IX.

GO AND DO LIKEWISE.

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"MAKE haste, make haste, or I do believe that the train will be off!" exclaimed Arthur, hurrying with his two brothers along the highroad, towards a small station at which the train was to call at ten.

"I really can hardly keep up with you, Arthur," said Peter. "You rush on like a steam-engine yourself."

"If any of us had only a watch to tell us the exact time. But the train comes so fast, and gives so little notice; and only think, if we were to miss it!"

"What a splendid day we have for our trip!" cried Mark. "Not a cloud to be seen in the sky! I do long to see the Crystal Palace. They say that it is the most beautiful thing in the world!"

"How kind it is in uncle to give us such a treat!" said Arthur, his rosy face beaming with pleasure. "We have never had such a holiday before. Oh, let's make haste—come on, come on!"

"What's that sound?" exclaimed Mark, stopping short.

"Not the railway whistle, I hope," cried Arthur.

"It's a loud cry of distress from the end of that field," said Peter, looking alarmed.

"There it is again," cried Arthur. "Some one is in terror or in pain."

"I daresay," said Mark impatiently; "but you know we've no time for delay."

"I suspect that it is some one hurt by the bull that is kept in that field," cried Peter. "I can see the creature through the hedge."

"Can you see any human being?" said Arthur.

"No, no one; but the voice shows where the person must be."

"We cannot wait any longer," said Mark. "Remember that if we are late for this train we must give up the treat altogether."

"I cannot bear to go with those shrieks in my ears," replied Arthur.

"Then I will go on without you," said Mark. And he ran on, as if to make up for lost time.

"Peter, we should get over that stile, and go to see what is the matter," said Arthur.

"Perhaps we ought; but—but you know that there is the bull in the field."

"He is a very quiet one."

"Yes, generally; but he may be in a savage mood now. I feel sure," added the boy, grasping his brother's arm, "that he must have gored the poor child whose screams we hear."

Arthur looked grave and anxious. His brother was older than he, and Arthur had been accustomed to lean upon his opinion.

"Will you go, Peter?" he said, at last.

"Not I—it would be folly—we will send some one from the station."

"Ah, if they would attend to us boys; and even if they would, help might not arrive for half an hour, and then it might come too late. O Peter, that is a terrible cry."

"I can't bear to stay and hear it!" exclaimed Peter. And so saying, he turned and ran along the road as fast as Mark had done before him.

And did Arthur follow his brothers? No, he did not. He went back to the stile, hastily clambered over it, and with many an uneasy glance at the bull, that was cropping the grass at no great distance—fearful of running, lest it should draw him after him—Arthur made his way to the spot whence the cries proceeded.

Was Arthur less eager than the other boys to enjoy his treat? Was he less afraid of being gored by a bull? By no means, for Arthur was the youngest of the three. He had hardly slept the night before from thought of the coming pleasure, and he was by no means particularly courageous by nature. Why, then, did he turn back and cross the field? It was that the love of God was shed abroad in his heart that he had learned in the Bible to forget self, and that he sought every opportunity, by kindness and compassion to his fellow-creatures, to show his love and gratitude to his heavenly Master.

Resolute, therefore, neither to let fear nor pleasure stop him in the course of duty, Arthur proceeded on his way, though I cannot say that his ears were not anxiously listening for the sound of the railway whistle, or that he did not often fearfully turn to see if the bull were running after him. He neither heard the whistle, however, nor was pursued by the bull, but reached in safety the other end of the field, where he found, lying in a dry ditch, just beneath the hedge, a poor girl of about his own age.

"What is the matter with you?" said Arthur, stooping to help her to rise. "I am afraid that you are very much hurt."

The girl was crying so violently that it was some time before Arthur could make out the cause of her distress. It appeared that she had fallen in getting over the hedge, and had sprained her ankle so severely as to be unable to rise.

"I thought that no one would ever come," sobbed the girl, "though I screamed as loud as I could."

[Illustration: HELP IN NEED.]

"But what can I do for you?" said Arthur. "I am not strong enough to carry you away."

"Oh, do you see that little white cottage there, just on the side of the hill? My father lives there. If you would only go and tell him, I am sure that he would come and help me."

"If I go all that distance," thought poor Arthur, "I shall be quite certain to miss the train."

But he looked again at the suffering girl, and thought of the holy history of one who had compassion on a poor injured traveller. He remembered the words, "Go, and do thou likewise"; and determined to give up his own pleasure for the comfort of another. Perhaps only a child can tell how great was the sacrifice to the child!

Arthur ran in the direction of the cottage, arrived there breathless and heated, and found the girl's father standing at his door talking to a baker, who, in his light cart, was going his daily round. A few words from the panting boy explained to the man the accident that had happened to his daughter.

"I am much obliged to you," said the cottager. "I will go to poor Joan directly."

The eye of Arthur fell upon the Dutch clock hanging up near the fireplace. The hour was not quite so late as his fears had imagined, but still it wanted only eight minutes to ten.

"I cannot be in time for the train," said the tired boy sadly, half to himself. "My brothers will be off without me."

"Did you want to meet the train? And have you been delayed by your kindness?" said the baker, leaning from his cart, with a look of interest. "Jump up here beside me. You've a chance of it yet. The train may not be punctual to a minute, and Dobbin trots as fast as any horse in the county."

In a moment the eager boy was up in the cart, and the baker seemed as eager. You might have thought, too, that the horse knew the state of the case, he dashed on at such a fine rate! And the train was five minutes beyond its time. Not till Arthur had sprung down from the cart at the station, and stood thanking the kind baker who had helped him in his need, was the long shrill scream of the whistle heard, and the dark rattling line of carriages appeared. He was in time! Oh yes, he was in time!

Mark and Peter enjoyed their visit to the Crystal Palace, but their pleasure was as nothing compared to that of Arthur. His whole soul was overflowing with pure delight. He felt inclined to go springing and bounding along, his heart was so free from a care! As a good man once said, "How pleasant it is when the bird in the bosom sings sweetly."

If my reader would know what is real happiness, real delight, let him seek it in forgetting self, and following the steps of his Lord. Where there is sorrow which you can cheer, or distress which you can relieve, remember the Samaritan who beheld a wounded stranger and would not pass by on the other side. Do not turn a deaf ear to the voice of pity, but oh, Christian child! "Go and do likewise!"