Charlie Scott Part 4

"A mouse! no, mother," said Charlie, coming down very mildly. "I wanted to tell you that Mrs. Greenwell is here, and waiting for you."

Mrs. Greenwell's errand was to ask if Charlie could be spared to attend a Bible cla.s.s at her house twice a week. As well as instruction in the Bible and catechism, she intended to read instructive books to them on different subjects: natural history, travels in foreign lands, English history, the lives of good and n.o.ble men who had risen from the working cla.s.ses, and on many other subjects that would be interesting and give them a taste for reading. Charlie was younger than most of the boys she expected, but she knew he was more intelligent and thoughtful than the generality of boys of his age, princ.i.p.ally because he had such good home training.

Mrs. Heedman very gladly agreed for him to attend regularly. As for Charlie himself, his delight knew no bounds, especially when he heard that they were all to have tea, and spend the evening at Mrs.

Greenwell's the next day. The moment she had left and the door was closed, Charlie broke into a dance of triumph round the room that would have done credit to a wild Indian, and kept it up so long that Jumper became seriously concerned: he stood at a safe distance, barking, as if asking for an explanation, or expostulating with his master; but Charlie only snapped his fingers at him, and went on with his dance. Poor Jumper thought it was an order to sit up, and sat up accordingly, but soon finding his mistake out he dropped his fore-feet disconsolately. At last, as if a bright thought had struck him, he made a sudden rush at poor puss, who was sitting very upright with her tail over her toes, gazing innocently at the fire, and I am sorry to say he caught her rather savagely by the ear. Jumper knew puss to be his own particular enemy, and whenever anything went wrong he always seemed to conclude that she must be at the bottom of it.

This brought the dance of triumph to an end, much to Mrs. Heedman's satisfaction.

You should have seen Charlie the next day, when he started for Mrs.

Greenwell's, in his best suit, a s.h.i.+ning white collar, and new necktie; his brown hair arranged in his best style, and his bright face lit up with happy expectation. It was the first time he had ever formally gone "out to tea."

It would take two or three chapters to tell you all that Charlie saw and thought and heard on that eventful evening, but we must be content with a hasty sketch.

When Charlie first went into the room with its beautiful pictures, its handsome furniture, its bright lights, and many strange faces, he felt quite dazzled; but Mrs. Greenwell came up to him, and taking him by the hand, led him up to a boy about two years older than himself, who was lying on a couch. "This is my son," she said, kindly; "he is quite anxious to know you, Charlie, so you had better sit down beside him."

Harry Greenwell shook hands heartily, and made room for him, but did not rise from the couch.

"He must be very proud or very idle," thought Charlie; and yet, as he looked admiringly at him, he felt that he did not look as if he were either one or the other. Charlie had seen him out driving sometimes with his mother, but had never been close to him before. Harry lay there quite unconscious of Charlie's opinion and admiration, his delicate, expressive features full of animation, and his eyes sparkling with pleasure as he watched the boys talking and looking about them. He had begged very hard that they might come into the drawing-room. Harry liked to have pictures and ornaments and beautiful things round him, and he thought they would enjoy it too.

"How happy he must be," thought Charlie, "in this beautiful house, with servants to do everything for him, a carriage to ride in, and I dare say he chooses his own clothes, and can have whatever he likes for dinner!

It must be very nice to be him," thought Charlie, rather enviously.

Just then a move was made for the room where tea was prepared. "You go on, Charlie," said Harry, in a kind tone; "don't wait for me; I'll follow." Charlie happened to glance back.

Harry Greenwell was lame.

He told Charlie later in the evening how it happened. The two boys were standing together at a small table apart from the rest; Harry, who had taken a great fancy to Charlie, was showing some of his drawings. There was genuine admiration in Charlie's face and tone as he exclaimed, "How splendid they are, Master Harry! They must have taken you a long time to do."

"Well, yes," answered Harry; "you see I have had a good deal of quiet time to occupy ever since my hip was hurt; I haven't been able to play at any outdoor games like other boys, or even to walk much. You can't think how thankful I am that I have a taste for drawing; one cannot always be reading, and it makes the time pa.s.s so pleasantly."

"Was it long since? How did it happen?" asked Charlie, full of sympathy, and wondering almost that Harry could be thankful for anything under such circ.u.mstances.

