"This glory may belong even to a child," said Mr. Presgrave. "A dear little boy not ten years of age, in a moment of danger and pain, could say to his agonised mother, 'Mamma, do not cry; I am not afraid to die!' That child, amid intense sufferings, glorified his God; not a murmur escaped his expiring lips, and he showed how, even in childhood, a Christian may die!"
"Were our souls really full of the love of God," said Mrs. Presgrave, "we should ever be listening to that voice which says, 'Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.'"
"I am not afraid to die!" exclaimed Percy. "Oh! That is the secret of true courage, I believe."
"We can imagine nothing," replied Mr. Presgrave, "more calculated to give firmness and heroism us circumstances of danger, than the blessed belief that God is with us, that He orders all things for our good; and that death itself, to the humble Christian, is but the gate, the entrance to glory! For what said the holy David, persecuted, hunted, surrounded by perils: 'The Lord is my light and my salvation—whom shall I fear? The Lord is the strength of my life—of whom shall I be afraid? Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I WILL FEAR NO EVIL, FOR THOU ART WITH ME!'"
[CHAPTER XI.]
DISPERSION.
The next day the young party assembled at Ivy Lodge dispersed to their various destinations. Amy, like a restless butterfly, fluttered through the house in the bustle of preparation all the morning, conveying packet after packet, to be heaped up, one upon another, on one of the old-fashioned oak chairs in the hall. Her brother's heavy portmanteau she placed on her own band-box, some books lent by Willy, a paint-box given by Mr. Presgrave, a portfolio of prints crowning the pile. What wonder if, the first time that Tom passed the heap, books, portfolio, and portmanteau fell crashing upon the floor, and the edge of the paint-box made its way through the band-box! Good-natured Jessy and merry little Julia came in a moment to their companion's assistance. Bella was too busy with "The Lord of the Isles" to give heed either to crash or exclamation.
At length the Clarence rolled to the door. There was shaking of hands, and oft-repeated good-byes, as Louis and his sisters, one by one, left the house. Mr. Presgrave stood on the threshold to see them depart; the bright sunlight shone on his venerable bald head, surrounded as by a crown of silvery hair, as he gave each child his parting blessing, and inwardly prayed for the welfare of all.
Just as the carriage was about to move off, trunks and parcels without, smiling faces within, Julia came running with a large nosegay which she had just gathered for Jessy. "You will like to have flowers in London," said she, "and they will remind you of dear Ivy Lodge."
Next appeared an invalid chair, drawn by a donkey, to take Percy to his less distant home. A joyless home it was, and the poor lame lad could scarcely force a smile to his lips as he bade adieu to his friends. His uncle was an attorney in the village of Meade, a man cold in manner and habits, who, never having had his heart softened by domestic ties, had little sympathy or kindliness for the sickly boy. Mr. Presgrave marked the expression of Percy's pale face, the moistening of the eye, which he in vain tried to hide.