Half Brothers

by Hesba Stretton

It was four years before Phyllis came to live at home again; and the transformation was complete. The tom-boy of fourteen, with her excess of animal spirits, had developed into a bright and dainty girl of eighteen, with a grace and bloom about her like that of a flower just opening to the light. Her face was prettier, and her figure more graceful than even her mother had expected them to be. She could sing well, with a sweet, clear voice, that suggested the spontaneous joyousness of a song-bird. She seemed fond of reading; but she was still fonder of active pursuits. Sidney, who had taken little notice of her as a child, felt the charm of this bright, companionable young girl, who made Apley so much more lively when he came down from his busy London life. Hugh was now at Eton, and Philip was at Oxford with his cousin Dick. There was nothing to suggest caution or anxiety; and Phyllis spent more time at the Hall than she did at the Rectory. She owned frankly that she felt more at home there than in her father's house; and she fell into the position of a daughter quite naturally. She was introduced to London society under Margaret's wing; and received there the finishing touches to her education.

When Philip came home, he fancied he saw in his cousin Phyllis precisely the woman he would choose to make his wife.

She had grown up for him. The idea that this bright, lovely young girl had been destined for him from her birth, gave to him a feeling of perfect, undisturbed possession, precluding the necessity of claiming her, any more than the necessity of claiming his mother. Their lives were so blended and interwoven that it seemed impossible for them to be separated. There was no need of speech between them. They knew they loved one another; and that when the right hour came they would marry amid the general satisfaction and gladness of all their friends. Until then they lived for one another in the simplest and purest happiness. So Philip felt; and Laura was quite content that he should say nothing about his love, while he was still under age.

There was no actual concealment, however. Phyllis was seldom alone with him, for Hugh and her own brothers were constantly with them. When they wished for quiet converse, they sought it usually in Margaret's presence. She saw them reading together, singing together, walking arm in arm about the gardens and park; but then Phyllis read, and sang, and walked with all of the other young men, when any of them claimed her companionship. Margaret saw no difference in her manner or ways; if there was any difference, she was a shade more serious with Philip than the rest; but then Philip himself was the most thoughtful of all the youthful band.

In the training of her sons, Margaret had done her utmost to make them understand her views of life. Wealth and position, she pointed out to them, were among the poorest and smallest of the gifts of God; sometimes, seeing that wicked men can gain them by evil means, not the gift of God at all. Birth was not a much higher thing, though that, indeed, must be the gift of God, since they had no choice as to the circumstances, or the family, into which they were born. Better than these were the gifts of intellect; and Dick, who had a genius for mathematics, and Stephen, with an equally strong bent for science, possessed nobler powers than they did. Any great talent was better than silver and gold, or rank. Good temper alone was worth more than all the riches they could possess; and Phyllis's brightness and sweetness placed her higher than a duke's daughter who did not possess the same qualities.

"You will find the richest men among the poorest," she told them. "If a man is brave, true, unselfish, serviceable to his fellow-men, he is higher in the sight of God, though he may not own a penny, than the wealthiest man in the world. God cannot regard gold and land as riches."

"You pride yourselves on your birth?" she asked them; "you forget that you did not choose it—God gave it to you. It is a poor gift in itself, and perhaps you are the servants to whom the Lord could only intrust one or two pounds instead of ten. But do not lay it aside, and hide it in a napkin; use it worthily, and in the next life, or perhaps in this life, God will give you more and better gifts."

"The best gifts are those we get directly from God," she taught them, "and you must ask him for them yourselves—for no man can ask or seek these blessings for you—no other hand can knock at the gate till it is opened to you—and, what your spirit asks, the spirit of God gives. You are nearer to God than to me. You are dearer to his heart than to mine."

Sometimes Sidney, sitting by, while Margaret was teaching her boys, would smile to himself at her want of worldly wisdom. When she told them the loss of money was the smallest loss they could suffer, and asked them whether they would rather lose their sight, and never more see the faces of those they loved; or their hearing, and never again listen to dear voices and the glad and solemn sounds of music; or lose their friends by death, her and their father; and the boys would declare with eagerness that they would a thousand times rather face the world penniless than be bereft of any of these great gifts—then Sidney would say to himself how much greater would be the pity of rich men toward himself if he lost his large fortune, than if he lost sight, or hearing, or sons, or even this dear wife of his, with her unworldly spirit, who was in truth more precious to him than all gold and lands! It was sweet to hear Margaret talk in this way, but she spoke a language that had no meaning in the City.

Philip took a fairly good place at Oxford, but Dick far surpassed him. There had been no emulation between the young men, and Philip felt no grudge against Dick for his triumph and the distinction he earned. Dick's success had been very great, and both the Hall and the Rectory celebrated it with much rejoicing. Sidney, who had borne all the cost of the education of George's sons, was greatly pleased. But he was not less pleased that Philip had not distinguished himself in the same way. There was no need for his son and heir to win high honors at the university; he did not wish to see him a great mathematician or a fine classical scholar. That was all very well for Dick and Stephen, and the other boys, who had to earn their own living by sheer force of brain. For Philip it was more essential that he should be an all-round man.