Wikkey Part 4

"I know there is not; I know it must come soon. Reg, I couldn't have believed I should have grown to care for the boy as I do."

"No, you have prepared a wrench for yourself, old fellow, but you will never be the worse for it, Lawrence. You know all about that better than I can preach it to you."

There was a silence, and then Lawrence said--

"Ought he to be told?"

"Well, that puzzles me; I feel as if he ought, and yet there can be no need to frighten the child. If it came naturally, it might be better for you to tell him gently."

"I?" exclaimed Lawrence, aghast.

"Yes, it must be you; he will take it better from you than from anyone else; but wait and see; you will be shown what to do."

The result of the curate's mission to Cranbury was very satisfactory. On being directed to the solitary remaining inhabitant of the name of Wilkins, Reginald learnt that Sarah Wilkins had been the only daughter of his brother, that she had married a ne'er-do-weel of the name of Whiston, who had deserted her shortly before the birth of her child, that she had followed her husband to London as soon as she was able to travel, and after a while had been lost sight of by her family. The old man seemed but slightly interested in the matter, and Reginald saw that no interference need be feared from him. On further consulting the parish register, he found recorded the marriage of Thomas Whiston and Sarah Wilkins, and a year later, the baptism of Wilkins, son of Thomas and Sarah Whiston, in 1856.

"So it is as I hoped, the child is one of the Flock," the curate said to himself. "And that mite of a boy is thirteen years old!" and he returned to London triumphant, bringing with him besides the information he went to seek, a root of primroses with yellow-tipped spikes ready to burst, and an early thrush's nest containing five delicate blue eggs.

This last treasure Reginald displayed with intense pride.

"I found a boy carrying it on the road, and rated the young rascal soundly for taking it, but I'm afraid the shilling I gave him made more impression than the lecture. Isn't it a beauty? I wonder when I last saw a nest?" he went on, touching the eggs with loving fingers. "Hardly since our old bird's-nesting days, eh, Lawrence! Do you remember the missel-thrush in the apple-tree?"

"Ay, and the licking you got for splitting your Sunday jacket up the back;" and the two "working-men" laughed at the recollection, as they carried the prize to display to Wikkey, with a comical anxiety, almost amounting to dread, lest it should not produce the effect they intended.

No fear of that! Wikkey's eyes dilated as he gazed into the nest, and, after some persuasion, took one of the smooth eggs into his hand; and from that moment he could not endure it out of his sight, but had it placed morning and evening beside his sofa or bed, near his other treasure, the Picture of the King, on the other side of which stood the primrose, planted in one of Mrs. Evans' tea-cups.

As the spring advanced, Wikkey became visibly worse, and all saw that the end could not be far off. Reginald, coming in one evening, found him asleep in Lawrence's arms, and was startled to see how great a change had taken place in him during the last four and twenty hours. In answer to his inquiring look, his cousin said, speaking very low--

"Since this morning, he is much worse; but better now than he was."

Sitting down, on the opposite side of the fire, Reginald thoughtfully contemplated the two. What a contrast! Lawrence, all health and strength, with the warm light glancing on the thick waves of his hair, and deepening the ruddy brown of his complexion, while the glow scarcely served to tint the pale face lying on his breast--deadly white, save for the two red spots on the sunken checks--or the hair hanging in loose lank threads. For some time no one spoke, but as the boy's sleep continued sound and unbroken, the cousins fell into talk, low and subdued, and many things were touched on in that quiet hour, which neither could have put into words at another time. At length Reginald rose to go, and at the same moment, Wikkey opened his eyes and smiled, as he saw his visitor, and tried to lift himself up.

"I'm awake now," he said; "I didn't know as you were here."

"Never mind, Wikkey, lie still," said Reginald, "you are too tired for any reading to-night. I will tell you one verse--a beautiful one--for you and Lawrence to talk about some day," and laying his hand on the boy's head he repeated, in low, gentle tones--"Thine eye shall see the King in His beauty."

After he was gone, Wikkey lay very still, with his eyes fixed intently on the fire. Lawrence dreaded what his next question might be, and at last it came.

"What does it mean--See the King?"

"It means that we shall all see Him some day, Wikkey, when--when--we die. It will be beautiful to see the King, won't it?"

"Yes," said the child, dreamily. "I'd like to see Him. I know as I'm going to die; but will it be soon? Oh, Lawrence! must it be directly?"

and as he clung convulsively to him, the young man felt the little heart beating wildly.

"Wikkey--little lad--dear little lad--don't be frightened," he said, stroking the boy's head; "don't be frightened;" but still the eyes questioned him with agonized eagerness, and he knew he must answer, but his voice was very husky, and he felt the task a hard one.

