Later, he had not been so well. A note from his sister informed Mabel that "Willy wished to thank her for her kind letters, but he was not quite strong enough to write."
At last they brought him home, and Mabel, calling as soon as she learned of the arrival, was met by Miss Louise, whose sad pale face told of nights of watching and of hope almost gone.
"The doctor says he may linger until the leaves fall," she said, in answer to Mabel's inquiries; then with a passionate outburst, "O Mabel, it is cruel, cruel, to take away our darling! This is your kind, loving God!"
Mabel sat down beside her friend, offering no word of reply, no attempt at consolation, knowing too well how worse than useless are words when the soul first tastes the bitterness of death, remembering her own hour of darkness, for once in Mabel Wynn's young life, death had come very near taking away a bright earthly hope. So she waited until Louise grew calm and spoke again.
"Willy has several times said he should not get well, but we thought it a fancy, until this morning Dr. Myers told us the same. But I won't give up yet. He must get well."
"Louise, dear friend—" began Mabel.
"Oh, I know what you are going to say. You Christians talk about submission to the will of God, but I don't see that the most do not rebel quite as often as we do."
"Does Willy?" asked Mabel, softly.
"No; but he is unlike any one I ever knew. The darling! I cannot give him up. You need not talk resignation to me."
"I will not," returned Mabel. "You mistook my intention. Until you look upon God as your friend you cannot say, 'Thy will be done.' I think you will grow to feel differently; but just now I only wanted to say that in your grief, you must not forget what awaits him, how he will be welcomed in the other world, how more than all you have hoped for him here will be realized there. He is very dear to me. I have watched him ripening for the time of his ingathering, and I feel sure that he is Christ's very own."