THROUGH THE SLOUGH OF DESPOND.
TOLD BY JACK.
THE man to massage Felix came the next day; but, except for the time he was there, Phil took entire charge of Fee. He had always declared he wasn't of any use in a sick-room, but now he seemed to get on very well; you can't think how kind and gentle he was!
For one thing, Fee wasn't hard to suit, and that helped things a great deal. If Phil made a mistake, or did something awkwardly, Fee just turned it off in a joking way. He was very white and languid, but not at all sad; in fact, he kept our spirits up with his funny sayings. We all thought it was amazing; nurse said he was "a born angel," and now and then I saw Phil look wistfully at Fee, as if wondering how he could be so brave. And Felix, when he caught Phil's eye, would give a roguish little smile, and say something so merry that we had to laugh.
The only part that troubled me was that Phil stuck so closely to Fee that nobody else got a chance to do anything for him. I just longed to go in and sit with Fee a while, but the doctor didn't want more than one to be with him at a time; and what with Nora, and nurse, and Phil, I didn't get any chance at all until about the third day that Fee'd been ill. A telegram came that morning from Miss Marston, saying she was on the way home, and would arrive early in the afternoon, and that we would start for the Cottage the next day,—she didn't know about Fee; we'd been so upset that nobody had thought of writing her.
Well, that threw Nora into what Phil calls "a state of mind," and she and nurse began getting things together and packing 'em.
I just hate packing times; you have to keep running up and down stairs carrying things, and all that, and you don't have a minute to yourself for reading. But of course I had to help, and I was busy in the nursery handing things to nurse off a shelf, when Phil came to the door with his hat on. He looked brighter than he had for some time. "Jack," he said, "will you sit with Felix for a while? I have to go out; but I'll be back as soon as I can."
Of course I was only too glad, and I went right to Fee's room. He looked tired, and those circles under his eyes were very big and dark; but he smiled at me, and chatted for a few minutes. Then presently, after Phil'd gone, he said: "Would you mind taking a seat over there in the window, Jack? I want to do a little quiet thinking. There's a nice book on the table; take it. Phil said he wouldn't be away long."
"PACKING TIMES."
I was disappointed,—I wanted to talk with him; but I took the book and went over to the window.
It was a capital story, and I soon got interested in it. I don't know how long I'd read—I was enjoying the story so much—when I heard a queer, smothered sound, and it came from the direction of Felix.
In a minute I was by his side, exclaiming, "Why, what's the matter, Fee?"
He had slipped down in the bed, and while his poor helpless legs still lay stretched straight out, he'd twisted the upper part of his body so that he was now lying a little on his side, hugging one of the pillows, and with his face buried in it. His shoulders were shaking, and when he raised his head to answer me, I saw the tears were streaming down his cheeks.
"Shut the door—quick!" he cried, gasping between the words. "Lock it—pile the furniture against it—don't let a creature in—oh, don't let them see me!"
I flew to the door and locked it; and by the time I got back to the bed, Fee seemed to have lost all control over himself. He twisted and twitched, rolling his head restlessly from side to side,—one minute throwing his arms out wildly as far as they could reach, the next snatching at the pillows or the bed-clothes, and trying to stuff them into his mouth. And all the time he kept making that horrible sharp gasping noise,—as if he were almost losing his breath.
I was dreadfully scared at first,—that Felix, of all people, should act this way! I got goose-flesh all over, and just stood there staring at Fee, and that seemed only to make him worse.
"Don't stare at me like that. Oh, don't, don't, don't!" he cried out. "I can't help this—really—I can't, I can't! Oh, if I could only scream without the others hearing me!" He threw his head back and beat the pillows with his outstretched arms.
Then, somehow, I began to understand: a great lump came in my throat, and taking hold of one of Fee's cold, clammy hands, I commenced stroking and patting it without a word.
His fingers were twitching so I could hardly hold them, and he talked very fast,—almost as if he couldn't stop himself.
"Don't tell them of this, Jack," he begged, in that sharp gasping voice, "don't tell them! they wouldn't understand—they'd worry—and poor Phil would be wretched. I know what this is to him,—poor old fellow! I see the misery in his face from day to day, and I've tried—so hard—to keep everything in—and be cheerful—so he shouldn't guess—until I thought I should go mad! Oh, think of what this means to me, Jack! College, profession, hopes, ambitions—gone forever—nothing left but to lie here—for the rest of my life—a useless hulk—a cumberer of the ground. Only seventeen, Jack, and I may live to be eighty—like this! never to go about—never to walk again. Oh, if I might die!"—his voice got shrill,—"if God would only let me die! I've always been a poor useless creature,—and now, now, of what good am I in the world? Nothing but a burden and a care. Oh, how shall I ever, ever endure it!"
I was so nervous that I began shaking inside, and I had to speak very slowly to keep my voice from shaking too. "Don't talk so foolishly, Fee," I said,—but not unkindly, you know. "Why, I don't know what we'd all do without you,—having you to ask things of, and to tell us what to do. I know papa depends on you an awful lot; and Miss Marston said the day she went away that she wouldn't've gone if she hadn't known you would be here to look after us and keep things straight; and what would Nannie do without you? Talk about being of no use,—just think what you've saved Phil from!"
"I am thankful for that," broke in Felix, "most thankful! I don't regret what I did that night, Jack. I'd do it again if need be, even knowing that it must end like this,"—with a despairing motion of his hand toward his helpless legs.
