Pat the Lighthouse Boy

by Evelyn Everett-Green

"Why, no, I hardly think she do," answered Jim, with a smile; "I'd got into the way of thinking and speaking of her as though she were alive—it seemed a bit of company when one was all alone. But when I wasn't alone any more, why, she didn't seem to be more than a big lamp then. I always look out for her of a night when the light shines over the sea, but I don't seem to want to be over there no more. It's wonderful how one grows to like the life one has to lead. I used to think I'd never be happy off Lone Rock, and now——"

"I know you're happy here, Jim," said Pat, with a quick upward glance of loving admiration; "you always look so happy!"

"I oughter to be ashamed of myself, if I wasn't," said Jim. "If I was a prince I couldn't be better took care of, and me able to do so little. It 'ud make me ashamed, it would, if our lady wasn't the sweetest mistress that ever drew breath. It does one good to see her face day by day. It's like a bit of God's sunshine come down on earth—that's what it is."

"Yes, I do love her, and little Prince Rupert too," answered Pat eagerly. "Oh, Jim! what a thing it's been for us your swimming into the sea that night and pulling him out. It hurt you a great deal, I know; but you're glad you went, aren't you?"

Jim's face wore a look that it often did when his thoughts were growing beyond his powers of expression. It was some little time before he tried to speak.

"Yes, Pat, lad, I'm glad enough I went; but I'd have been just as glad, I hope, if it hadn't brought none of these good things to us."

"Do you mean you'd have been glad if you'd had to go to the workhouse as mother was afraid once?" asked Pat, with wide-open eyes; and Jim looked at the boy with a curious half-smile in his eyes.

"Well, I suppose the Lord Jesus is with His folks in the workhouse as well as anywhere else, Pat, and if so be as He's there, I can't think it could be such a bad place. I know old folks make a deal of fuss against going there, and may be it's right to struggle as long as one can to earn a living oneself; nay, I'm sure it is. But if so be as He sends sickness, and there's nothing else for it, why, I suppose He'll be there to take the sting away, like as He does always. I don't think folks think quite enough about that when they talk agin the workhouse. It's the way we get into of thinking all about ourselves and scarce a bit about Him."

"That's not your way, Jim," said Pat warmly; "I think you're always thinking of Him."

"I've got so much lost time to make up, you see, Pat," answered the man gravely; "I'd never thought of Him, and of all He'd done for me, till you brought it back to me again. I've lived the best part of my life without Him. It's wonderful how He'll take the poor bit that's left, when all one's best years were spent in forgetting and scorning Him."