"It was about three years ago, when I was eleven years old. I was out riding; something startled the pony, and he threw me. You see my leg is not deformed," holding it out as he spoke, "but I walk lame; the doctor says I must rest well now, and not overtax my strength, or I shall never be any better. It pains me a good deal even now sometimes."

"Did you always feel as--as quiet about it as you do now?" asked Charlie, rather at a loss for the right word.

"No," said Harry; "for a whole year all sorts of wicked, bitter thoughts were in my heart. I thought G.o.d was behaving hardly and unkindly to me.

I wanted to die, rather than live to be a cripple. I almost hated people who were well and strong. When mamma had visitors I kept out of the way.

Sometimes I stayed in my own room for weeks together. I couldn't bear any one to see me. It was a great trouble to mamma." Harry was carried away by the recollections of that sad time, and had spoken in a low rapid tone, more to himself than to Charlie.

The boys turned over the contents of a portfolio in silence for a few moments.

Harry placed before Charlie a beautiful engraving of our Saviour on the cross. "He bore all that for me, and I am trying to bear my pain willingly and patiently for His sake, because I love Him; and I know He loves me, and helps me to bear my pain, and would not let me suffer it at all if it was not for my own good in the end," said Harry.

I have let you listen to this little bit of quiet talk between Charlie and Harry that you may determine, as Charlie did, to try to follow Harry's example, not to be discontented and impatient in sickness, or trial of any kind; to be often thinking of, and feeling thankful for, the blessings G.o.d has granted you; to love the Lord Jesus, and trust Him.

You must not suppose that the evening at Mrs. Greenwell's was pa.s.sed in talking only. After tea, which was thoroughly enjoyed by the boys, they looked at pictures, books, sh.e.l.ls, and other things. Mrs. Greenwell had so many little histories to tell about them, and talked so pleasantly, that the boys enjoyed it very much; but the great wonder and attraction was a microscope, or "magnifying gla.s.s," as Charlie called it.

Many of the boys had never seen or even heard of one before, and it puzzled them very much to be told that what looked to them very like a small lobster's claw was the foot of a fly.

"What beautiful little feathers!" exclaimed one boy.

"You know the sort of dust that sticks to your fingers if you touch the wings of a moth or a b.u.t.terfly, don't you?" asked Harry.

"Yes, sir,"' answered the boy.

"Then that is some of it, magnified; the wings are covered with those beautiful little feathers, although we cannot distinguish them without the microscope."

But I cannot attempt to tell you one half of the wonders that the microscope revealed to them that night, or the lessons it taught them of the power and wisdom of the Creator. Mrs. Greenwell pointed out to them the immense inferiority of man's best and most careful work when compared with the simplest work of G.o.d, A piece of delicately woven silk, of the finest texture, that looked perfect to the eye, when placed under the microscope appeared rough, coa.r.s.e, and uneven--rather like a common door-mat, in fact; but the wing of a fly, the hair of a mouse, the eye of an insect, the scale of a fish, the dust of a moth's wing, the leaf of a plant--anything made by G.o.d, and owing nothing to the hand of man--the more it was magnified, the more beauties you discovered.

Examine by the microscope the humblest and most minute of G.o.d's creations, and you will always find beauty, order, and perfection.

CHAPTER VII.

A SAD BIRTHDAY.

It is Charlie's birthday: two years have pa.s.sed away since the great going out to tea at Mrs. Greenwell's, and he is now fourteen years old.

It is a very quiet and a very sad birthday for Charlie. His father is ill--his good, kind father. This illness had been coming on for the last six months. Many of his neighbours and fellow-workmen had noticed for some time that "John Heedman had a bad look," and would shake their heads and look significantly at each other as he pa.s.sed by, with his slow gait, his stooping shoulders, and loud, hollow cough, now almost constant, and more painful than ever. Often when Charlie awoke in the night he would hear his father pacing the room, unable to rest, or even lie down. The first time he heard him, he thought "Father must be ill; he has gone downstairs," and springing out of bed, he crept lightly down to see what was the matter.

The shutters were thrown open, and the blind pulled up to the top.

Charlie saw it was a calm, still night, and that every part of the sky visible from the window was spangled with a countless mult.i.tude of brilliant stars. His father stood at the window--he was leaning slightly forward--with clasped hands, and gazing up with eager, questioning eyes.