Then he added eagerly, breathlessly, "Don't ever tell Phil about this morning, Jack,—that I feel so terribly about the accident. Don't tell him,—'twould break his heart. I hope he'll never know. I pretended to be cheerful, I laughed and talked to cheer him up, but my heart grew heavier and heavier, and my head felt as if it were being wound up; I was afraid I'd go mad and tell the whole thing out. Oh, Jack, it's those dreary days, those endless years of uselessness that terrify me. Oh, help me to be strong! Oh, Jack, help me! help me!"
His arms began to fly about again; he had thrown off his glasses, and his big hollow eyes stared at me with a wild, beseeching expression in them.
"I'm so afraid—I'll scream out—and then they'll all hear me—and know," he gasped. "Oh, give me something, quick—oh, do something for me before I lose entire control of myself."
I flew to the table and got him some water; I didn't know what else to do, and he wouldn't let me call anybody,—even just speaking of it made him wild. Then I fanned him, and knelt by the bed stroking one of his hands. But nothing seemed to help him. And then—God must have put the thought into my mind—I said suddenly, "Fee, dear, I'm going to sing to you;" and before he could say no, I began.
At first I could hardly keep my voice steady,—on account of that horrid, inward shaking,—but I went right on, and gradually it got better.
I sang very softly and went from one hymn to the other, just as they came to my mind: First, "O Mother dear, Jerusalem,"—I love that old hymn!—then, "And now we fight the battle, but then shall win the crown;" and then, "The Son of God goes forth to war." That's one of Fee's favourites, and he sobbed right out when I sang,—
"'Who best can drink his cup of woe,
Triumphant over pain;
Who patient bears his cross below,—
He follows in His train.'"
But I kept on,—really, I felt as if I couldn't stop,—and when I got to the last line of "For all the saints who from their labours rest," Fee whispered, "Sing those verses again, Jack."
I knew which he meant; so I sang:—
"'Thou wast their Rock, their Fortress, and their Might;
Thou, Lord, their Captain in the well-fought fight;
Thou, in the darkness drear, the one true Light.
Alleluia!
"O may Thy soldiers, faithful, true, and bold,
Fight as the saints who nobly fought of old,
And win, with them, the victor's crown of gold.
Alleluia!
"And when the strife is fierce, the warfare long,
Steals on the ear the distant triumph-song,
And hearts are brave again, and arms are strong.
Alleluia!'"
Fee lay quiet when I finished. He was still twitching, and tears were slipping down his cheeks from under his closed lids; but he no longer made that dreadful gasping sound, and there was a beautiful expression on his mouth,—so sweet and patient. "I've not been a soldier 'faithful, true, and bold,'" he said sadly, "but a miserable coward. Ah! how we must weary God with our grumblings and complainings, our broken resolutions and weaknesses. I prayed with all my heart and strength for Phil, that he might be saved from that crowd. And now that God has granted my prayer, I bewail His way of doing it. I was willing then to say, 'At any cost to myself,' and here I am shrinking from the share He has given me! dreading the pain and loneliness. A faithless soldier, Jack,—not worthy to be called a soldier."
"Oh! not faithless," I put in eagerly; "indeed, Fee, you're not faithless. Even if you do shrink from this—this trouble—it's only just here between us; you are going to be brave over it,—you know you are. Going to be! why, Fee, I think you are the bravest boy! the truest, noblest—" I had to stop; that lump was just swelling up in my throat.
"No," Fee said mournfully, drawing his breath in as Kathie does hers sometimes when she's been crying for a long while; "no, Jack, I'm not really brave,—not yet! I'm going to bear this only because I must—because I can't escape it. Perhaps, by and by, strength may come to endure the trial more patiently; but now—I dread it. I would fly from it if I could; I would die rather than face those awful years of helplessness! See what a poor creature your 'brave boy' is, Jack." His lips were quivering, and he folded one arm over his eyes.
Then all at once there came back to me a talk which mamma and I once had, and I thought perhaps 'twould comfort poor Felix, so I tried to tell him as well as I could. "Fee, dear," I said, holding his hand tight in mine, and snuggling my head close up to his on the pillow, so I could whisper, "once, when mamma and I were talking, she said always to remember that God knows it's awfully hard for people to bear suffering and trouble; and that He always helps them and makes allowances for them, because He's our Father, and for the sake of His own dear Son, who had to go through so much trouble here on earth.
"And He knows, too, Fee,—Jesus knows just how you feel about this; don't you remember how He prayed that last night in Gethsemane that—if God would—He might not have to go through the awful trial of the cross? He meant to carry it right through, you know, all the time,—that's what He came on earth for; He meant to do every single thing that God had given Him to do, and just as bravely! But, all the same, He felt, too, how awfully hard 'twas going to be, and just for a little while beforehand He dreaded it,—just as you dread the years that'll have to pass before you can be well. See?
"And He knows your heart, Fee; He knows that you're going to be just as brave and patient as you can be, and He'll help you every time. Nannie and I'll ask Him for you—and Betty—and poor old Phil—all of us. And dear mamma's up there, too; perhaps she's asking Him to comfort you and make you strong. I feel as if she must be doing it,—she loved you so!"
Fee drew his hand out of mine, and raising his arm, touched my cheek softly with his feeble fingers, and for a few minutes we neither of us said a word.
Then there came a knock at the door; I scrambled to my feet, and going over, turned the key. Somebody brushed quickly by me with the swish of a girl's dress, and there was Nannie in the middle of the room! She ran toward Felix with her arms out, her brown eyes shining with love. "Oh, my darling!" she cried out, "my dear!"
I heard Fee's glad, breathless exclamation, "My twinnie!" Then Phil's arm went over my shoulders and drew me into the hall, and Phil's voice said softly in my ear, "Come, Rosebud, let's leave them alone for a while."