The Inglises Part 16

The interest in which the little ones took in their new home and their new companions, Jem's enthusiasm over his new master and his school work, Violet's triumphs in her little house-keeping successes, filled him with wonder which was not always free from anger and contempt. Even his mother's gentle cheerfulness was all read wrong by Davie. He said to himself that his father had been more to him than to the other children, and that he missed him more than they, but he could not say this of his mother; and daily seeing her patient sweetness, her constant care to turn the bright side of their changed life to her children, it seemed to him almost like indifference--like a willingness to forget.

He hated himself for the thought, and shrunk from his mother's eye, lest she should see it and hate him too.

But all this did not last very long. It must have come to an end soon, in one way or other, for youth grows impatient of sorrow, and lays it down at last, and thanks to his mother's watchful care, it ended well for David.

He had no hay-loft to which he could betake himself in these days when he wished to be alone; but when he felt irritable and impatient, and could not help showing it among his brothers and sisters, he used to go out through the strip of gra.s.s and the willows into the dry bed of the shrunken stream that flowed beneath the two bridges, and sitting down on the large stones of which the abutment of the railroad bridge was made, have it out with himself by the bank of the river alone. And here his mother found him sitting one night, dull and moody, throwing sticks and stones into the water at his feet. She came upon him before he was aware.

"Mamma! you here? How did you come? On the track?"

"No; I followed you round by the willows and below the bridge. How quiet it is here!"

The high embankment of the railway on one side, and the river on the other, shut in the spot where David sat, and made it solitary enough to suit him in his moodiest moments, and his mother saw that he did not look half glad at her coming. But she took no notice. The great stones that made the edge of the abutment were arranged like steps of stairs, and she sat down a step or two above him.

"Did the sun set clear? Or were there clouds enough about to make a picture to-night?" asked she, after a little.

"Yes, it was clear, I think. At least not very cloudy. I hardly noticed," said Davie, confusedly.

"I wish we could see the sun set from the house."

"Yes, it is very pretty sometimes. When the days were at the longest, the sun set behind the highest part of the mountain just in a line with that tall elm on the other side of the river. It sets far to the left now."

"Yes, the summer is wearing on," said his mother. And so they went on talking of different things for a little while, and then there was silence.

"Mamma," said David, by and by, "are you not afraid of taking cold? It is almost dark."

"No. I have my thick shawl." And moving down a step, she so arranged it that it fell over David too.

"Ah! never mind me. I am not so delicate as all that, mamma," said David, laughing, but he did not throw the shawl off, but rather drew a little nearer, and leaned on her lap.

"See the evening star, mamma. I always think--"

David stopped suddenly.

"Of papa," said his mother, softly.

"Yes, and of the many, many times we have seen it together. We always used to look for it coming home. Sometimes he saw it first, and sometimes I did; and oh! mamma, there don't seem to be any good in anything now," said he, with a breaking voice.

Instead of speaking, his mother pa.s.sed her hand gently over his hair.

"Will it ever seem the same, mamma?"

"Never the same, Davie! never the same! We shall never see his face, nor hear his voice, nor clasp his hand again. We shall never wait for his coming home in all the years that are before us. It will never, never be the same."

"Mamma! how can you bear it?"

"It was G.o.d's will, and it is well with him, and I shall see him again,"

said his mother, brokenly. But when she spoke in a minute her voice was clear and firm as ever.

"It will never be the same to any of us again. But you are wrong in one thing. All the good has not gone out of life because of our loss."

"It seems so to me, mamma."

"But it is not so. We have our work in the world just as before, and you have your preparation for it."

"But I cannot make myself care for anything as I used to do."

"There must be something wrong then, Davie, my boy."

"Everything is wrong, I think, mamma."

"If _one_ thing is wrong, nothing can be right, David," said his mother, stooping down and kissing him softly. "What did your father wish first for his son?"

"That I should be a good soldier of Jesus Christ. I know that, mamma."

"And you have been forgetting this? That hast not changed, Davie."

"No, mamma--but--I am so good for nothing. You don't know--"

"Yes, I know. But then it is not one's worth that is to be considered, dear. The more worthless and helpless we are, the more we need to be made His who is worthy. And Davie, what do we owe to 'Him who loved us, and gave Himself for us?'"

"Ourselves, mamma, our life, our love--"

"And have you given Him these?"

"I don't know, mamma."

"And are you content not to know?"

"I am not content--but how am I to know, mamma," said David, rising and kneeling down on the broad stone beside her. "May I tell you something?

It was that night--at the very last--papa asked me if I was ready to put on the armour he was laying down; and I said yes; and, mamma, I meant it. I wished to do so, oh, so much!--but everything has been so miserable since then--"

"And don't you wish it still, my son?"

"Mamma, I know there is nothing else that, is any good, but I cannot make myself care for it as I did then."

"David," said his mother, "do you love Jesus?"

"Yes, mamma, indeed I love Him. I know Him to be worthy of my love."

"And you desire to be His servant to honour Him, and do His will?"

"Yes, mamma, if I only knew the way."

"David, it was His will that papa should be taken from us; but you are angry at our loss."

"Angry! oh, mamma!"

"You are not submissive under His will. You fail to have confidence in His love, or His wisdom, or in His care for you. You think that in taking him He has made a mistake or been unkind."

"I know I am all wrong, mamma."