Chapter XVII: People and Things

MANY weeks had gone by, and Mrs. Stuart was pretty well recovered from her accident. She limped a little, it is true, and was unable to walk any distance; still, on the whole, she might be counted convalescent.

Archie had been a good son to her through those weeks. Nobody could question it. Even Mrs. Stuart did not deny the fact.

It may seem an odd thing to say, considering the mother's love for her boy, but, undoubtedly, Mrs. Stuart had not quite forgiven Archie for being in some sort the cause of her accident. If Archie had not left her all those hours alone, she would not have gone searching after him in the brick-fields. Mrs. Stuart was wont to dilate on this very self-evident truth; while she forgot to mention the equally self-evident truth that if she had not given way to ill-temper, Archie would not have left her. Archie had been to blame, no question as to that. But Mrs. Stuart herself could scarcely be reckoned blameless.

And Mrs. Stuart was not of a generous nature. When her foot was at its worst, she seemed to find a particular gratification in reminding Archie that it was "all his doing." A generous nature would have shrunk from allowing Archie to see how much she suffered, for fear he should blame himself too far.

Archie bore his mother's reproaches patiently—so patiently that Mrs. Dunn often wondered, looking on. For she knew the young fellow to be of a quick and hasty disposition; and she did not know yet how a strong new principle was taking root in Archie Stuart's heart, and beginning already to show in his life.

One result of Mrs. Stuart's accident was a great pleasure to Archie. His friendship with the Dunns was no longer a thing forbidden. Mrs. Stuart hardly could prevent it, after Susan Dunn's kind care of her. But she still did not care to see more of the Dunns than was necessary; and if Archie spoke of Nannie, Mrs. Stuart was sure to spend some sulky hours in consequence.

It was very difficult for him to abstain from speaking of Nancy; for by this time he thought of her more than of any other human being. Nancy's pretty face was before his mind's eye perpetually. When he looked forward to the future, it was always a future with Nancy Dunn—not always as Nancy Dunn. But he had not spoken out to anybody yet of his wish. He wanted his mother to learn to like Nancy first.

"Why don't you come to see my mother oftener?" he asked one day, and Nancy answered frankly—

"I don't think she cares to have me come. She always seems so busy."

This was true, and Archie could not deny it. The thought troubled him much, but he tried to wait quietly. Meanwhile he was very often in and out at Woodbine Cottage; and the more he saw of the Dunns, the more thoroughly he respected and wished to be like them.

For there was nothing half-hearted, nothing inconsistent, about these Dunns. They were not great talkers, but neither did they hide their religion. In Richard Dunn's life, the leading aim was to serve that dear Lord and Master who had died for him on the Cross, and this aim was followed out with steady persistence. If need arose, he could speak of his heart's desire; if required to do aught which he believed to be contrary to God's will, he could refuse quietly, and without bluster. Lesser aims were included in the one great aim. He was a steady workman; he sought to keep his wife and children in comfort; he loved to have a tasteful and well-furnished little house. These things were right. It was well that he should be the better workman, because he served first a Heavenly Master; and it was well that while striving to do God's will, he should seek to please his wife, and make his children happy.

Things were much the same with Susan Dunn and with Nancy. Setting first before them the desire to please in all things a Heavenly Master and Friend, they did, as a matter of course, their best in all things.

But there was nothing sombre, nothing gloomy, in the atmosphere of Woodbine Cottage. How should there be? Richard Dunn was a man of cheerful spirit. You need not suppose for a moment that he or his family were the less cheerful because of their religion. Why, how should they be? Real religion—the religion of Christ—is rest, and joy, and safety now, and the looking forward to a glorious by-and-by. That doesn't make people gloomy. No doubt a great many true servants of God are gloomy, but they find their gloom in themselves, not in their religion, if it is indeed according to the teaching of Christ.

You would not have heard merrier children's voices anywhere in the neighbourhood than in Woodbine Cottage, or a sweeter laugh than Nancy's; nor would you have seen a sunnier face than Susan's, or a busier and happier life than Richard Dunn's. He was always at work upon something, even in leisure hours; reading a book, or doing a bit of carpentering, or tending his plants, or having a game with his little ones. There was no time in his life for idle lounging, any more than there was in Susan's or Nancy's for gossiping.

Some people may count it odd to talk of a man being "at work" when he reads a book or plays with his children. But there are many different kinds of work. Reading may be very hard work indeed—not of course just looking at a shallow article in a paper, or glancing through a worthless novel, but real steady mastering of facts worth knowing in a volume of history or science. And though playing with a child is not hard work, yet it may really be in one sense work for God, if the father is lovingly trying to win his little one's heart in every possible way, and to please God in so doing.

Archie Stuart being much in and out of Woodbine Cottage, noticed all these items of the way in which his friends lived and acted, and gradually, he seemed to catch something of the same spirit. He began to feel that for a man to live only to himself is not grand; that to please one's self always is very easy, but not beautiful. He saw slowly, more and more, how grand and beautiful, aye, and how manly a thing it is, to be permitted to fight on God's side in the mighty world-wide battle between good and evil.

No namby-pamby matter this, as Archie soon discovered. For with all his young vigour and his strong will, he found soon how little he could do, how strong were the powers of evil; and then it was that his friends could speak to him of One "mighty to save," in whose great strength Archie should, if he willed, be "more than conqueror." And then, Archie learned to pray.

That was how Archie grew more kind and patient during the weeks of his mother's illness. He did not think it himself. He had never found self-restraint harder, or the temptation to sharp self-defence more keen. But others looking on saw the difference in him already.

This learning to pray is a great step in anybody's life. Archie no longer went to Church merely as a dull duty, to listen to words which had as yet no meaning for him, because his eyes were not open to their meaning. He went now to ask God, in common with others, for things which he and they needed, to offer thanks for things already given. Both in Church, and in his own little room, he had begun to draw nearer to the footstool of Christ the King, to know Him as the Crucified, to trust Him as the Saviour, to be taught of His Spirit, to bow before Him as Lord.

For all this Archie lost no whit of his growing manliness. Was it likely? Does any one lose in force or manliness through daily intercourse with a mind infinitely greater and wiser than his own? Besides, what is more manly than self-control, than conquests over one's evil tempers, than a spirit of kindness and generosity to those weaker than one's self? Archie was growing in these things more manly, not less manly, day by day, and many remarked that it was so. The Dunns saw it especially.