Oliver’s first words to her were, that he believed his father was safe on his way to Holland, and would soon be coming back. The pastor’s first words were, as he placed Mildred in her arms—
“Two children are here restored to you. Will you not patiently resign your other little one?”
The speechless mother was hurrying away, with Mildred on her bosom, and drawing Oliver by the hand, which she clasped convulsively, when he said—
“Mother, help me to keep a promise I have made. Here is Roger Redfurn—very ill. I promised we would not forsake him. Let him go with us, till he is well.”
“Whatever you will, my boy; but do not leave me, Oliver,—not for a moment.”
“Go on,” said the pastor. “We are bringing Roger after you. We shall be at home as soon as you.”
“Home,” was the friendly farm-house. There, before the end of the day, had Oliver learned that his morning signal had been seen from the large boat; and that the reason why the large boat had rowed away was, not only that it was full, but that the waters were now too shallow about the Red-hill for any but small craft. Before the end of the day Mrs Linacre had been seen to look like herself once more; and Ailwin had told to the wondering neighbours the tale of the few days, which seemed now like years to look back upon. She told more than even Oliver had observed of the miserable state of their place of refuge, which would soon have been a place of death. Scarcely a breathing thing, she said, was left alive: and, in going to the boat, she had seen the soaked bee-hives upset, and the chilled bees lying about, as if there was no spirit left in them. She shuddered when she thought of the Red-hill. Then she stimulated the farm-house people to take care of Roger,—a task in which Oliver left them little to do. They were willing enough, however; for Ailwin told them that though Roger had been an odd boy in his time, owing to his having been brought up by queer people, yet, considering that those people were drowned and gone, and that Roger had been noticed by a lord, she did not doubt he might turn out well, if it so pleased God.
How closely did Mildred clasp her mother’s neck that evening! Knowing nothing else, and feeling very strangely, she yet understood that she was in a place of shelter and comfort, and felt that her head rested on her mother’s bosom—on that pillow which has something so far better than all warmth and softness. By degrees she began to be aware that there was cool and fresh water, and sweet-smelling flowers, and that she was tenderly bathed, and laid to rest on a bed which was neither wet nor under a tree. There was a surprising silence all round her, she felt, as she grew stronger, which no one yet attempted to explain to her; but her mother smiled at her so happily, that she supposed she was recovering.
Mrs Linacre did look happy, even in the midst of her tears for her poor baby. Mildred was recovering, Oliver ate and slept, and whistled under the window—like a light-hearted boy, as he once again amused himself with carving every piece of hard wood he could find. It was clear that he had escaped the fever; and every day that refreshed his colour, and filled out his thin face again, brought nearer the hour of his father’s return.