Charlie felt that he was praying, and crept softly back. He sat down at the foot of the stairs to wait, feeling cold and s.h.i.+vering, and with a strange fear at his heart. He had not sat many minutes when he heard his father moving; then he called softly at the door, "Are you ill, father?

can I do anything for you?"

"Why, Charlie, how is this?" said his father, taking him by the hand and bringing him into the room.

"I heard you down here, and I was afraid you were ill. Are you ill?"

asked Charlie, anxiously.

"Not altogether ill, perhaps, Charlie, and yet not well. My cough is very bad to-night, I can get no rest; when I lie down I feel as if I should be suffocated. But how cold you are, my boy! run away to bed," he said, trying to speak more cheerfully, "or we shall be having you laid up next."

The cheerful tone did not deceive Charlie; he clung to him. "Father, you are worse than you say--tell me all; do not treat me like a little child; I am nearly fourteen years old."

His father stood for a moment undecided, then he sat down and drew Charlie to him and told him all; how he had felt lately that his cough was getting worse and worse, and his whole frame weaker; that he was afraid some disease of the lungs had taken a firm hold, and that he intended to take a rest the next week and see a doctor if he did not feel any better. "You must not think I am going to die at once," he said, feeling Charlie tremble; "even if I have disease of the lungs I may live a long while yet, if it is G.o.d's will. I want you to be a brave boy, and not let your mother see you going about grieving and looking sad, and adding to her sorrow, but do all you can to help and comfort her. If you love me, you will try to do this." Charlie promised to try, and after a few more words of comfort and encouragement John Heedman persuaded him to go to bed. "My dear boy," he said, "you know that your love is a great happiness to me, but you must not come down again if you hear me up in the night; it will make me unhappy if I think I keep you awake."

After this, although Charlie often heard his father of a night, he never came down again; but he crept softly out of bed and knelt down and prayed for him. He asked G.o.d to grant--if it were His will--that his father might get better; if not, that He would help him to bear his pain, for Jesus Christ's sake. It was not at all a grand, well-worded prayer, but it was simple, earnest, and heartfelt--just the sort of prayer G.o.d loves to listen to.

On the morning of Charlie's birthday, about a fortnight after that night he went down to his father, John Heedman was quite unable to go out to his work; he had been obliged to give up at last, and the doctor was called in. When Charlie was sent out of the room until the doctor's visit was over, he rushed out of the house, unable to bear the suspense, and wandering down to the beach, he lay down to think with his face hidden in his cap, as if to shut out the too joyous sunlight.

As he listened to the low, mournful surging of the waves, all his past life seemed to rise up before him; he remembered with bitter self-reproach how ill he had repaid the love and kindness of those dear ones at home; how often he had caused his mother hours of anxiety by his carelessness and procrastination; for Charlie had not altogether succeeded in conquering his great fault; how selfish he had been in every way. He remembered with shame how he had begged and worried for things without caring or thinking whether they could afford it; he had denied himself nothing, and now all this expense of his father's illness was coming upon them. If they had not taken him to keep when he was friendless, they would have had plenty of money saved, and would have wanted for nothing.

As Charlie thought of all this, he determined that he would be a burden to them no longer, he would try to earn some money; there were boys far younger than himself, he knew, at work, and if he only earned a small sum at first, it would help. Full of this determination he made his way home. The doctor was just leaving as he went in, and Charlie heard from his mother that he held out no hope of his father's recovery; the disease had gone too far. He was on no account to go down the mine again, even if he fancied he felt strong enough; the impure air had already aggravated the disease. The doctor had said that if he took great care of himself he might, perhaps, be spared to them for some time.

Charlie's heart was too full then to speak to his father; he went into his own room, shut the door, and stood for a moment as if uncertain what to do. "If only Mrs. Greenwell had been at home," he thought, "I could have told her all about it, and she would have advised me."

"Tell it to G.o.d, He is always to be found, and can help as well as advise," something within him seemed to whisper. He listened to the voice, and kneeling down, poured out all his trouble, and sorrow, and anxiety, asking G.o.d to help him for Jesus Christ's sake. He then got up, bathed his face in cold water, for his eyes were swollen with tears, and started off to the chemist's with the doctor's prescription that his mother gave him.