Stuart felt pretty sober that evening.
“I suppose I ought not to have stirred him up so this morning,” he said. “But it is such fun! And it was all about a trifle. I used his hair-brush; and he is as particular as any old maid. Then I tormented him a little, and he seized the brush and gave me a box on the ear, which I won’t take from any one without a row. I am not a baby. And it was awful mean of him! And so we clinched. But he has been in a dreadful temper for the last month. He was mad because Stephen wouldn’t let him go to Lake George with a lot of fellows.”
“It was fortunate that he did not,” returned mamma. “And, Stuart, I hope, in the weeks to come, you will learn your duty towards him. God has not given you this tie for you to disregard so utterly.”
Stuart looked at her with wondering eyes, but made no answer.
“Our first experience with boys seems to be rather trying,” said Fanny, as we were going to bed that night. “I hope and pray that he may not die—and in our house!”
I thought of what Stephen had asked of me.
CHAPTER V.
An awesome quiet settled over the house. I did not remember a time when any one had ever been very sick. The children gathered in groups, and spoke in whispers, and for a day or two Stuart appeared almost conscience-stricken. But his natural flow of spirits could not be repressed. Yet his laugh jarred on my nerves. We were used to caring so much for each other’s welfare and comfort, and sympathizing with sorrows or trivial illnesses, that his carelessness seemed to us as something quite dreadful. Yet he was so pleasant and good-natured, so ready to do anything that was asked of him, though he never appeared to think that he might volunteer any little service.
“We must make some allowance for them,” mamma said, in her kindly fashion. “Remember that they have had no mother. Much of their lives has been spent at school; and their uncle was a cold and rather arrogant man, papa thinks. So they have had no chance to acquire the graces of home life.”