“O mamma!” exclaimed Agnes.
“I have seen and heard children in the street do it,” replied Mrs Proctor. “This is a thing almost below notice; but I mentioned it while we were reckoning up our troubles.”
“Well, what else?” said Hugh.
“Sooner or later, you will have to follow some way of life, determined by this accident, instead of one that you would have liked better. But we need not think of this yet:—not till you have become quite accustomed to your lameness.”
“Well, what else?”
“I must ask you now. I can think of nothing more; and I hope there is not much else; for indeed I think here is quite enough for a boy—or any one else—to bear.”
“I will bear it, though,—you will see.”
“You will find great helps. These misfortunes, of themselves, strengthen one’s mind. They have some advantages too. You will be a better scholar for your lameness, I have no doubt. You will read more books, and have a mind richer in thoughts. You will be more beloved;—not out of mere pity; for people in general will soon leave off pitying you, when once you learn to be active again; but because you have kept faith with your schoolfellows, and shown that you can bear pain. Yes, you will be more loved by us all; and you yourself will love God more for having given you something to bear for his sake.”
“I hope so,—I think so,” said Hugh. “O mother! I may be very happy yet.”
“Very happy; and, when you have once made up your mind to everything, the less you think and speak about it, the happier you will be. It is very right for us now, when it is all new, and strange, and painful, to talk it well over; to face it completely; but when your mind is made up, and you are a Crofton boy again, you will not wish to speak much of your own concerns, unless it be to me, or to Agnes, sometimes, when your heart is full.”