“Why, so I am,” said Arthur.
“Yes; but I mean, I have not any brother, and you have not either. I wish you would be the same to me as if we were. Will you?”
“Yes,” said Arthur, with a half smile, for he felt a little shy; but he wanted to say something kind, so he said, “Very well then, we can; and when my father and mother come home from India, you can come to us, you know.”
And then Arthur turned away, and began his walk to Myrtle Hill at a running pace. But he was thinking all the way very much of his talk with Edgar North, so that when he reached his aunt’s house, the earnest look was on his face still. The darkness had not yet fallen, but the evening shades were gathering. Mrs. Estcourt was in the garden, looking out for her little nephew. She was very fond of Arthur; of course there were times when things did not run altogether smoothly between them, because, although he was a follower of the Lord Jesus Christ, and really tried to please Him, he had a strong will and a hot temper. But if Mrs. Estcourt saw his faults, she saw his struggles too; and she noticed when he gave up, what was a great matter to a boy, such as he was; and she knew that this was not natural. She knew that it was God’s love that made Arthur glad; and often in her heart’s secret depths she would wish to be a child like him once more, that she might believe as simply; for thoughts and questions made her very unhappy at times, and the reasonings of her natural mind prevented her enjoying the promises that God gives. But was she not making a mistake? Could she not become a little child, as God has told us all to do? Could she not cease to think, and begin to believe, and take the portion of joy and life from the One, who has said, “It is more blessed to give than to receive”?
Arthur went to look at one particular corner of the grounds, which his aunt had given him for his very own; it was hidden by a bend in the trees, and he had expended a great deal of care and skill on this garden-plot. First of all Arthur had intended, that his estate should have a river flowing through it; but when he had dug a deep trench, and filled it, he was much disappointed to find that the water sunk into the earth; and even when he had lined it with stones and oyster-shells, there was only a very faint trickling stream, and not the brimming river, that he had fancied to himself; so then, in disgust, Arthur levelled the banks of his river, and determined to plan his garden anew. At present it was really a pretty one, though perhaps a little too bright, with hollyhocks and geraniums. Two very large roses stood at the entrance, and the scarlet geraniums were blooming there. There was a gravel walk through the middle, that led up to a grotto, and the ferns that were growing there were well watered. Arthur would have help from no one, in the care of his garden; and considering this, its neatness did him great credit.
Mrs. Estcourt thought so too, as they stood together inside the enclosure, which was all his own.
“Why, Arthur, I think you had better turn gardener, when you choose a profession,” she said.
“A gardener, aunt! Well, I shouldn’t mind. But I am not quite sure I shall not be something else.”
“What would that be?” asked his aunt.
“Well, I think I might be a missionary.”