Part 20 (1/2)

For awhile the banker looked out on the showery landscape, then he turned to the children's mother.

”Perhaps you are right, Mrs. Rayburn,” he said gently. ”The world is all too selfish;” and he sighed as he said it.

”It is indeed,” came the emphatic answer. ”There is no crime, there is no sin, that has not for its basis selfishness. It is the evil part of life, and the Christ life that ought to be man's pattern, is the type of unselfishness.”

”Well,” said the banker, taking up his paper, ”I am open to conviction.”

The sun was s.h.i.+ning when they arrived at the pretty station, and they all stopped on the platform to listen a moment to the organ note of the sea. As they waited, a wagon drove up, and a young fellow jumped out and ran towards them.

”It's--it's--d.i.c.k! d.i.c.k who used to walk on crutches!” cried Ethelwyn, fairly rubbing her eyes in astonishment.

There were no signs of lameness now in this tall youth, and his face was radiant with happiness. He could not speak for a moment, as he shook hands with those whom he knew, and of whom he had almost constantly thought with heartfelt grat.i.tude.

”My sakes! Aren't you mended up well, though?” said Beth, walking around him admiringly.

They all laughed at this, of course, and d.i.c.k was then introduced to Bobby's mother, his grandfather, and Bobby himself.

”d.i.c.k is the first patient of the Home,” said Mrs. Rayburn, ”and he does it credit. He is Mrs. Stevens's right-hand man now. Where and how is dear Mrs. Stevens?”

”She is well but could not leave to come to the train,” said d.i.c.k. ”She can hardly wait to see you, though.”

”I do sincerely trust she has baked a bushel of cookies,” said Ethelwyn, as they climbed into the wagon.

The approach to the Home was very beautiful. The sun was going down in a blaze of glory, and the wagon wound around the hill road to where the cottage, gay with flags and striped awnings, crowned its summit.

Then, above the roar of the sea and the clatter of hoofs, came the sound of children's voices calling from the broad piazza,

”Welcome home! Welcome home!”

Then a child's voice sang,

”To give sad children's hearts a joy, To give the weary rest, To give to those who need it sore, This makes a life most blest.”

As Bobby's grandfather helped the grown people out of the wagon--the children had climbed down without waiting for help--he cleared his throat once or twice.

”I'm nearer conviction than I was,” he said.

As she hurried towards the porch, Mrs. Rayburn smiled to herself.

Nan's mother waited, and walked up with Bobby's grandfather. Over her had come a great and happy change; her eyes were now full of earnest light, and she had forgotten her headaches and other small ills.

She now looked up into the banker's face.

”After all, life to be beautiful and to reach rightly towards eternity should be helpful, and self-forgetful; do you not think so?” she said.

”I was long learning the two great commandments, which embody the whole decalogue, and I probably never should have learned them if it had not been for these blessed children, and their mother.”

”H--m, h--m,” said the banker.