Chapter IV: Phil in His "tantrums."

PHIL continued to make progress in the days that followed, though but slowly. Since there was no longer cause for anxiety on his account, Sister Kathleen gave him less of her attention. Other and more critical cases claimed her care, but she did not forget Phil. She felt for him the tender interest a motherly woman naturally feels for one whom she has nursed in pain and peril and helped to bring back to health. Forlorn little Phil, with his blue eyes and yellow curls, had won a secure place in Sister Kathleen's loving heart.

"Poor child, he is worse than motherless," she would say to herself at night when she took her last look at him. "The very name of mother has a perverted meaning for him, and suggests only harshness and cruelty. I hardly think he knows what love means."

And with motherly tenderness in her heart, and motherly gentleness of look and action, Sister Kathleen would tuck the bedclothes round him and press a kiss on his sleeping brow.

Though she tried not to make a pet of Phil, every one saw that the boy was very dear to Sister Kathleen, and the fact had its influence with the nurses. All were disposed to be kind to Phil. He was a favourite with the doctors, and they had a merry word for him as they came along the ward. Phil's sharp, quaint replies often made them laugh.

In spite of pain and weakness, Phil was enjoying his hospital experience, for it was a pleasing contrast to the life he had lived before. He did not fret over his lost limb, nor trouble himself at all about how it would be with him when the time came for him to leave the hospital. He was content to let his life come to him as it would, asking no questions, but living happily in the present, as children do, without looking forward or borrowing any shadows from the possible darkness of coming days.

One would hardly have imagined that the sorrowful experiences of Phil's young life would have left him capable of being "spoiled" by too much notice or injudicious petting. But the natural tendency of childhood to strain to the utmost every indulgence, and tyrannize over rather than obey its elders, was not lacking even in this poor little waif of the streets. Phil's fits of fractiousness did not cease as he grew stronger. His outbreaks of temper became more frequent, till, whenever his wishes were thwarted or any attempt made to control him, a storm of fury was certain to ensue.

Sister Kathleen saw nothing of these wilful moods. With her Phil was always quiet and docile. And for a while, the nurses refrained from telling her how naughty Phil was, and how much trouble he was causing in the children's ward, to which he had been removed as soon as he was able to sit up. But soon they were obliged to make complaint to her, and the Sister, distressed at what she heard, requested that she might be summoned to the scene when next Phil gave way to ungovernable passion.

She was sitting alone by the fire in her private room one afternoon, enjoying the only quiet time she could secure in the midst of her busy day, when there came a tap at the door and one of the nurses looked in.

"Please, Sister, could you come to Phil? He's in one of his furies again. He won't let Nurse Atkins touch him to apply the lotion that was ordered, and he's going on dreadfully."

"I'll come," said Sister Kathleen, with an involuntary sigh, as she rose from her easy-chair.

As she entered the children's ward, she heard Phil's voice raised to its highest pitch. He was struggling in Nurse Atkins' grasp, and his shrill outcries had very explicit meaning.

"I hate you! I wish you were dead! I should like to throw you on the ground and trample on you, and cut off your head and kill you, I should!"

"Phil, Phil!" said Sister Kathleen's calm, clear voice behind him. "What is this I hear? What is it all about?"

The boy's screams ceased abruptly, and he turned upon her a startled gaze. He had not expected Sister Kathleen to appear in the ward at that hour. But it was only a brief pause. The next minute, he began to scream again with renewed violence.

"He won't let me use the lotion because it makes the skin smart," said the nurse, looking helplessly at her superior. "He is always like this now; there is no doing anything with him."

"Leave him to me, nurse," said Sister Kathleen. "Never mind about the lotion. Phil must be taught that we cannot have such behaviour as this."

The nurse loosed her hold of Phil, and he fell back into his chair, writhing and screaming in a frenzy of passion, which was heightened by a sense of its impotence.

"Phil," said Sister Kathleen, bending over him and speaking in her clearest, most decided tones, "I cannot allow you to disturb the peace of the ward by making this noise, so I shall take you away till you get over your passion and feel ashamed of yourself."

So saying, she lifted him in her strong arms and carried him off. Phil struggled a little, but he was too surprised and too full of wonder as to what the Sister meant to do with him to make much resistance.

Straight to her own room Sister Kathleen carried him. There she laid him on her bed, arranging the pillows about him so that he could rest in the half-sitting posture he liked best. She did this without saying a word, whilst Phil stole many a half-frightened, questioning glance at her, and continued to sob. Sister Kathleen left him to himself and sat down again in her chair by the fire, with her back turned towards Phil.

For a while there was silence, broken only by Phil sobbing beneath his breath. Gradually his sobs became less frequent. The storm of passion was over. He was beginning to feel ashamed of himself, and Sister Kathleen's continued silence made him very uneasy. He moved his position slightly, so as to catch a sidelong view of her face. How very grave it was! How still she sat, with her cheek resting on her hand! Phil wondered of what she was thinking. Did she think him very, very bad? He wished she would speak to him. Any words, even the most severe scolding, would be better than this strange, sad silence.

As he waited, each minute seeming as long as half-a-dozen, Sister Kathleen gave a heavy sigh.

Phil leaned nearer, and stole another anxious glance at her. Was it a tear he saw sparkling on her eyelashes? He watched her intently, and tears sprang to his own blue eyes as he saw that Sister Kathleen was indeed crying. There was no doubt about it, for she had taken her handkerchief and was wiping the tears away. Phil could contain himself no longer.

