"Go on telling me about your father," said Arthur; "I like hearing of him."

"I don't think I have much to tell," said Edgar, "except that it was very happy when he was at home; and, oh, so miserable ever since! And I think he might have stayed."

"That is what I thought about mamma. But I am quite sure they knew best; indeed I'm certain, Edgar, they would only do it for the best."

They stopped talking for a little while, and sat still and silent--very still it was, and very long it lasted for two boys of their age; but Edgar's short breathing and weakness had often enforced these times of rest, and Arthur's grave, earnest face showed him to be deeply thinking.

They made a great contrast as they sat together in the woody shade, where the woodbine-scented breeze was fanning softly, and the quivering light fell scatteringly. There was a weary, restless look brooding over Edgar's dark eyes, and his face was pale and worn-looking. Arthur's cheeks were ruddy and round, and his thick brown hair cl.u.s.tering on his sunburnt forehead; but with all the energy and liveliness that could be seen on his face, a peaceful, restful look could be noticed there too.

"This walk to-day reminds me of long ago," said Edgar, after a while. "We used to walk, papa and I. Sometimes we set off directly after breakfast, and took some luncheon with us, and then father used to fish, and it was such fun when he caught some; and then we had luncheon, and sometimes father went to sleep for a little, and sometimes he would tell me stories; and talk, oh, so nicely!"

"What did he talk about?" asked Arthur.

"Well, I can't tell you exactly, or at any rate I don't want to tell you."

"I wish you would," Arthur said.

Presently Arthur spoke again.

"Yes, it is very nice; that is, it is _half_ nice to think of those times."

"It must be quite nice for you," said Edgar, "because, you see, you may think that it will all come again some day, and that you will be with your father and mother again; but I never shall. Oh, Arthur, I do want to see him sometimes! I think if I knew for certain he was alive in India, I could wait any time. It would be so nice to know he was coming back again, and that I was going to live with him."

And then it struck Arthur, how very much more he had to be thankful for, than he had thought. He looked at Edgar's sad life, and then he thought of how very much brighter his own was. But he knew enough of dreariness, to be able to enter into Edgar's sadness.

"Well, Edgar, I'll tell you what. When my father and mother come home, I will get them to ask you to come to Ashton Grange, and you may be quite sure the people there will want you. I know I shall. I think, although you are such a queer fellow, that I like you very much, and I am so sorry you are so unhappy."

Something like a happy smile came into Edgar's face, as he said, "I think I should like that."

Arthur had not known it, but in Edgar's heart there had always been a great liking for him. He was so different from himself. Perhaps that was one reason, and Edgar's was one of those deep, intense natures that cling very closely to their heart's objects.

By and by they began their homeward way, and as they walked along the lane, Arthur said:

"Tell me what it was your father used to talk about. I believe I know partly."

"Well, if you know, what is the use of my telling?"

"Because I don't quite know. And, Edgar, was it not about heaven, and the way to get there?"

"Yes," said Edgar in a low voice; "but I don't think grandmamma agreed with him. Any way, I know that when she talked, it made me miserable."

"You seem to have had a great many troubles, Edgar," said Arthur, "even more than I have."

"Oh, Arthur," said Edgar, "I don't think any one knows how unhappy I have been! Look here," and Edgar spoke in a lower voice; "I don't mind telling you, because you are different from the rest; but, do you know, I have always been in a fright about something or other. Sometimes, in the winter nights, all by myself at home, I have had such horrid thoughts, and I have fancied all sorts of things; and even in the summer evenings, when the sky had that red look, it always made me think about the moon being turned into blood, and about judgment and punishment; and I used to think about the great white throne, and myself standing before it, and G.o.d judging me, and that papa and mamma would be on one side, and I should be on the other."

"Well, I have had thoughts like that, I think; but then I always thought of the Lord Jesus Christ; and how could I be afraid then?"

"But He will judge people, won't He?"

"Oh, Edgar, He is our Saviour!" said Arthur earnestly. "It is only when people will not have Him for their Saviour that He is their Judge. Why, I am not afraid of the Lord Jesus. How could I be?"

"Ah," said Edgar sadly, "that is because you are converted, and I am not!

I have tried so hard. Oh, so many times, after I have heard sermons, I have felt so frightened, and I have made up my mind I would be a Christian; and then in bed I have cried so, and I have thought, that surely this time I must really go on right, and the next day, it has all been different again, and I did not care a bit about it!"

"But, Edgar, the Lord Jesus wants you to come to Him, a great deal more than you want it. I know He does, because he says, 'Ye _will not_ come to me that ye might have life.'"

"But what is coming?" said Edgar in a dreary voice.

"Well, I'll tell you the way, my mother once explained it to me. Don't you know, if the Lord Jesus were here on the earth, you would go to the place where He was, and say, 'I am here, Lord Jesus; I come;' and so now you can say that while you are sitting here, because He is here, and everywhere; so you need not move. And, Edgar, don't you think He knows that you say it? I am certain He does, because He has been wanting you to answer, ever since He called."

"But," said Edgar, "you make it out, as if it was not to try a bit."

"Well, and that is it," said Arthur, with a bright, happy smile. "That is just what mother says. I can tell you another thing she said. You remember about the Lord Jesus feeding the people in the wilderness?"

"Yes, with the loaves and the fishes."

"Yes; that was it. Well, all He wanted them to do, was to rest on the gra.s.s, and be fed; and that was just the thing, that pleased Him best. You see they had not to try and do anything hard--had they? And mother said, that this is what the Lord Jesus wants us to do--to stop trying, and let Him do what He likes with us; and, you know, the Lord Jesus could not do anything unkind, could He?"

"You don't seem one bit afraid of Him, Arthur."

"Why, no. How could I be afraid?" asked Arthur, with such a happy smile.

"Don't you know

"'How our hearts delight to hear Him Bid us dwell in safety near Him!

Why should we distrust or fear Him?

Oh, how He loves!'"

They neither of them spoke for several minutes. It was getting late, and the sun was falling in slanting golden rays on the green slopes; the shadows were deepening in the woods, and other sights and sounds told, that evening was coming on; so the two boys rose from their gra.s.sy seat.

"I wish, oh, how I wish," said Edgar, after a long pause, "that I could feel the same as you do, Arthur!"

"Well, but you must not be wanting to feel first; you have to believe what the Lord Jesus says, and He says, 'Him that cometh to me I will in no wise cast out;' so if you would only come, you must be safe, for He cannot break His word. And I will tell you what I do, Edgar, whenever I think of how bad I have been, and when I feel frightened. I just say, 'Jesus died,'

and G.o.d hears me, and Satan hears me too; and of course when I remember why Jesus died, I feel glad. And then, there is a text I like to remember--a very short one it is--where the Lord Jesus is called 'the Saviour of the world;' and, you know, if He is the Saviour of the world, He must be my Saviour, and yours too."

They had reached the school-gates now; the shadows were deep and long, and Arthur's two-mile walk lay before him. But his aunt had long since found, that she could trust him alone; so even when the moon had begun to tell, that the day had gone; and the stars were speaking sparkling joy above, she was not uneasy about him.

"Well, good-bye," said Arthur.

"Good-bye," Edgar said; but he did not go, and he stood, looking wistfully at Arthur. Presently he spoke--

"Arthur, I wish----"

"Well, what?"

"I wish you would be my friend."

"Why, so I am," said Arthur.

"Yes; but I mean, I have not any brother, and you have not either. I wish you would be the same to me as if we were. Will you?"