'As Gold in the Furnace' Part 24

"Go to the house, sir, and stay there for the rest of the day," said his mother, in a tone Tommy knew from experience was not to be disobeyed.

This was a great punishment for Tommy, for, of all things, he loved to be out of doors in the free air of heaven. There was, however, a certain manliness about the little fellow, so he went to his punishment without a word. He could not understand why his sister had screamed so much, and more especially why she did not now stop crying.

Ethel did not easily recover from her fright. Her mother brought her to the house and laid her on a cus.h.i.+oned lounge, where she remained all the afternoon completely prostrated. Tommy was told to stay in the same room, which he did more or less sulkily. He thought his punishment excessive, and he showed his resentment to his sister by being a little bit cross to her. Early in the afternoon he worked himself into the belief that he was actually the injured one. All this was a proceeding most unusual with Tommy.

The little girl lay on the lounge quite weakened and very sick from her adventure. She did not move, but lay still and quiet, with an occasional hard sob, resembling the last muttering of a storm in the distance. Toward four o'clock of that long afternoon she said faintly to her brother:

"Tommy, I am so thirsty; will you get me a drink?"

Now Master Tom was still quite ill-tempered and, contrary to his usual custom, very much disinclined to oblige her. Seeing a gla.s.s of water on the table, he handed it to her, saying:

"Here's some. Drink this."

She touched her feverish lips to it and said: "It's quite warm. It has been here all day. Mama brought it in this morning for the canary."

"Well, it's good water, anyhow," said Master Tommy, and he went back to his seat and sulked.

She sighed and closed her eyes without allaying her thirst. Presently Mrs. Henning came into the room, and saw, with alarm, that Ethel was in a high fever. She telephoned at once for the family physician, who was in his office when the message came. When he came he looked very grave, and declared that the child would not live more than twenty-four hours. The physician knew Ethel's const.i.tution well. She had grown up an extremely delicate child. He gave no hope of her recovery. He declared the attack had been brought on by some unwonted exertion beyond her strength, or by some extraordinary strain caused by great fear or overwhelming grief. When told of what had occurred on the pond he shook his head ominously, and frankly told the mother to expect the worst, recommending, as a conscientious physician, that a priest be called without delay.

CHAPTER XXI

THE Pa.s.sING OF ETHEL

As soon as Tommy realized that Ethel was really sick there came a revulsion of feeling such as all generous natures are subject to. He was no longer angry or sulky. He racked his brains to discover means by which he could make amends for his unkindness of the afternoon.

Tommy had one great treasure which no one was allowed to touch. This was a precious silver mug, a birthday present. He never used it except on some very extraordinary occasion. It was rarely taken from his mother's china-closet, where it occupied a place of honor. Now he thought of this mug, but first he took a pitcher out to the pump and used the handle vigorously until his arms ached. He then went to the cupboard and took out his great treasure, carrying it and the pitcher to where Ethel was lying.

"Sissie dear," he said softly, "I'm awful sorry I've been mean to you 's afternoon. I didn't know you were sick, sure. If I had known that I'd got you a barrelful of water, sure I would."

Ethel opened her eyes with a pleasant smile. She knew that Tommy loved her. He was trying to make amends. That was enough to make her happy.

"Here, Ethel, dear. I've brought you the coldest water I could get from the well, and here's my silver cup to drink it out of."

The little sufferer was now too far gone to care for water. Wis.h.i.+ng to respond to her brother's kindness she took the mug and put it to her lips, as if drinking a long draught. But Tommy saw she was not drinking.

"Why, Ethel, you only make believe! Don't be afraid to drink. I'll keep on carrying in pitchers all night if you want 'em. 'Taint no trouble at all for me."

Ethel saw his generosity of purpose and smiled again.

"Drink some more, Ethel. It's good." She could not resist such importunity, and she drank some of the water, more than she needed, in order to please him.

Tommy exaggerated his fault in his own eyes. Now, in order to make amends, he strove urgently to make his sister drink, coaxing her at least every ten minutes to do so, until at last she was fain to tell him it was impossible for her to take any more. If he could not make her drink, he could, nevertheless, keep the water cool, so he changed it at least every fifteen minutes. Who shall say but what the angels carried these crude acts of reparation to the Mercy Seat, and brought back blessings for sorrowful Tommy?

Ethel realized that she was very ill. The doctor's grave face confirmed her worst fears. She did not fear to die. Had she not gone to confession every week for a year past, and although the pure little child knew it not, the good priest knew full well that for weeks together he scarcely found matter for absolution. She did not want to die, not yet at least, if it were the will of G.o.d, until she had made her First Communion. Her pure soul had not yet been strengthened by the Bread of Angels. How ardently for months she had longed for the day of her First Communion, and now it seemed so hard to die before that great event. Would not the sweet Jesus spare her at least until she could receive Him! Long and earnestly, on her couch of suffering, she prayed that she might receive this supreme happiness. She knew that she was dying. The frightful pain in her back told her, as she lay there in such helplessness, that her weakness could not long battle against so sudden and so violent an attack. But oh, to be deprived of the great privilege!

