Chapter IV: The Greatest Man That Ever Lived

THREE months had passed since the arrival of the new mistress and her little son at Afton Hall. The housekeeper had left, and had not been replaced. Mrs. Barton preferring to hold the reins of government in her own hands.

In the nursery Jane still reigned supreme, but there was now a younger woman to assist her; for, much to the surprise of all the household, Jane had volunteered to take Jack under her charge, and the plan answered admirably.

The invalid child, with his sunny disposition, and winning ways, had won her heart at once; though she still looked with jealous, suspicious eyes on his mother.

"You see, Master Theodore," she explained one day, "there's no need to keep the poor little fellow at a distance, seeing it's not likely he will be here long anyway. He's that fond of you, too! Why, when you're out his eyes are always looking towards the door at the slightest sound, thinking you're coming. 'Jane,' he said to me the other day, 'isn't it grand to be strong like Theo!' Poor little chap! It's hard times for him!"

By this time the stepbrothers were fast friends. As the weather became warmer, Jack went out every day, and was drawn about the garden in his wheeled invalid's chair. He made acquaintance with John Bawdon, and the old man would often chat to the child. On one of these occasions, when the two were left alone together for a few minutes, Jack asked the age of his companion, and, on being told, remarked thoughtfully:

"How strange to be so old! Do you know I am only seven, and I shall not live long; perhaps I shall die before you, John."

"Maybe, sir; God knows. But I'm an old chap, that's certain, and it can't be long before I shall see the King in His beauty."

"'Thine eyes shall see the King in His beauty, they shall behold the land that is very far off,'" quoted the child, the soft, musical tones of his voice going straight to his companion's heart.

"Aye, aye, sir, that's it. It used to be my mother's favourite verse, and I've always minded it."

"Your mother? I suppose she's dead?" Jack said dubiously.

"She died so many years agone that I've lost count o' the time, Master Jack. She lies in the churchyard yonder."

"Theodore's mother is buried there, too—he told me. I think it is very pleasant to be alive—that is, sometimes. Of course it's not nice if you're in pain."

The old man shook his head, and glanced pityingly at the thin, little face, and the beautiful brown eyes, that looked far too big and bright.

"Pain is very hard to bear, Master Jack, but you face it bravely, sir, I hear."

"Oh, no! I'm afraid not, but I try, and—"

"I sometimes think," John interrupted, "that, knowing our weakness, maybe the Lord won't judge us so much by what we've done, as by what we've tried to do. If we do our best, that's what God wants; He won't blame us for what we've left undone, if we try our hardest. My mother used to say the greatest praise Christ ever gave was to that poor woman who anointed His feet with ointment. You remember His disciples grumbled; I expect they felt impatient with her, and wanted her gone; but Jesus said, 'She hath done what she could.'"

"Highest praise!" said a quiet voice, and turning hastily the old man saw Mrs. Barton. She bent over her little son, and rearranged his pillows, whilst John went back to his work.

"Is it nearly twelve o'clock, mother?" Jack enquired.

"It is past twelve, my darling. Are you thinking it is time for Theodore to be here? He is rather late to-day. Perhaps he could not say his lessons, and Miss Penelope is keeping him on that account."

"Oh, no, I don't think it's that. He did his work as usual last night. Oh, mother, have you seen Theo imitate Miss Penelope?"

"Imitate Miss Penelope? No, indeed!"

"Oh, it's so funny. He screws up his mouth small, and makes his eyes very round, and talks in a cross, snappy sort of voice!"

"I don't think it's kind to do that, Jack."

"Theo can't bear Miss Penelope. He says boys always hate their governesses."

"But that's not true. Why should Theo hate Miss Penelope, because she does her best to teach him?"

"Oh, it's not that, mother! You know Miss Penelope is a cross sort of woman."

Mrs. Barton was silent. She did her best to like her husband's aunts, and succeeded as far as the elder sister was concerned. But at the same time she well knew that in their different ways they put Theodore against her: Miss Penelope intentionally, she was afraid, and Miss Selina from sheer lack of tact. For, sorrowfully, Mrs. Barton was obliged to acknowledge that she knew but little more of Theodore, after living three months under the same roof with him, than she had the first day of her arrival. The boy was perfectly respectful and polite, but he never talked freely to his stepmother.

Mr. Barton had not been in the habit of seeing much of his little son, but even he could not help noticing that Theodore purposely kept in the background.

The stepbrothers were true friends. Jack loved Theodore dearly, and admired him for possessing the qualities he lacked himself; whilst Theodore in return was growing to love Jack best of all the world, with an affection that had sprung from purest pity in the first instance, but was daily becoming stronger and deeper.

There were days when Jack lay moaning in bed, racked and tortured with pain. On such occasions Theodore's footstep was noiseless as it passed the sufferer's door; his usually loud, clear voice hushed to a whisper. Then would follow a time of utter weakness for poor Jack, when, free from pain, he could bear to hear his mother read or sing to him, and would listen with a patient, placid smile, whilst Theodore recounted the tale of some wonderful adventure that had befallen him, for Theodore was always having adventures. He would be thrown from his pony, and fall unhurt; once whilst fishing, he had stumbled into the river, and had been fished out himself by a gamekeeper, none the worse for his ducking; and on another occasion, when endeavouring to rob a wood-pigeon's nest of its eggs, he had slipped, and returned home with a scarred and bleeding face, much to the alarm of Jack and the anger of Jane.

"I did not get the eggs after all," Theodore had lamented as Jane had bathed his injured countenance.

"Oh, Theo, I'm so glad!" Jack had exclaimed. "It's so cruel to rob birds' nests, I think."

