CHAPTER VIII.

THE COUSINS.

IT was a long and tedious journey for all.

Poor little Ida slept for several hours, her head sinking more and more heavily on her mother's arm; but the lady would not consent to give up her charge to Aunt Mary, who longed to relieve her.

Then grandma was feeble, and, after riding four or five hours, began to look pale.

When Ida was awake, it required constant exertion to take her attention from herself. From a bottle of arnica and water, Mrs. Kent often renewed the cold applications; and every time she was sorry to see the eye looked more inflamed. But she tried to keep up her spirits, and told all manner of wonderful stories, which amused grandma as well as Ida.

Then papa and Aunt Mary sang a funny song they had learned in their early home; and so the hours passed until Berty called out, joyfully—

"There's our church! We're most home now, Ida. Oh, how glad I am!"

Mr. Kent stopped a moment opposite the stable to tell the man to come for the horses, and in a few minutes they drove through their own gate, up the pretty avenue to the front door.

"I want to see! Let me see, mamma. Please do, dear mamma!" said Ida, struggling to pull off her bandages.

"Not now, darling, Be patient a little longer."

The next morning, their own physician came to see the little girl. He said the scratches would soon be well, and he hoped to prevent a scar under the eye. He cut some tiny strips of sticking-plaster, and put on the place where the lid was torn, talking very cheerfully to Ida about a new pup his little boy had bought.

"In a week or two you will be well enough to come and see it," he said, laughing, as he bid her good-by.

The next day the expressman stopped at the door; and there was a beautiful new bedstead, which papa had bought for his little girl. Grandma was to room with Aunt Mary, and Ida to go back to her old place by the side of mamma.

The old lady's trunks came safely by the cars, and, soon after, a letter from Uncle Mason, saying that Joseph had been very dangerously ill; but there was now hope he would recover. The doctor forbade any kind of excitement, and said the greatest care would be necessary to preserve his reason.

"You may think, sister Kent," he added, "that both wife and I have something to think of during these days of sorrow. If Mary should ask me now if I had prayed with Joseph, I could no longer say, 'no;' I have prayed by his couch many, many, times; and I have wept bitter tears, as I have thought of my own want of self-control. How could I expect my son to be different from what he was, while I set him so bad an example! Amanda and I are both resolved, with the help of God, to begin life anew, and, if he spares us our only son, we humbly look to him for strength and wisdom to guide him aright."

"Next year, when you bring mother home, for we cannot spare her longer, I know she will rejoice that we have at last begun to pray morning and night, for the blessing of God on our habitation."

This was delightful news.

"The very best," grandma said again and again.

Now, if they could hear that Joseph was entirely out of danger, they would feel happy.

Many a talk did Mrs. Kent and Ida have in her darkened chamber about the sick cousin. Every night, now, the little girl joined Josey's name with her own and Berty's, when imploring God's blessing. One day she remained unusually quiet. At last she said—

"Mamma, I want to write a letter to Josey. I can tell a letter, and you write it down."

Mrs. Kent, curious to know what she would say, brought her portfolio, when Ida began—

"DEAR JOSEY—I stay in a dark room; but I think of a good many things. I am very sorry you are sick. I want to send you some orangeade; but mamma says it couldn't go so far. I'm sorry I struck you, and called you ugly boy. I've asked God a good many times to forgive me, and I think he has. I pray for you every night. I used to be very naughty once; but I'm trying hard to be good now; and mamma says God always helps little children when they try to do right themselves. When you get well, I want you and your mamma and all the family to come and see us; and I'll show you all my playthings; and we'll have fine sport. That's all. From—"

"IDA KENT."

I have only a few more words to say. When Ida got well, she sometimes forgot herself for a moment, and would give way to her old passion; but she was always much ashamed, and never failed to ask God to forgive her once more, for her dear Saviour's sake. Every time she conquered herself, it was easier to do so.

Aunt Mary was no longer afraid to introduce her pet to her friends; and Ida, with Rosa her dolly, became a favorite with all.

In the quiet of her new home, grandma's health returned. Every day she used to walk out about the grounds of her son's pleasant home, and it was a privilege her granddaughter highly prized to accompany her. They conversed together; and her grandmother related to her many incidents of her early life, in which Ida found great delight, and about which her childish curiosity proposed many questions.

After a time, an answer came to Ida's letter, with which I must close my account of this little lamb.

"DEAR COUSIN—I can't write, you know; but pa puts down what I tell him. I am a better boy than I was before you came here. It's awful hard though to keep from screaming when Minnie and Susan won't do as I say; but pa helps me. Every time I conquer myself, he gives me a pretty book, and now I have five. Sometimes I get very red, and I would strike if I could; but pa and ma are so kind, I feel like trying to please them. Pa says this is the way to please God."

"I'm very, very sorry I scratched you so. Will you please to forgive me? I think when I go to see you, we shall be nice friends. Give my love to grandma, and Aunt Mary, and all the rest."

"Pa has bought a magic lantern for me to send to you. He showed us all the pictures. Pa prays with us every day in the parlor, and he's a dear, good pa."

"Your cousin," "JOSEPH MASON."