“I couldn’t have gone there and in that way but for you. Perhaps he has told you—” and his eyes questioned mine.
“No,” I answered, glad that we had not discussed it.
“I went to him. I believe it was the first manly step of my life. But, oh, I felt so forlorn and miserable—I can’t tell you! If he had been cold and cross I believe I should have gone and thrown myself in the river.”
“He was not.”
“Oh, Rose, it was like the story of the prodigal son. ‘Fell upon his neck and kissed him.’ I remember his kissing me the day father was buried, and I do not believe any one ever did since till then. It melted all my soul. Somehow I think he is wonderfully changed. His goodness is so tender.”
“And you love him?”
“Love isn’t any word. I absolutely adore him! I did not think it was in me, or in him. And all through the weeks that followed, for I was very ill and miserable, he was so good. I never talked to any one before, except you, somehow I could not. But he found his way to my heart and said he would help me, that we would both try together, for he had many faults to correct, that God had given us the tie of brotherhood for a high and holy purpose, that we were to help and strengthen each other; as if, Rose—as if I could do anything for him!”
“Yes, you can,” I replied. “You can keep him tender and cordial and brotherly.”
“So he said. We did not come to this all at once, and Mrs. Whitcomb’s cheerfulness helped. I had to try hard to be patient. I was so used to flying out at everything. You see, at uncle’s they all knew that I had a bad temper, they expected me to explode or sulk on the slightest provocation, and only laughed or tormented me. If I had been taught to control myself, it would never have been so dreadful.”
“It is good to have the lesson learned now.”