"Yes," said Arthur, with a half smile, for he felt a little shy; but he wanted to say something kind, so he said, "Very well then, we can; and when my father and mother come home from India, you can come to us, you know."

And then Arthur turned away, and began his walk to Myrtle Hill at a running pace. But he was thinking all the way very much of his talk with Edgar North, so that when he reached his aunt's house, the earnest look was on his face still. The darkness had not yet fallen, but the evening shades were gathering. Mrs. Estcourt was in the garden, looking out for her little nephew. She was very fond of Arthur; of course there were times when things did not run altogether smoothly between them, because, although he was a follower of the Lord Jesus Christ, and really tried to please Him, he had a strong will and a hot temper. But if Mrs. Estcourt saw his faults, she saw his struggles too; and she noticed when he gave up, what was a great matter to a boy, such as he was; and she knew that this was not natural. She knew that it was G.o.d's love that made Arthur glad; and often in her heart's secret depths she would wish to be a child like him once more, that she might believe as simply; for thoughts and questions made her very unhappy at times, and the reasonings of her natural mind prevented her enjoying the promises that G.o.d gives. But was she not making a mistake? Could she not become a little child, as G.o.d has told us all to do? Could she not cease to think, and begin to believe, and take the portion of joy and life from the One, who has said, "It is more blessed to give than to receive"?

Arthur went to look at one particular corner of the grounds, which his aunt had given him for his very own; it was hidden by a bend in the trees, and he had expended a great deal of care and skill on this garden-plot.

First of all Arthur had intended, that his estate should have a river flowing through it; but when he had dug a deep trench, and filled it, he was much disappointed to find that the water sunk into the earth; and even when he had lined it with stones and oyster-sh.e.l.ls, there was only a very faint trickling stream, and not the br.i.m.m.i.n.g river, that he had fancied to himself; so then, in disgust, Arthur levelled the banks of his river, and determined to plan his garden anew. At present it was really a pretty one, though perhaps a little too bright, with hollyhocks and geraniums. Two very large roses stood at the entrance, and the scarlet geraniums were blooming there. There was a gravel walk through the middle, that led up to a grotto, and the ferns that were growing there were well watered. Arthur would have help from no one, in the care of his garden; and considering this, its neatness did him great credit.

Mrs. Estcourt thought so too, as they stood together inside the enclosure, which was all his own.

"Why, Arthur, I think you had better turn gardener, when you choose a profession," she said.

"A gardener, aunt! Well, I shouldn't mind. But I am not quite sure I shall not be something else."

"What would that be?" asked his aunt.

"Well, I think I might be a missionary."

Then he seemed to be thinking; and after some little time, he said, "I wish he would not talk like that, I wish I could make him see."

"Who, dear?"

"Edgar North, auntie. I always thought he was very cross and disagreeable, but it is not that, at all. It is because he is so unhappy. I do wish I had thought of one other thing to say to him."

"What was it, Arthur?" asked his aunt.

"Why, you know, he is so frightened. Fancy," and Arthur's voice was soft and low, "he is afraid of the Lord Jesus Christ. That must be, because he does not know Him, must it not, auntie? And I wish I had said to him, 'If the Lord Jesus were to come walking towards us now, and sit down here, would you be afraid to see Him?'"

"And would not you, dear Arthur?" asked his aunt.

"Why, no, Aunt Daisy! How could I? The little children that He took up in His arms were not. I am sure I should not be afraid."

Mrs. Estcourt did not say anything, but she was thinking of what Arthur had said. It seemed to her then, that it must be very sweet to be one of the little children, that the Lord Jesus had blessed; for she often felt very lonely and weary. Some people--those who only care for the things that gold can bring--might say she had everything that she wanted; but her heart craved a great deal more than this, and when her husband went away from her sight for ever, she had felt as if he had taken her heart with him. There was One, who had said to her long before, "Give me thine heart;" but she had not listened to His voice, and she had not thought about His love; greater than which, there is none. She was trusting in Him for salvation, but she was not looking to Him, to feed her heart with His love. She was following Him afar off, too far to be able to say, "I sat down under His shadow with great delight; and His fruit was sweet to my taste."

