The spring came, and passed away, with all its flowers and verdure, but George remained so feeble and dejected, that he was not able to return to school that quarter. Mr. Hope was greatly alarmed at the increasing debility of his son, though equally delighted with his mental improvement; and was not behindhand in making handsome presents to Mrs. Shirley, for the kind attention she payed to the suffering youth.
He likewise presented Josiah a beautiful pony, and a small library of choice books, as a testimony of his gratitude and esteem, which the young Quaker received with unfeigned pleasure; and, as he went to turn his new favourite into the meadow, Mr. Hope followed him, and, taking his arm, thus addressed him:—
“In spite of all your pains, my good Josiah, I fear my poor boy is fast hastening to the grave. Mr. Carter told me this morning he could assign no reason for his lingering illness; he thought it now rested entirely on the mind of the patient. You have many opportunities of noticing him, what is your opinion on the subject?”
“I agree with Mr. Carter, Sir,” replied Josiah; “though I cannot discover the reason of my friend’s obstinate grief. I have often questioned him, but to no purpose, as he only answers me on this head with tears.”
“I fear, my kind lad,” said Mr. Hope, sighing heavily as he spoke, “that it is some bad action he has committed before his illness, that lies upon his conscience; which, if once removed, would restore his health and spirits. If you can, my dear Josiah, possibly discover the cause of his dejection, I shall be greatly obliged to you.” Josiah promised to do his best, and Mr. Hope wished him good morning.
It happened that day, that George was in better spirits than usual; and Josiah, as he watched the bright glow which at times flushed his pale cheeks, hoped he was fast improving in health. The evening was uncommonly beautiful; and, after they returned from their accustomary walk, Rachel invited them to take a turn in the garden, and eat some nice ripe strawberries she had gathered in their absence.
They gladly accepted her offer, and retired to a bench at the bottom of the garden, which was overshadowed by a noble oak, which, in the language of that delightful poet of nature, Bloomfield—
“Had reached its full meridian height
Before our father’s father breathed.”
“Hark! how merrily the Reading bells are ringing,” said Josiah. “Listen, Rachel and George, how delightfully the sound, softened by distance, floats over the woods.”
“Yes, they sound very pretty,” replied Rachel; “but I wish they were not ringing, for we shall not hear the nightingale, as we did last night; and I prefer her sweet melancholy notes to the sound of those jingling bells.”