Theodore had made no answer, putting it down as one of Jack's peculiarities that he should consider birds'-nesting wrong.

Little Jack had many peculiarities, in his stepbrother's opinion. Strong, healthy Theodore found it very difficult to understand the intense shrinking from giving pain that possessed the weaker boy's tender heart. During his whole life Theodore had had no serious illness, had endured no actual suffering, therefore it was impossible he could understand the giant "Pain" as Jack did. Theodore's temper was hot and hasty, quick to be roused, and as quick to forgive. He would often throw himself into a great rage when Jane opposed some wish of his, and later, kiss her with tender affection and beg forgiveness.

Young as he was, Jack had learned to control his temper: a hasty word rarely crossed his lips; and if when he was ill he was troublesome and fretful, his repentance when he grew better, was quite touching to witness.

"Oh, Theodore," he cried on one occasion, "I do wish I could be patient, I do! I don't believe I'll ever learn to be Christ's disciple really. You know, He said, 'Whosoever doth not bear his cross, and come after Me, cannot be My disciple.' Do you think I shall ever, ever learn to bear my cross?"

"I don't know what you mean, Jack. I know you're quite brave. I should not have thought any one could be so plucky. I'm sure if I was half as bad as you are sometimes, I should simply howl," Theodore answered with candour.

"Oh no, you wouldn't! I don't believe you'd even cry ever so softly," and the soft brown eyes met the bright grey ones with a look full of loving admiration. "Still, I do try to be patient, you know I try. Mother says I must keep on trying, and then my cross will get lighter and lighter, till I shan't feel it but just the weeniest bit, and at last it will carry me to God."

"I don't understand, Jack."

"Oh, I mean my back, you know—that's my cross! When I die—"

"Oh, you mustn't talk of dying, Jack! I don't like it, I don't indeed! Promise you won't."

"All right, I won't, if you'd rather I didn't." And with his usual thoughtfulness for another's pleasure, Jack changed the conversation.

But Theodore could not help thinking a good deal of what Jack had said, though he tried with all his might not to do so. In a few days, however, other matters came to occupy his mind, and drove the thought of Jack's dying completely away for the time.

One morning, in the midst of a geography Theodore astonished his aunt by asking, without apparently any reference to anything that had gone before, "Aunt Pen, who was the greatest man that ever lived, should you think?"

"I—I'm sure I do not know, Theodore. What queer questions you ask, to be sure! The greatest man that ever lived? Well, really that is a wide question."

"A wide question, Aunt Pen—what's that?"

"A question that could be answered in many ways. The Duke of Wellington was a great man—one of the greatest men of his day. General Gordon was a great man, too; and oh! dear me, there have been hundreds of great men. Each age has its shining lights, its—"

"But who should you say was the greatest man, Aunt Pen?" Theodore persisted.

"Oh, I'm sure I do not know! It's a matter of opinion. Go on with your work."

Theodore obeyed, but he was far from satisfied. When twelve o'clock came, and he was free, he found his stepmother in the garden chatting to Miss Selina.

"Well, Theodore, lessons over?" queried Mrs. Barton. "Then we will go home together. I think I must say goodbye now, Miss Selina."

"I am very glad Jack is so much better," Miss Selina said cordially. "Come and see me again very soon. I like an informal call such as you make, my dear."

Mrs. Barton and her husband's elder aunt were on excellent terms by this time, in spite of the latter's preconceived prejudice against her nephew's wife.

As Theodore walked along by his stepmother's side, it occurred to him to ask the same question of her that he had put to Miss Penelope a short while since.

"I want to ask you something," he began, looking up into her face with earnest, searching eyes.

"What is it, my dear?"

"Who was the greatest man that ever lived, should you think?"

She paused, and gazed at him in silence for a moment before she answered with serious directness, "The Lord Jesus Christ."

"Ah! that's what Jack said."

"Jack was right. Yes, Theodore, Jesus was the greatest man that ever lived."

"Was He brave?"

"Very brave. He suffered a death of shame for the sake of a wicked world. He gave His life for sinners. 'God commandeth His love toward us, in that while we were yet sinners Christ died for us.' Oh, He was the greatest man that ever lived! Brave, true, faithful, gentle, loving, the founder of a mighty kingdom, the—"

"A mighty kingdom!" Theodore echoed in surprise.

"Yes, a kingdom that has been growing and gaining in power for nineteen hundred years. I mean the Kingdom of God, that Christ preached and founded."

"Jack thinks a good deal of Jesus," the boy remarked musingly. "I think he loves Him better, yes, better than you."

"I hope—I believe he does!"

"Why, I wonder?"

"I could not be to Jack what his Saviour is. It is Jesus who helps him to be patient under suffering, who teaches him to bear his pain with resignation. And, Theodore, when my darling boy is called away from me, I shall not be able to go with him, but there is One— the great Physician—who will be with him when he passes through the valley of the shadow of death."

Mrs. Barton paused, and Theodore impulsively caught her hand.

"Why do you talk so?" he cried passionately. "How can you? how can you? I cannot bear to think of Jack's dying. He is better, isn't he?"

"Yes, certainly he is better."

"Then why—why—"

The child's voice was choked with piteous sobs that he strove manfully to subdue.

"Dear Theodore," his stepmother said soothingly, "do not cry. God knows what is best, He does indeed! You must try to feel with me that Jack is in the hands of One whose love and care will never fail. We must trust in Him at all times. Yes, yes," as Theodore shook his head, "I know it is hard. You must try to believe that God knows best; you will, will you not?"

But Theodore made no answer, and they walked the remainder of the way to the Hall in silence.