air.
"I'm not a bit afraid, thank you, Uncle Grant."
My father in the meantime mounted Peter the Great; and before starting I saw the stable-boy give him a leading rein, which he put into his pocket, for future use I mentally decided, in case Aleck should have difficulty in managing the gray. But no such difficulty occurred within the range of my observation. When Rickson removed his hand from the bridle she bounded off rather friskily; but in another moment Aleck had reined her in, and was displaying such ready ease in the management of his steed, that it was clear my father's confidence in his horsemanship was justified.
As I turned round from the window I heard my mother's soft footstep in the passage, and in another moment she had entered my room. She had her walking things on, and a little basket in her hand, well known to me as invariably containing jellies, puddings, or packets of tea for some of the many invalids to whom my mother was as an angel of mercy. She stopped only for two or three minutes, to tell me how thankful she was to know I had felt sorry for my behaviour in the morning, and how grieved to have to leave me at home when she would have liked me to have been out riding with my father, or walking with her; and then, after some further words of monition, she left me to my solitary hour's watch, and I could see her taking her way down the drive, and turning off through the wood, until the last flutter of her blue ribbons was lost in the distance. Then I bethought me of seeing how much longer I had to spend in my own room, and, looking at the clock-tower over the stables, found it was scarcely more than three o'clock. I could not feel free until a quarter to four, and the time began to feel very long and wearisome.
In general, I was a boy of manifold resources, and every moment of my leisure time seemed too short for the many purposes to which I would willingly have applied it. But on this particular afternoon I seemed to weary of everything. Even my last new book of fairy stories failed to interest me. I felt as if, instead of fancying myself the hero of the tale, I was perpetually being compared, by my own conscience, to the unamiable characters—Cinderella's sisters, for instance, or the elder of the two princes who lived in a country long ago and nowhere in particular; elder brothers being in fairy tales, as all true connoisseurs are aware, jealous, cruel, and sure to come to a bad end; whilst the younger brothers are persecuted, forgiving, and finally triumphant, marrying disenchanted princesses, and living happy ever after. I threw aside my fairy book, and sought for some other means of amusement in a repository of odds and ends, established in a corner of the room by the housemaid, whose efforts to observe order in disorder were most praiseworthy. There I was glad to discover a piece of willow-bough stripped of its twigs, and in course of preparation for the manufacture of a bow. Immediately I set myself to adjusting a piece of string to it, and completing its construction. This occupation was far more engrossing than the reading had proved; and almost sooner than I had expected, the three-quarters chime of the clock proclaimed my liberation. I seized my garden hat, ran down-stairs, and sped out upon the lawn, determined to feel very merry, and to enjoy trying my newly-made bow as much as possible. It was annoying that Frisk had gone with the horses—it made me feel more lonely not to have him to play with; but still, my hour's imprisonment being over, I thought I could find plenty of amusement. So I began firing away certain home-made arrows, to which my mother's loving fingers had carefully fastened feathers; putting up a flower-pot on a stand as a mark, and trying to hit it. But the arrows did not go very far after all, and I leant down upon the bow and tightened the string, and then tightened it again, until there was a sudden snap, and a collapse—it had broken in two pieces! I threw the bow aside in disgust, and went off into the shrubbery, and then down the carriage drive, hoping to meet my mother; but she happened to be detained that afternoon at one of the cottages where she was visiting, and missed her usual time for returning. Feeling very dreary and disconsolate, I finally wandered back again into the house, and hung about in the different rooms in a listless, dissatisfied mood, until, at about half past five, I could hear the rapid tread of horses' feet, and in another moment my father and Aleck cantered up to the door. Frisk was flourishing about in his usual style, and found me out in a moment, jumping up upon my shoulders, and licking my hands, and expressing in perfectly comprehensible language his regret that I had not been of the party, and his pleasure in seeing me again.
Aleck was in a high state of spirits, triumphant at having proved himself sufficient of a horseman to manage the gray, and delighted with all the incidents of the expedition. He did not know the reason of my having stayed at home; but told me how sorry he was I had not been with them, and tumultuously recounted the various pleasures he had enjoyed.
"See, I've got lots of shells," he said, "and several beautiful madrepores. You must have some of them. They'd had a wedding, too, and we had to eat some of the bride-cake, and drink their health, and—"
But Aleck's enumeration did not proceed further, for I think my father perceived how keenly I was feeling the contrast between his joyous excitement and my own very dreary heaviness of heart, and called to me to come to the study with him, and put away his riding whip. So I gladly turned away from my cousin, and followed my father to his room.
