“How good every one is to me!” exclaimed Robin, as a parcel from the grocer’s was opened before him on the first day that he was able to quit his bed. “I only wish that I could send some of this to Will Aylmer; I am afraid that he has missed me while I was ill.”
“Oh, he has been looked after,” replied Mrs. Peters with a smile: her care-worn face was becoming quite bright again.
“Who has taken care of him?” inquired Robin.
“I must not tell you, my son; you are to hear all from the old man’s own lips.”
“I am afraid that it will be very long before I am strong enough to visit him;—how glad I shall be to see him again!”
Two or three days after this, a bright warm sun tempted the invalid to take advantage of the doctor’s permission, and try a little walk in the open air. Leaning on the arm of his thankful, happy mother, Robin again crossed that threshold which it once seemed so likely that he would only pass in his coffin. It was a sweet morning in the early spring, and oh, how delightful to him who had been confined on the couch of fever was the sunshine that lighted up the face of nature, the sight of the woods with their light mantle of green, the blue sky dappled with fleecy clouds; even the crocus and the snowdrop in his mother’s little garden seemed to speak of joy and hope; and pleasant was the feeling of the balmy breeze that played upon his pale, sunken cheek.
“The common air, the earth, the skies,
To him were opening paradise!”
Robin lifted up his heart in silent thanksgiving, and in prayer that the life which the Almighty had preserved might be always devoted to His service.
“Do you feel strong enough, my son, to walk as far as that cottage yonder?” inquired Mrs. Peters.