CHAPTER IX.

MIDSUMMER HOLIDAYS AMONG THE MOUNTAINS.

The summer holidays were coming very near, and most of the boys at Mr.

Carey's school were looking forward to them with great joy; for they had pleasant homes, where they knew that their fathers and mothers would welcome them, and their young sisters and brothers would be glad to see them again. Arthur Vivyan, too, was expecting to enjoy his time; for Mrs.

Estcourt generally spent some of the summer weeks in the Swiss mountains, and this year it was a pleasure to her to think of showing the places, that she knew so well, to her nephew; and the thought of his wonder and surprise, when he should see the snowy mountains, and the deep blue lakes, that the sun would glow with a deeper colour, gave her more pleasure than she had known for a long time. Arthur had been very busy with his examination, and other things had hindered another walk with his new friend; but they both expected, when the holidays were over, and they should meet again, that there would be more time for walks and talks.

It was the last day of school. Arthur was hurrying in to his cla.s.s, which was in a different room from the one in which Edgar studied, when in the corridor they met. Arthur was pa.s.sing him quickly, with a nod and smile, when Edgar stopped him, and said breathlessly--

"Oh, Arthur, I have been looking everywhere for you! I must speak to you."

"I can't stop one minute," said Arthur. "I'm late as it is."

"Yes; but I must!" said Edgar eagerly. "You don't know, I am going away to stay."

"Well!" and Arthur thought. "Let me see. I will try and be ready, five minutes beforehand; and I dare say, the other boys will be longer going to-day."

"Oh, yes!" said Edgar. "I forgot; there will be plenty of time, of course, this last day."

So Arthur hurried in to his cla.s.s, forgetting, after he had given it a moment's thought, what Edgar had said.

He thought of it again, when he was waiting under the trees; where groups of boys were standing, talking eagerly, with bright, busy faces. Edgar's was very different, and his pale, earnest face was even deeper than usual.

"Well," said Arthur, "what have you to tell me?"

Edgar had a letter in his hand.

"Why, look here," he said. "I told you, I had to go and live at my uncle's in London. I did not mind that; it did not make much difference; but see here, what he says in this letter I had to-day. He is my guardian now, you know, and he says he thinks it will be better for me on every account, to give up school."

"And what are you to do? Not going to have any more lessons?"

"He says, I am to study with his boys. They have a tutor, and he hopes we shall all find it very pleasant."

Edgar's face did not look as if he expected to do so.

"Well," said Arthur.

"Do you think it is well, Arthur?" said Edgar, a little reproachfully. "I hate it, and I hate him, and I hate them all. I thought it was bad enough before."

"Oh, Edgar, that's wicked!"

"Well, I can't help it. Wait until you get bothered, and perhaps you will be wicked too. And, of course, they will hate me, all of them. He has a wife and a lot of daughters, as well as sons."

"They would be your cousins, would they not?"

"I suppose so," said Edgar hopelessly.

"Well, do you know, I think it need not be so very bad. You know, Edgar, they would be next best to brothers and sisters. And there might be a little one," said Arthur, with a soft, tender feeling; as he thought of the little sunny sister, that still lived in his heart. "Why do you hate it so very much?"

"Every reason," said Edgar bitterly. "And, Arthur, you know I love you, more than any one else in the world; and I wanted to talk to you sometimes."

"And I am sorry, Edgar," said Arthur; "only then, you know, you are coming to stay with us at Ashton Grange, when my father and mother come back."

"Ah, but that is such a very long time; and, you know, I may die before that. Perhaps I shall; and if I were certain of going to heaven, I should like to die."

"I thought you would be certain by this time, Edgar; you know you ought to be certain. Why can't you stop bothering about yourself? Oh, Edgar, I wish you would!"

"I do get so frightened," said Edgar, his lip trembling.

"But mamma says, that is all the more reason, why you should let the Lord Jesus take care of you. That's all, you know, Edgar. But I have told you so often, I think the best thing I can do, is to pray for you."