To some children, the study, library, or whatever other room is consecrated to the use of the head of the family, is a sort of dreadful and solemn place, generally closed to them, but opening from time to time as a court of justice, to which they are brought when their misdemeanours have exceeded usual bounds, and are considered to require severer measures than are within the province of the lesser authorities. Very alarming, in consequence, is the summons when it comes.
With me, however, the case was happily very different; the study was associated with countless hours of happy intercourse with a father whose very countenance was beaming with love. Times of reproof and punishment there had been also, but the returning happiness of forgiveness, the loving words of advice, the kind and constant sympathy, I never failed to find from him, made me look upon an invitation to his room as the best thing that could happen to me, whether I was happy or in trouble.
"My poor little Willie," he said, sitting down almost immediately, and drawing me towards himself; "have you been very sorrowful?"
I hid my face on his shoulder, and sobbed out that I was quite miserable.
"Have you thought what it is that has made your day so sad, Willie?" he asked, kindly.
"Yes, papa," I answered between my sobs; "I wasn't allowed to go to Stavemoor, and I was so unhappy in my own room all alone, and—and—I broke my bow just after I had finished making it—"
"But the beginning of all this unhappiness, Willie—quite the beginning?"
"Aleck's having the gray, papa," I said. "I think that was quite the beginning."
"So do I think so, my child," rejoined my father; "or rather, the wrong feelings to which this gave rise. And now consider, Willie, how wrong and ungrateful you have been, to let this grow up into such a trouble. Just think of all to-day's mercies: your home, your loving papa and mamma, all the comforts that so many little boys are without; and then, besides all these, a pleasant excursion planned to give you special pleasure on your half holiday. And, in the midst of all these blessings, instead of being thankful and happy, you are suddenly overwhelmed, as though by a great misfortune; not because any of your enjoyments are to be diminished, but because another is to have a pleasure which you think greater."
My father paused for a moment, and I could not help feeling that, according to his way of putting it, I certainly had been both naughty and foolish: still, it occurred to me that being happy was not in itself possible at all times; and that, similarly, if I were unhappy, I was unhappy, not by choice, but because it was not in my power to feel otherwise. I thought this, not indeed in words, or in any semblance of coherent argument, but in a sort of confused perplexity, which was only partly represented by my reply to my father:—
"Papa, I couldn't help feeling unhappy when I heard you talking about Aleck's going. I couldn't make myself feel happy."
"Ah, Willie, you've come to the root of the matter now," he answered;—"'couldn't make myself feel happy!' That is just it, Willie; a wrong feeling of envy came into your heart—you know it was a wrong feeling that feeling of dislike that another should be happy, so I need not waste time in proving it to you; and you could not chase the enemy from your own heart, so, without ever remembering that there is One who promises to help all who cry to Him for help, and who is stronger than the strong man armed, you give in at once to the enemy; and as you couldn't help yourself, came out of the battle conquered and vanquished."
I hung my head down, feeling I had been a coward. "I'm so sorry, papa," I whispered.
"I thought you would be ere long, my child," he said. "I hope you used the time in your room partly as I intended."
I knew I hadn't, and felt still more ashamed of myself, but said nothing; I was never required to mention whether I had followed my parents' advice on such occasions, they were so fearful of making me a hypocrite.
"Our heavenly Father will have forgiven you all your fault, if you have sought forgiveness through Jesus Christ; and now your earthly father is quite ready to forgive also, as you seem really sorry."
My father gave me a kiss, and I threw my arms around his neck, and felt the loneliness and sadness of the day all over. My mother came in a few moments later, and joined us in the study, and with her loving, gentle words, completed my happiness in being forgiven and received back again into my usual position.
She did not forget all that had passed, however. I found that out at our Bible readings; for almost the very next day she took for her subject with us boys, the sin of envy and its consequences, and the best means of conquering it. I can remember to this hour the different illustrations—Cain, and Saul, and the blood-thirsty Pharisees on the one side; and Moses, and David, and Jonathan, and Paul, on the other; and the verses we found out in Proverbs and in the Epistles: they perhaps did me some good at the time, but my heart was not really touched. I had not found out, in my own little personal experience, what my father meant by the Fountain opened for all uncleanness, and there were bitter but necessary lessons still in store for me.