Part 37 (2/2)

”I don't know. The way will open, mamma always says. When we came here first, mamma and Violet meant to keep a school; but, after Violet went to teach your sisters, we could get on without it, and it was so much better for us to have mamma all to ourselves. She may think of it again, and Violet is better able to help her now.”

”It is a slave's life.”

”No; I don't think mamma objects to it on that ground. But there is no haste about it. I always remember what mamma said to me once--'If your master has a special work for you to do, He will provide the means for special preparation.'”

”What a wonderful woman your mother is!” said Philip.

David laughed, such a happy laugh.

”Is she? She does not think so.”

”I wonder if she would be on my side if I were to tell her all about old Caldwell's plans, and how much good you could do with us--and a future partners.h.i.+p, and all that. Why, Davie, you might, when you are a rich man, educate any number of ministers. Wouldn't that do as well as to be one yourself?”

”That will be something for you to do. No; I don't think mamma would be on your side.”

”But you are her bread-winner, as I have heard her say. How can she spare you?”

”And I shall always be so while she needs me. I can wait a long time patiently, I think. But I cannot give it up now. It would be 'looking back,' after putting my hand to the plough.”

They were silent for a good while, and then Philip said:

”Tell me about your father.”

David doubted whether he had anything new to tell, for, as they had come to care more for each other's company, he had often spoken to Philip of his father. But if he had nothing new to tell, he told it all over in a new way--a way that made Philip wonder. He told him all that I have told you, and more,--of his father's life and work--how wise and strong he was--how loving and beloved. He told him of his love for his Master, of his zeal for His service. He told him of his own lessons with him, of how he used to go with him to the North Gore and other places, and of what he used to say, and how happy the days used to be. He told him of his last days, and how, when it came to the end, he was so joyful for himself and so little afraid for them, though he was going to leave them alone and poor--how sure he was that G.o.d would care for them and keep them safe until they all should meet again. Sometimes he spoke with breaking voice, and sometimes, though it had grown dark by this time, Philip could see that his cheeks flushed and his eyes shone as he went on, till he came to the very last, and then he said:

”He told me then, at the very last--even after he had spoken about mamma, that I was to take up the armour that he was laying down. And, G.o.d helping me, so I will,” said David, with a sob, laying down his face, to hide his tears, on the shoulder of his friend. But, in a little, he raised it again, and said, quietly:

”I couldn't go back after that, Philip.”

”No,” said Philip; and he said nothing more for a long time, nor did David. Philip spoke first:

”And so it must be 'Good-bye,' Davie?”

”Good-bye?” repeated David. ”I don't understand?”

”You are to take one way and I another; so we part company.”

David was silent from astonishment.

”As our fathers did,” said Philip. ”They were friends once, as we are, Davie, but their paths divided, as ours must, I fear.”

”It need not be so.”

”It is curious to think of it,” went on Philip. ”If my father were to die to-night, he would leave his children as poor as your father left his when he died. Not that it would matter; but then my father has lost his whole life, too. No, Davie, I fear the end will be that we must go different ways.”

”Dear Philip,” said David, standing before him, and speaking with much earnestness, ”there is only one thing that can separate us--your serving one master and I another; and that need not be. Your work may be as much for Him as mine. Philip, dear friend--is He your Lord and Master, as He is mine?”

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