Left at Home Part 16

"Did I?" asked Arthur.

"Why, you know you did. Don't you remember those walks? I have never forgotten those things, Arthur."

"But you used to be very miserable then."

"Yes; but I thought about it all afterwards; and then Cousin Amy was so nice."

"Tell me some of the things she said," asked Arthur; "that is, if you can; but perhaps you have talked enough for to-night, Edgar. Perhaps I had better go now."

"Oh, no," said Edgar; "do stay; it is so nice having you; and I can talk much better in the evenings. I will tell you some of the nice thoughts I had, if you like. You know I have had so much time to think, Arthur. I have had so many hours by myself, lying here."

"Have you been here long, then, and by yourself? Oh, Edgar, why couldn't you have let me know?" asked Arthur reproachfully.

"Oh, because I could not write myself. I became worse so suddenly, you know. It seems such a long, strange time since I came, and since last holidays when I saw you, Arthur. At first it was so horrid; and then I got ill, and then Cousin Amy came, and then Louisa and Minnie came home for the holidays, and now you are here."

"How was it horrid?" asked Arthur.

"Well, I know they did not much want me. I don't mean they were unkind; but just think of all the children here. It does not make much difference to Uncle North, because he is away all the day at his office, nor to poor Aunt North either, because she is always ill; but I know Maude has enough to do already; and Arnold says he thinks boys are a great bother. Then the others used to be making such a noise, and taking long walks, and I could not; and they all said I was not happy; but I was just as happy as anywhere else, only I could not be the same as they were."

"That little girl seems nice," said Arthur, "the one that told you I was here."

"Minnie? Oh, yes, she is a dear little thing. But she has only been at home about a fortnight. It was she who got Aunt North to ask you to come.

I love her; she has been more kind to me than any of the rest."

"I expect my little sister Mildred would have been something like her if she had lived," said Arthur.

"You cannot think how I used to wish for you, Arthur. While Cousin Amy was here I never thought of asking her to write to you for me; besides, it would not have been very much use, when I could not have asked you to come. Maude used sometimes to come up and sit in my room. But I don't know how it is, I feel rather afraid of Maude; and she has so much to do, and altogether I did not like her to do it. Then when the holidays began she could not come up. But the day after Minnie came home, she came up and talked; and I did not mind asking her anything."

"Did you ask her to write to me?" asked Arthur.

"Not exactly. One day she asked me, when we were talking about my not going to live, whether there was any one I would like to see; and I said there was one person, and that was you, you know. Then the next time she came she said, 'I've asked mamma, Edgar, and she says we may, if Maude can manage.' I could not think what she meant at first. Was she not a dear little thing?"

"Yes; and then," said Arthur, very much interested.

"Oh, then she coaxed Maude in some way, and I said the letter, and Minnie wrote it."

Just then the door opened, and some one appeared with a tray, whom Arthur had not yet seen. This was the nurse, who was a kind person, and came to Edgar's bedside when she could leave her own charge.

"Oh," she said, "so you have your friend, Mr. Edgar, I see."

"Yes, nurse," said Edgar, "isn't it nice?"

"But you must not talk too much, you know, sir."

"I expect he has been talking quite enough," said Arthur, jumping up; "and I am going now, Edgar, I can come again to-morrow, you know."

"That's a good young gentleman," said nurse.

So Edgar's thoughts could not be told until the next day.

On the way down stairs, Arthur met Maude; and he began to wonder now whether she would like his having been all this time in Edgar's room, and whether she would know. Perhaps his thoughts were in his face, for Maude smiled, and said:

"Oh, I know. You have been in Edgar's room. Minnie told me all about it.

What did you think of him?"

"I think he is very, very ill, Miss North."

"Yes; poor child. It is easy to see he cannot live long. He is very peaceful though."

Maude sighed as she spoke. Perhaps she was wis.h.i.+ng that she was the same herself, and that there was a peace in her heart which the Lord gives, "not as the world giveth."

"Miss North," said Arthur, "you did not mind your sister having taken me up stairs, did you?"

"Oh, dear, no. I dare say she knows quite as well as I do what is good for Edgar. She is a very sensible little woman."