"Lord, I am not worthy! Lord, I am not worthy that Thou shouldst come to me! Come, oh, come, my Lord Jesus!" she repeated again and again, between her acts of contrition.

It was in this hour of supreme suspense and anxiety of her parents that Ethel's beautiful character shone forth. Patient, humble, thankful for the least kindness shown, or office performed for her, she fairly broke the heart of father and mother, who now realized, more completely than ever, what a beautiful treasure they were losing.

The priest was grieved to see this stricken one of his flock. Ethel's eyes brightened when she saw him. He heard the child's last confession and administered Extreme Unction. Long the confession lasted--those guileless self-accusations of an almost guiltless soul. When the family were re-admitted they saw that both priest and penitent had been weeping.

"Has the poor child told you her greatest desire, Father?" asked the grieving mother.

"Yes. I have no hesitation in giving her Holy Communion. She was sufficiently prepared a year ago. If you will make the proper preparations I will bring the Holy Sacrament and administer First Communion."

Not until Tommy saw the priest visit the house, and learned that his sister had been anointed did he realize that she was dangerously ill.

When the priest left, he rushed to the couch, and kneeling, took Ethel's hand and covered it with tears and kisses, crying pa.s.sionately with heartrending sobs:

"Ethel, Ethel, Ethel! don't die, don't die yet! Ask G.o.d and His Mother to make you well again. You know they will if you ask them." His cry was an unconscious tribute to his sister's goodness.

Ethel waited with joy and calmness the approach of her Lord. Very soon the priest, bearing the Sacred Host, arrived and the whole household a.s.sembled to honor the divine Visitor, and to pray for the departing soul.

Notwithstanding her intense pain, Ethel appeared to be in a transport of joy. Her calm, waxlike face was faintly flushed at the fulfilment of her ardent longings. As she lay making fervent acts of love and thanksgiving, she resembled an angel rather than a child of human clay. So thought her spiritual director as he gave her the last absolution and blessing and began to recite the prayers for the dying.

Tommy's grief became deeper and more demonstrative. His mother gently drew him into the next room, telling him it was for Ethel's good, as he was disturbing her recollection and happiness. With this a.s.surance he became content, although he sobbed as if his heart would break.

Silently, and in helpless, though resigned, anguish the father and mother watched through the long night the flickering spark of life fade and expire. More than once during these long hours they believed the beautiful soul had flown to G.o.d, its Maker. Hoping against hope, they earnestly desired that she might last until Roy should reach home at seven, but about three the end came.

"Fetch the boy," said the father, in a whisper. Mrs. Henning softly left the room. She found Tommy, his face all tear-stained, asleep on the mat just outside the door. Gently waking him, she told him to come to Ethel. The boy, alert in a moment at the sound of her name, came slowly into the room. Neither father nor mother spoke, but the latter led him to the couch where lay the lifeless form of his sister still holding the crucifix in her hand. Her pure soul had flown.

Seeing that she had pa.s.sed away, the boy bent down and kissed her white forehead and her lips. His mother involuntarily moved a step nearer, intending to catch and console him in his first wild burst of grief. To her surprise the boy neither wept nor spoke. He took one long look at the placid face of his dead sister, and turned away, going out into the open air of the warm night. By the first gray streaks of dawn he wandered through the garden path down to the pond.

There lay the boat as he had left it, half drawn up on the sh.o.r.e, and there, withered, lay the lilies she had gathered. The boy remembered how she had used all her little strength to pull up one large bud. She had, at length, laughingly succeeded, dropping it into the boat and letting the long stalk hang in the water.

As the gloaming of the sad day of the funeral drew on Tommy took his beads from his pocket. Then came the realization that he was alone to say them.

"Ethel! Ethel!" he cried, and the floodgates of his tears were open.

Big, strong Roy caught him up in his arms as he would a baby. There Tommy, resting his tired little head on his big brother's breast, wept unrestrainedly.

On the day of the pa.s.sing of Ethel Roy pondered long about sending a message to his friends at St. Cuthbert's. He could not decide to whom to send it. Bracebridge, Beecham, Shealey, Gill, and Jones, all were thought of, but he remained undecided. While thinking over this, his aunt, Andrew Garrett's mother, entered the room. Roy loved this good and beautiful woman almost as much as he loved his own mother, whom she was supporting and comforting in her sudden affliction.

"I am glad you received my telegram in time," she said. "You will be just now such a support and comfort to your mother and father, Roy, in their sorrow." She kissed him on the forehead.

"When the sickness came to Ethel," she continued, "they were both too distracted by grief to think of sending for you, so I wired in your father's name."

Roy made up his mind about his message. He filled out a blank:

"Dear Andrew: Ethel pa.s.sed away at three. Pray and get prayers for her. I know you will. Roy."

For many a long day after, Roy Henning had reason to bless the influence which prompted him to send this message to his cousin, rather than to any one else. The message had the effect of working a wonderful change in Andrew Garrett, so that when Roy next saw him, he scarcely recognized him. Many strange things will happen before Roy again sees his cousin.

CHAPTER XXII