The Orphans of Glen Elder

by Margaret M. Robertson

His only answer was to press her fingers more closely over the little packet of money, as he drew her towards the parlour-door.

“I will go with you by-and-by, but first you must come in and see my boys. Mrs Gordon wants to see you, too,” said he.

The room into which they passed was a large and pleasant one, and Lilias never forgot it, nor the kind words which were spoken to her there. The bright yet softened light of a lamp made all parts of it visible. Over the mantelpiece was a large mirror, and there were heavy crimson curtains on the windows, and many pictures on the walls. On a low chair, near the fire, sat a lady with a boy in her arms, and several other children were playing about the room. They became quiet as their father entered, and gazed with some curiosity on the stranger.

“This is my little friend, Lilias Elder,” said the doctor. “It is fortunate she came to-night. We might not have found her to-morrow.”

Mrs Gordon received Lilias very kindly, speaking to her in a voice so tender, that, in spite of herself, it brought the tears to her eyes. Noticing her emotion, Mrs Gordon did not speak to her again for a moment, and the children gathering round her, she quickly recovered herself in receiving and returning their greetings.

When tea was fairly over, and the boys had gone to bed, a long conversation took place between Lilias and her friends. Dr Gordon was the father of six sons, but he had no daughter, and his heart overflowed with love and pity for the orphan girl. Through all the long illness of her father and brother, she had been an object of interest to the kind physician. Her never-wearying attention to both, and the evident comfort and support she had been to her mother in all her trials, had filled him with admiration and pleasure. For months he had lost sight of the family, and various circumstances had occurred to withdraw his thoughts from the subject; but now that he had found Lilias an orphan and in want, he longed to take her to his heart and home.

“I ought, perhaps, to have spoken first to your aunt, your natural guardian; but I think she will be willing to give you up to us. We will try and make you happy, my child.”

Lilias shed many grateful tears as their plans were unfolded to her; but to all their kind words she had but one answer. It could not be. She could never leave Archie. He was ill and lame, and had no one else, and she had promised her mother always to take care of him.

It was in vain that they assured her that his health and comfort should be cared for; that, though for the present they might be separated, he would still be her brother, and that her change of circumstances would be, as beneficial to him as to her in the end. They urged her to consider, and not to decide hastily. They would wait, weeks or months, till her brother was better, so that she could leave him with her aunt.

But no. It could not be. It would seem like forsaking him. She had promised their mother always to take care of him. Nothing could make it right to break that promise.