"Oh, Sister, Sister!" he exclaimed, with a sob. "What are you crying for? Is it because I am so bad?"

She turned quickly at the sound of his voice and smiled on him through her tears. "Yes and no, my poor little Phil," she said tenderly. "It is true that thinking of you made me cry."

"Oh, don't cry, don't cry!" he implored her. "I will be good. I won't never be so naughty again."

"I hope not," she said, rising and coming to him with open arms; "I believe you will be good, for I have been asking God to make you good."

She lifted him from the bed as she spoke, and, moving back to her chair, she sat down with Phil in her lap.

And Phil felt strangely happy, in spite of his tears, as he leaned his head upon her shoulder and felt her arms pressed tenderly about him.

"I will be good," he said earnestly. "Don't cry again, Sister; I can't bear to see you cry."

"Then I won't cry," she said, dashing away the tears that yet sparkled in her eyes. "It was thinking of myself, Phil, as well as of you, that made me cry. When I was a little girl, I used to be just as wilful and passionate as you have been to-day."

"You?" exclaimed Phil, as if he could hardly believe his ears.

"Yes, I used often to fly into such passions, and I can remember how patient my dear mother was with me, and how lovingly and wisely she showed me how wrong it was, and helped me to conquer my temper."

"Your mother?" said Phil in a tone of wonder. "Didn't she beat you? I can tell you mother makes me smart, if ever I get into my tantrums with her."

"Oh no!" said Sister Kathleen, with a smile that came accompanied by tears. "My mother never beat me. She was a good and tender mother."

"I wonder what it's like to have a good mother," said Phil, with an air of reflection. "Mine's a precious bad one, I know! Didn't your mother never beat you, not when she was in a rage?"

"She never was in a rage," said Sister Kathleen; "she was always gentle and full of love. Do you know what love means, my little Phil?"

"Oh yes!" The boy's prompt reply took her by surprise. "You are love, and Aunt Lizzie is love. I know what love means."

Yes, Phil could recognise love when it smiled on him, though he had not learned to know it as most children do unconsciously in infancy, softly sheltered by the brooding love which God has implanted in the mother-heart, to foreshadow His own infinite love and pity for the children of men.

"You are right, Phil," said Sister Kathleen; "I love you, and your Aunt Lizzie loves you, but there is One who loves you far, far more than we can. The arms of His love, broader, deeper, and more mighty than any love of earth, enfold your little life. Ah, the thought of that love comforts me when I think of you, dear little Phil."

The child could not understand. He was looking at her with eyes big with wonder.

"You know the picture of the Good Shepherd that hangs in the ward?"

Phil nodded his head.

"Of course," he said, "don't you remember telling me about it?—How the lamb was lost and the Shepherd went out in the cold and stormy night to look for it, and how He found it, torn and bleeding, amongst the thorns, and took it in His arms and carried it back to the fold? And the lamb was so glad and happy to be in the Shepherd's arms again. You said I was like that little lamb."

"So you are, my Phil, a lonely, forsaken lamb, but the Good Shepherd loves you and cares for you."

"Will He come and find me?" asked Phil. "Will He take me in His arms?"

"I think He has found you," said Sister Kathleen; "His arms are about you now, Phil."

"What do you mean?" said the boy, looking puzzled. "I don't see Him or feel Him. Isn't He a real person?"

"Yes, indeed, though you cannot see Him with those blue eyes of yours, nor touch Him with your little hands. He is ever near you, nearer than I am now, ever watching over you and caring for you. Should it not make you glad, Phil, to know that you have such a loving, tender, mighty Friend, always with you to help and bless you?"

"Yes," said Phil slowly, "if I could feel sure that He was with me."

"You may be sure of it. I cannot always be with you, nor can your Aunt Lizzie, but Jesus will never leave you nor forsake you. You can speak to Him at any time, and He will hear you, and if you listen, you will hear Him speaking to you in your heart, telling you how He loves you and asking you to be good because He loves you so. Jesus is grieved when you are naughty, Phil. He wants you to be happy, and you can never be happy unless you try to be good and overcome your temper."

Phil was listening earnestly, with grave, upturned face, and Sister Kathleen went on to tell him how the Good Shepherd had laid down His life for the sheep, laying it down in sorest sorrow, forsaken, scorned, and hated by those for whom He died, yet loving them to the end, and forgiving those who tortured Him with bitter taunt and cruel stroke.

"So you see, Phil," she said, "when we feel like hating people and wishing they were dead, we should remember Jesus, and how He loved and forgave those who put Him to such a cruel death, and we should ask Him to help us to forgive and to love as He did."

"I will try," said little Phil earnestly,—"I will try to be good."

How much of the truth had found a home in the childish mind Sister Kathleen could not tell, as she met the earnest gaze of Phil's blue eyes. There was a sweet, grave look on the little face. Apparently he had forgotten his late trouble in the interest and wonder awakened by her words. The Sister let him stay and take tea with her, a privilege which Phil hailed with joy.

The nurses felt a little doubtful as to the Sister's wisdom in thus "petting" Phil after he had been so naughty. But the boy was so penitent and subdued when he came back into their care that they had no just cause to question her judiciousness. Sister Kathleen's talk with Phil was not without result, as the improvement which from that day was manifest in his conduct clearly proved.