"I'll tell you, Wikkey. I think the King loves you so much that He wants you to come to Him, and not to be ill any more, nor have any more bad pain or coughing. That would be nice, wouldn't it?--never to feel ill any more, and to see the King."

"Yes," Wikkey said, with a long sigh, "it would be ever so nice; but, oh! I _don't_ want for to leave you, Lawrence--won't you come, too?"

"Some day, please G.o.d; but that must be as the King likes--perhaps He will not want me to come yet. I must try to do anything He wants me to do here first."

"Should you like to come now, Lawrence?"

The question was rather a relief, for a sense of being unreal had come over Lawrence while he spoke, and he answered quickly--

"No, I had rather not go yet, Wikkey: but you see I am well and strong.

I think if I were ill like you I should like it; and you need not feel frightened, for the King will not leave you. He will be taking care of you all the time, and you will go to Him."

"Are you quite certain?"

No room for doubt here--and the answer came unhesitatingly--"Quite certain, Wikkey."

"And you are _sure_ that you'll come too?"

"I wish I were half as certain," the young man thought, with a sigh, then said aloud--"If I try to obey the King I hope I shall."

"But you will try--you will, Lawrence!" cried Wikkey, pa.s.sionately.

Very quietly and low Lawrence answered--"By G.o.d's help--Yes!" and he bent and kissed the child's forehead, as if to seal the vow.

Wikkey seemed satisfied, and in a few minutes was dozing again.

He slept for an hour after being put to bed, but then grew restless, and the night pa.s.sed wearily between intervals of heavy oppression--half-unconscious wakefulness and rambling, incoherent talk, sometimes of his street-life, of his broom, for which he felt about with weak, aimless hands, of cold and hunger; and then he would break out into murmuring complaints of Mrs. Skimmidge, when forbidden words would slip out, and even then the child's look of distress went to Lawrence's heart. But oftenest the wandering talk was of the incidents of the last few weeks, and over and over came the words--"See the King in his beauty."

In the morning Wikkey was quieter and perfectly sensible: but the pinched look on his face, and the heavy labored breathing, told plainly that he was sinking.

Hard as it had been for Lawrence to leave his "little lad," up to this time he had been scrupulous in never allowing Wikkey to interfere with his office duties; but now it seemed impossible to leave the child, who clung feebly to him with a frightened whisper--

"Oh, don't go, Lawrence! p'raps the King will want me, and maybe I shouldn't be so frightened if I kept looking at you."

No, he could not go; so writing a hurried line--"Cannot come to-day--the boy I told you of is dying--the work shall be ready in time," he dispatched it to the head clerk of his department. "Granby's Craze" had at first excited a good deal of astonishment when it became known at the office; but Lawrence had quietly discouraged any attempts at "chaff" on the subject, and as time went on he used to be greeted by really warm inquiries after "the little chap."

The hours pa.s.sed slowly by. Reginald came and went as he could spare time; sometimes he prayed in such short and simple language as Wikkey could join in--and the expression of his face showed that he did so--sometimes he knelt in silence, praying earnestly for the departing soul, and for Lawrence in his mournful watch. As the day began to wane, Reginald entering, saw that the end was near, and knelt to say the last prayers; as he finished the pale March sun, struggling through the clouds, sent a shaft of soft light into the room and touched Wikkey's closed eyes. They opened with a smile, and raising himself in Lawrence's arms, he leant forward with a look so eager and expectant, that with a thrill of awe, almost amounting to terror, the young man whispered--

"What is it, Wikkey? Do you see anything?"

"Not yet--soon--it's coming," the boy murmured, without altering his fixed gaze; and then for an instant a wondrous light seemed to break over the wan face--only for an instant--for suddenly as it had dawned, it faded out, and with it fled the little spirit, leaving only the frail worn-out form to fall back gently on Lawrence's breast.

Was he gone? Almost incredulously Lawrence looked down, and then, with pale, set features, he rose, and laying Wikkey on the bed, sank on his knees beside it, and buried his face in the pillow, with the sound of a great sob. Reginald approached the bed, and laying his hand for a moment on the bowed head, spoke low and solemnly--

"The blessing of a soul that was ready to perish come upon you, Lawrence."

Then he quitted the room, and closing the door softly, left Lawrence alone with his "little lad."

So Wikkey pa.s.sed away, and Lawrence went back to his work, ever retaining deep down in his heart the memory of the child whose life had become so strangely interwoven with his own, and more precious still, the lesson bequeathed to him by his "little lad," of how a soul that looks persistently upwards finds its full satisfaction at last in the Vision of "The King in His Beauty."