Part 32 (2/2)

It was with no design or expectation of teaching on David's part, but it happened because they both cared about those things, that whenever they were alone together--on their way to or from any of their many visiting-places, or in the fields or woods, or while sailing on the river, the conversation almost always turned on graver matters than young lads usually care to discuss. It was often the same when Violet was with them or the mother, and Frank had reason to remember this time; for out of all these earnest talks and happy influences, there sprang up in his heart a strong desire to be, as they were, a follower of Christ-- a wish to give himself to Him and to His service--to be His in life and His in death. And by and by the desire was granted. He who never refuses to receive those who come to Him in sincerity, received him, and henceforth he and David were more than friends--they were brothers, by a bond stronger than that of blood, being joined in heart to Him, of whom it is said, ”He is not ashamed to call” His people ”brethren.”

Philip did not come to Gourlay, though an invitation was sent him by Mrs Inglis, and accepted by him. He was very busy in the office in David's absence, he wrote, but he would avail himself of the first leisure to come to them. He did not come, however, and they could only suppose that he was too useful in the office to be spared. They were very sorry, of course, for his sake and theirs, but the days pa.s.sed happily with them. The time to leave came only too soon. Mrs Inglis decided that it would be better for them all to return to Singleton together, as the autumn days were becoming short, and it was time to be thinking of winter arrangements in many things.

The last night came. It was not a night like the last one of Frank's former visit; but Frank was reminded of that night all the same.

Instead of the rain, and wind, and sleet, that had made that night so dismal without, and the lights and the fire so pleasant within, there was a cloudless sky, flooded with the light of the harvest moon, and the air was so still that it did not stir the leaves of the trees beneath which they lingered. And yet Frank was in some way reminded of the night when they read about Hobab, and waited so long for Mr Inglis to come home. David must have been reminded of it, too, for, by and by, they heard him speaking to Miss Bethia of old Tim, and about his going with his father when he preached his funeral sermon at the North Gore.

”And an excellent sermon it was,” said Miss Bethia. ”Don't you remember telling me about it that night when I was helping Letty to do the week's ironing when Debby was away?”

”Yes,” said David, laughing a little, ”I remember it quite well.” But, he added, gravely in a minute, ”I think that must have been the very last time my father preached when he was quite well.”

”I am afraid he was not quite well then,” said Miss Bethia, ”though the sermon was good enough to have been his last. The night you repeated it to me was the first time I thought you had better be a minister. You might tell it over now, if you haven't forgotten it.”

David said to himself that he would be past remembering most things when he should forget what his father had said that day, and all that grew out of it. But he did not tell Miss Bethia so. He would not speak of the sermon, however--he would not go over it as a mere trial of memory; and, besides, it was not to be supposed that the children would listen patiently on this last night, when there was so much to be said. So, after that, the talk was mostly left to the little ones, and wandered away in various directions. Sometimes it was guided past week-day subjects by the mother, and sometimes it was gently checked, but, for the most part, this was not needed. The feeling that it was the last night was on them, and they were very quiet and a little sad.

Miss Bethia was sad, too, and said little. She did not so far forget her duty as to omit her usual words of caution and counsel to each and all; but she did not mete it with her usual decision, and very nearly broke down in the middle of it.

”Aunt Bethia, why don't you come home with us?” said Polly. ”Mamma, why don't you ask Aunt Bethia to come home and stay with us till next summer?”

”Where should we put her? There is no room in our house,” said the practical Jessie, before her mother could answer.

”That's so,” said Miss Bethia. ”Old as I have got to be, there ain't room for me in anybody's house but my own. I guess Debby and I will have to get along the best way we can till next summer, and then you must all come back again.”

”We don't know what may happen before next year,” said Jessie.

”And it is no good making plans so far ahead,” said Ned.

”And we shall hope to see Miss Bethia before summer, and then we can make our plans. Our house is not very large, Aunt Bethia, but there will always be room enough in it for such a friend as you have been to us all.”

”And you have promised to come, Aunt Bethia,” said Violet.

”If all is well,” said Miss Bethia, gravely.

”But we are poor creatures, at the best, as I don't need to tell you; and I don't feel as if I could count on much time or strength for my part. But it ain't best to worry.”

”We have had a good time here this summer, whether we come again or not,” said Sarah Oswald. ”I would like to stay here all winter, if Violet would stay too. It would be a great deal pleasanter than going back to Aunt Livy.”

”Only it is not quite the right thing to say so, Sally,” said Frank.

”It would be pleasant to stay for some things,” said Violet. ”But I am glad we are going home now. We shall come again in the summer, if Aunt Bethia will have us.”

”You are glad you came, mamma?” said David.

”Very glad. It has been a happy summer to us all. The leaving you alone was the only thing to be regretted; but I don't think you are really the worse for being left.”

”No,” said David, with a long breath. ”But I am very glad we are all going home together. I only wish Aunt Bethia was not going to be left behind.”

In her heart Miss Bethia knew that it was quite as well for all concerned that she was to be left behind, still it pleased her to hear David's wish. She had had a pleasant summer as well as the rest; but she was not so strong as she used to be, and needed quiet.

”Debby and I will tough it out together through the winter,” said she; ”and, like as not, those of us who are spared will have to make all their plans all over again. It will be all right, whichever way it is.”

Violet and David looked at Miss Bethia and at each other in surprise, not so much at her words, as at her manner of saying them. She looked as though it needed an effort to speak calmly, and she was very pale; and when she put up her hands to gather her shawl closer about her, they both noticed that they were trembling and uncertain.

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