“And if, instead of triumph, they should ever be in trouble or sorrow, still more would I love to be with them, to share it. But most of all do I trust and pray they may both make a constant friend of the Saviour, who wants us all to cast our burdens on Him, and follow the example He has left us in all things.”
There was a silence for some moments after this home message fell on the brothers’ ears. The hearts of both were full—too full for words—but I think, had the widow-mother far away been able to divine the secret thoughts of her boys, hope would have mingled with all her pity and all her solicitude on their account.
But the old trouble, for the present at any rate, was destined to swamp all other emotions.
Oliver continued reading: “Christmas will not be so very long now in coming. We must have a real snug, old-fashioned time of it here. Uncle Henry has promised to come, and your cousins. It would be nice if you could persuade Mr Wraysford to come here then. I am so anxious to see him again. Tell him from me I reckon on him to be one of our party if he can possibly manage it.”
“Baa!” exclaimed Stephen. “The beast! I’ll let her know what sort of blackguard the fellow is!”
“Easy all, young ’un,” said Oliver.
“I shan’t easy all, Noll!” exclaimed the boy; “he is a blackguard, you know he is, and I hate him.”
“I think he’s a fool just now,” said Oliver, “but—well, he fished you out of the Thames, Stee; you oughtn’t to call him a blackguard.”
“I wish he’d left me in the Thames,” said Stephen, nearly breaking down. “I’ve been miserable enough this term for half a dozen.”
Oliver looked hard and long at his young brother. It never seemed to have occurred to him before how deeply the boy took the trouble of his elder brother to heart.