Arthur did not find that the North family were much more subdued and orderly the next day than they had been the evening before. This was holiday time, and with no lessons to do, it could hardly be expected but that there should be a commotion all the day.

Happily the school-room was some distance from the room where the sick boy lay, so very little noise found its way there.

Mrs. North wished to see Arthur the next day. He felt rather shy of going; but as it had to be done, he made up his mind to do it. He thought her something like her daughter Maude, only more quiet and gentle, and there was a sweeter look on her face than Maude usually wore.

When the evening came, a message was sent that Edgar wanted to have Arthur with him again. He was always better at that time; and he would sit up with the pillows around him, and the crimson curtains looking so dark and red behind his pale white face; but the firelight that glowed around, and showed Arthur how thin and sunken his face was, showed him, too, that a calm, happy peace was spreading there, and making it very beautiful.

"Arthur," said Edgar, "I want you to have my Bible and my watch; will you?

and keep them always for my sake."

"But, Edgar, you don't _know_ you are going to die; you don't know it for certain," said Arthur, his voice trembling a little.

"Oh, yes, I do; I know I am dying; but, you know, Arthur, I am only going to the Lord Jesus, and He wants me so much; for He has died instead of me, and all my sins are washed away in His precious blood. Cousin Amy used to sing something so nice; I cannot remember it all, but some of it was this--

"'Like a bairn to its mither, a wee birdie to its nest, I wad fain be ganging noo unto my Saviour's breast; For He gathers in His bosom witless, worthless lambs like me, And carries them Himsel' to His ain countree.'

"And that is just the way I feel, Arthur. I feel just going to my home; and I shall never be tired or cross there."

"I'm sure you are not cross here," said Arthur. "Edgar, do tell me about your getting so happy."

"Oh, yes; and I want to tell you about Cousin Amy too. Well, you know, it was rather miserable when first I came, and I had to be up here all alone; and I used to cry so, Arthur, thinking about you--I dare say it was like a baby; but I could not help it--and about papa. Oh, I did so want to see papa! and it did not make me happy to think about the Lord Jesus and heaven. But Cousin Amy came; and she used to sit here and read me little bits, and hymns; one was that one I said a bit of, and others. And she was so kind; she used to get me nice cool things to take; and sometimes she would fan me, and put her hand on my head when it was so hot; and, oh, I was so sorry when she was gone. One evening I was crying, and then I began thinking about the last verses she had read to me. You know, it was that part about the Lord feeding the mult.i.tude; and then He sent the disciples away in a boat, and went by Himself to pray; and I thought if I had been alive then, and that I had known He was away in that mountain by Himself, I would have got out of bed, and would have found my way to Him; and it would have been so nice with n.o.body there but Himself and me on the great lonely mountain! I should have felt so safe with Him anywhere. And then I began to think what He would have said to me; and I thought it would be, 'Him that cometh to me I will in no wise cast out.' Then I would have stayed, you know, because He would not send me away. And I thought He would have put His arms round me; and how safe I would have felt! And then I began thinking that I could do just the same in bed where I was, because He could see and hear just the same; so I said to Him, 'Lord Jesus Christ, I am here at Thy feet;' and I said to Him that hymn, 'Just as I am.' It was so happy. And now to think of all the things He has given me--everlasting life, and the forgiveness of my sins, and so much! And, Arthur, I am just keeping there now until I go to sleep, and I shall be with Him for ever."

"Oh, Edgar," said Arthur, "I am glad you are so happy."

Edgar had talked so much that he was exhausted; and he had to lie back on the pillows, breathing very quickly.

So they stayed quiet for a little while; and the firelight glowed and danced on Arthur's brown curls, and lighted his ruddy cheeks that seemed to make the paleness of Edgar's greater.

"Edgar," said Arthur, "you will not be able to come to Ashton Grange now.

Don't you remember when we said you would? I did think it would have been so nice."

"Yes; I remember," a little shade pa.s.sing over Edgar's face. "I used to think it would be so nice. But, Arthur, it is better to go to the Lord Jesus; it is the Father's house, you know, and my father and mother are there; and it is my own home."