Part 21 (1/2)

While Amos rejoiced greatly in the return of his sister, there was much still to be accomplished before his great object could be fairly said to be attained, even in her case. Nothing could be kinder than Mr Huntingdon's treatment of his restored child; and when her little ones joined her, it seemed as if the pent back affections of the squire were coming forth in such a rush as would almost overwhelm his grandchildren with a flood of indulgence. Brighter days, then, had come; nevertheless, Amos could not help seeing much in the character and conduct of both his sister and Walter which saddened him. Acting himself on the highest of all principles--the constraining love of the heavenly Master--he could not be content till the same holy motive should have its place in the hearts of those he so dearly loved.

Sorrow had subdued and softened in Julia the less amiable features in her character; while all that Amos had done and suffered and was still doing for herself and her children could not but draw out her heart to him. But yet, while she loved and respected Amos, she just simply dearly loved Walter; towards him the deeper and tenderer feelings of her heart went forth. And Walter himself--though Amos was the object of his warmest admiration, and, in a certain sense, of his imitation--was far from adopting the standard and motives of his brother. To do simply what his conscience told him to be right, when such a course would cut the prejudices of his gay worldly friends across the grain, was a thing he was by no means prepared for; and here he had his sister's sympathy.

Not that she openly advocated a worldly and compromising line of conduct--for indeed she was too glad to leave for a while argument and outspoken opinions to others--but she made him feel in her private conversations with him that the world and its ways and maxims were still her own guide and standard.

Amos could see this more or less, and he deeply deplored it; but he trusted still that prayer, patience, and perseverance would yet bring his beloved brother and restored sister to look at duty and wisdom in the light of G.o.d's Word. And Walter gave him at times much encouragement. He could no longer despise Amos, nor pride himself in his own superiority to him. The beauty of his elder brother's character, the n.o.bleness of his aims, the singleness of eye that was manifest in him, his unselfishness and patience, these traits had won the unfeigned admiration of Walter, an admiration which he was too generous not to acknowledge. But yet, all the while, he rather fretted under Amos's rigid consistency, remarking to his sister that really it was a bit of a bondage to have to be always so very good, and that one must not be so over-particular if one was to get on with people who were not yet exactly angels. But still, he was vexed with himself when he had made such observations, and resolved in his heart to be more circ.u.mspect for the future.

When Julia Vivian had been some weeks in her old home, Walter exclaimed one morning as they were sitting at breakfast, ”What do you think?

Gregson is getting up a raffle for his beautiful mare Rosebud.”

”Indeed,” said his father, ”how comes that? I thought the young man had only had her a short time.”

”Why, father,” replied Walter, ”I imagine the fact is that Gregson's purse is getting worn into a hole or two.”

”I understood,” remarked Miss Huntingdon, ”that his father was a very wealthy man, and allowed his son, as you used to put it, no end of money.”

”True, aunt; but I think he has been betting and losing pretty heavily lately, and finds he must pull up a bit.”

”And so he is going to part with his mare by raffle,” said the squire; ”pray what does he want for her?”

”Oh, a hundred guineas--and very cheap, too. Will you put in, father?”

”Not I, my boy; I cannot say that I am very fond of these raffles.”

”Well, Amos,” said Walter, turning to his brother, ”what does your wors.h.i.+p say?”

Amos shook his head.

”Nay, don't be ill-natured,” said the other. ”It's a guinea a ticket: I'll take one, and you can take one, and if I win I'll pay you back your guinea, for then I shall get a horse worth a hundred guineas for two guineas; and if _you_ win, you can either keep the mare or hand her over to me, and I will pay you back your guinea.”

”And suppose we neither of us win?” asked Amos.

”Oh, then,” replied his brother, ”we shall have done a good-natured thing by giving Gregson a helping hand out of his difficulties, for it will take a good deal of hunting up to get a hundred names for the raffle.”

”But, my boy,” said the squire, ”remember there's some one else to be considered in the matter. I can't undertake to keep two horses for you; you have your own pony already.”

”All right, father; there'll be no difficulty there. I can sell my own pony, and Rosebud won't eat more nor take up more room than poor Punch; and I shall put a few sovereigns into my own pocket too by selling my own pony.”

”That is to say, if you are the winner, my boy; but there will be ninety-nine chances to one against that.”

”Oh yes, I know that, father; but 'nothing venture, nothing win,' says the proverb.--Well, Amos, what do you say? will you be one?”

”I cannot,” said his brother gravely.

”Oh, why not?” asked his sister; ”it will be so nice for dear Walter to have that beautiful creature for his own.”

”I do not approve of raffles, and cannot therefore take part in one,”

replied Amos.

”Why, surely,” she exclaimed, ”there can be no harm in them.”

”I cannot agree with you there, dear Julia,” he said. ”I believe raffles to be utterly wrong in principle, and so there must be harm in them. They are just simply a mild form of gambling, and nothing got by them can be got fairly and strictly honestly.”