CHAPTER X

A FRIEND INDEED

"MOTHER!"

"Yes, darling!"

"What makes my head feel so funny?"

"You are tired, my little one," answered Mrs. Rose with infinite tenderness to Elsie's plaintive questioning.

"Yes, so tired, mother; put your hand on my head a little while."

Mrs. Rose obeyed, and her cool hand seemed to soothe the little sufferer.

"Mother," she continued, half wandering, "Hugh says I'm too little to fight."

"Yes, my pet, so you are; mother's little Elsie doesn't want to be a soldier," she answered, thinking the child's mind was reverting to "The Wars of the Roses," which occasionally she had heard discussed amongst her children, though never, be it said, without expressed disapproval.

"Yes, I do," she answered half petulantly, "Rachel says I'm not too little; she told me—" and here the child's eyes, with a clear light in their depths, sought her mother's face anxiously—"I might be a soldier of the Lord Jesus Christ."

"Yes, darling, so you may," answered Mrs. Rose, a rush of tears nearly blinding her sight.

"Then ask Him, mother, to let me be His little soldier," said Elsie eagerly. "Say it out loud, mummie dear," she pleaded, using in her excitement the pet name which came most naturally to her lips when she was particularly desirous of some favour.

Mrs. Rose hesitated.

"Say it now, 'cause I'm going to sleep presen'y."

The well-nigh broken-hearted mother fell on her knees, and for a while there was silent pleading.

"I can't hear, mummie," she said fretfully.

Then with a strange calm coming over her spirit, Mrs. Rose said slowly and clearly—

"Dear Lord Jesus, make Elsie Thine own little soldier, for Thy name's sake. Amen."

"Thank you, mother dear, that's all right now. Good-night—I'm getting ra'ver sleepy."

The sweet eyes closed wearily, and through the long night-watches, the devoted mother never once left her bedside. Morning dawned, and the spark of life was flickering just a little stronger, and the doctor in a more cheery voice bade her take heart.

"While there's life there's hope," he said, using the time-worn words with an expression of deep sympathy in his kindly face, and from that day it seemed the child slowly but surely began to mend.

* * * * *

"Tell me, Miss Beaumont, is there anything I can do for Lisa?"

"Yes, Matthew, there is much that you can do—I think you are raised up to help her in a time of bitter need and adversity."

Matthew's delicate features wore an expression of tender sympathy, for Miss Beaumont's speech had touched him.

Hitherto he had been unable to obtain an interview with his sister-in-law, as when she was not engaged in nursing, she was taking the necessary rest.

Miss Beaumont did all in her power to render assistance; it was she who superintended the household, looked after the boys, mended torn garments, and soothed to her utmost the sad-hearted mother.

But the time of her departure was drawing near, there remained but a little while ere she would have to bid farewell to The Gables. Her brother had need of her in a foreign land, otherwise she would not have deserted the Rose family in their extremity.

In a few well-chosen words, she gave Matthew an outline of the widow's circumstances, and right nobly did the young man rise to the occasion.

At Miss Beaumont's instigation, he procured a nurse to assist the tired mother, and he determined that no comfort which money could procure should be lacking. It was through Miss Beaumont that Mrs. Rose knew of Matthew's goodness and generosity.

It was on the fourth morning after his arrival at Linwell that he obtained the much-desired interview with Mrs. Rose.

"Matthew," she said gently, as she took his hand with both her own, "God bless you for your goodness to me and mine. I can guess now who befriended me with my boys' education!"

"Oh, that's nothing, Lisa! What we want now is to get the little one well," he said cheerfully, albeit he was touched by her words.

As Matthew gazed at the sweet worn face of his brother's widow, his heart reproached him terribly for all the neglect of past years.

He had been afraid to combat his father's strong will, but no longer had he any fear; then and there he registered a vow before Heaven that never more should Elizabeth Rose struggle against the rough winds of adversity.

After a prolonged conversation, Matthew rose to take his leave, and the mother with renewed hope and courage went back to her little one's bedside.

Matthew's young nephews and nieces soon became greatly attached to him—all save Reg, who held himself strangely aloof; a fact which gave Matthew a certain amount of regret, and he made up his mind by consistent kindness and forbearance to win the lad's heart. And he won it at last, in a most unexpected manner.

Hugh in a moment of confidence had told his uncle the miserable story of his humiliation at school, and of the consequent coldness of the head-master, Dr. Willoughby.

Elsie's sad accident had for a while driven the trouble out of his mind, but as soon as a ray of hope pierced the gloom of the household, Hugh's thoughts again reverted to his disgrace.

Matthew was a good listener, and his wise counsel comforted Hugh more than a little.

Monty Rose, in the consciousness of his brother's guilt, felt very burdened and downcast, but until Reg's sense of honour bade him make what reparation lay in his power, the lad felt bound to secrecy.

Gwennie shed many tears about it, and it was almost the only secret she withheld from Ronnie, who, despite their occasional wordy warfare, was still her best and dearest friend.

One Saturday afternoon Matthew, when calling at York House, chanced to find Reg at home alone; after a kindly greeting, he looked at the lad critically.

"You're not looking up to the mark, my boy!" he said kindly.

"I've got a headache," answered Reg, flushing beneath his uncle's gaze. He might more truly have said a "heartache."

During the conversation which ensued a sudden inspiration flashed into Matthew's mind.

"I have been talking to Hugh," he said thoughtfully, "and he is very unhappy about this trouble at school. I wonder if you could help me. I want to clear his name before I return to The Towers, for I feel sure he is innocent, and that an enemy has done him this wrong."

Matthew unconsciously had sent an arrow straight to his listener's heart. He had no idea in his mind of fixing the guilt on Reg, and his astonishment was unbounded when the lad, hitherto so calm and self-contained in his presence, suddenly threw himself full length upon a couch, and hiding his face in his hands burst into tears.

Then in an instant the truth dawned upon Matthew.

"Reg, my poor boy," he said, gently laying his hand upon the lad's shoulder, "what is it?"

"Don't touch me, Uncle Matthew, I'm not fit. I am the most miserable boy in the whole world!" cried Reg, his voice quivering with emotion.

"Tell me all about it, from beginning to end," said Matthew firmly, yet with compassion in his tones.

Then the whole miserable story was told, even to the sad part he had played in Elsie's accident. For a while Matthew was silent, and then with a swift, silent prayer for guidance, he said quietly—

"That's well spoken, my boy; you have gained a victory over self, this afternoon, which is one step at least in the right direction. Now the first thing to be done, is to ask forgiveness of One whom you have grievously sinned against. Go to your room, Reg, and tell Him all, as you have told me, and ask for pardon. Then come to me again, and we will consider the next step."

[Illustration: THREW HIMSELF FULL LENGTH UPON A COUCH.]

Reg, now utterly humbled, obeyed, and after a little while returned to his uncle looking sad and subdued, albeit a great load was lifted from his heart.

Matthew realized that now was Reg's opportunity, and mindful of the truth of the proverb, he made up his mind to "strike the iron while it was hot."

"I want you to come with me, Reg, this afternoon," he said, "to see Dr. Willoughby."

"I will do anything you think right, Uncle Matthew," he answered sadly.

"We will go at once—that is, if you don't mind suiting your steps to mine," said Matthew, mindful of his lameness. The tenderness with which he spoke, and the entire absence of scorning, utterly won the lad, and in his heart, he both loved and revered the man who was thus leading him into the paths of truth and honour.

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