_THE END OF THE JOURNEY._

Yes, they came home.

The three months did pa.s.s away at length, and the last part of it flew much quicker than the beginning.

"We shall arrive, 'G.o.d willing,' about the end of March, as we sail by the _Sardinia_ on the 15th; but you will get a telegram from Liverpool when we land," wrote their father.

John could understand that "G.o.d willing" better now than he did when they went away; for he had taken that "will of G.o.d" as the one object of his life.

It might be--it would be--with many failures, but "What wilt Thou?" was now his one question, and to do it his one desire.

Of strong character, with a will which was difficult to curb, he found it an inexpressible comfort to yield to One who was so strong, that there could not be a question of His power; and when once the great surrender had been made, he walked along holding the guiding hand with tender love and reverence.

One morning, just as Agnes and her sisters were sitting down to lessons, a telegram was brought in by the new maid, whom Agnes had found and installed more than a month before.

"We are in Liverpool, and hope to reach you about five o'clock," it said.

Minnie and Alice got up and jumped round the room as the only suitable expression of their feelings; and as for Agnes, her thankfulness was quiet, but too deep for words.

"May I rush in and tell grandmamma?" exclaimed Alice, when her wild capers had come at last to a stop.

When she saw that Agnes gave permission, she s.n.a.t.c.hed up the telegram and was off in an instant.

"I don't believe she'll wait for her hat and jacket," said Minnie, acting policeman.

"Oh, yes, she will! They are hanging in the hall."

Minnie peeped out of window, and in another moment Alice, dressed in some style, emerged from the door, ran down the steps, and was admitted to the next house.

"Must I go on with school?" asked Minnie rather forlornly.

"No; to-day is too good a day for it not to be a holiday. Clear up the books, Minnie, and surprise Alice."

Minnie did not need twice telling; and then she and Agnes went upstairs to prepare their parents' room, to see that the new Jane made a nice fire, and that everything was well aired and ready.

While they were busy Alice came back from next door with a long, heavy roll in her arms.

"The hearthrug?" questioned Agnes.

"Yes. We are not to lay it down till everything is done and the room perfectly ready. Oh, it _is_ a beauty! I never saw such a pretty rug."

Then at one o'clock the boys came home, and great were the laments that the travellers might arrive before they returned from afternoon school; but this had to be endured, and, as Alice suggested. "Perhaps, after all, they _wouldn't_."

Nor did they. The boys closed up with greater speed than they had ever done before, and raced home. As they turned the corner of their street a cab was rattling along in front of them, and, half-fearing and half-hoping, they set off to outstrip it, which they managed to do, and arrived too breathless to speak, but with glowing, happy faces, in time to open the cab door, just as a shout from Minnie at the window announced the fact of the arrival to those inside the house.

"Father," said Hugh, when, late that night, after their parents had come back from visiting their grandmother next door, they all sat together round the fire, as if loth to part, "Father, would you mind telling us all, now we are together, what you said to me upstairs?"

His father gave a quick look at him; for upstairs Hugh had told him all about that episode with Tom on Christmas-day.

"Would you rather, dear boy?" asked his father.

"Yes; I was not brave once, but I'll try to be brave now."

His mother held out one hand to him, the other being clasped by Agnes, while Minnie sat at their feet, leaning against them, though she disdained the idea of being in the least sleepy.

John sat by his father, his eyes shining with a serene light.

"Well, my boy," said Mr. Headley, after a moment, only pausing to draw Alice close to his side, "what I said upstairs was this, I think. Mother and I decided long ago for ourselves, that, seeing the misery which drink brings to thousands in our country, we will not, for our part, take one drop of it except as medicine. We will do our best to prove that men and women can live, and be happy too, without it. If you read the fourteenth of Romans, you will see all the arguments set down which influenced us. Feeling that this is for us a sacred duty, we have brought you up in the same way, expecting you as a matter of obedience to abstain while you are young. By-and-by you will be able to judge more wisely than you can now."

"Then explain to them where I was wrong, father."

"You failed in obedience--and in courage," added his father.

"Yes," answered Hugh very gravely, "I saw that very soon, but not as plainly as you have put it, father."

"I have sometimes felt it a great comfort in the perplexities which arise in our hearts and lives to do as Paul says--'Take the shield of _faith_ whereby we may quench the fiery darts of the wicked one'--and I believe it is applicable to you too, Hugh.

"When questions come up which I cannot answer, I say to myself, 'I will take refuge under my faith in my heavenly Father; if I hide under _His_ shadow, the fiery darts will have no power. He has said so; He knows best.'

"So you, Hugh, take refuge under your faith in your earthly father, say 'he knows best;' and while you are young it will help you to find an answer, when otherwise you might be tempted to do what you would grieve in after years to have done."

"But you don't think drinking a gla.s.s of beer or wine wrong in itself, father?"

"Wrong for me, thinking as I do; wrong for you, because of my convictions, and my commands to you concerning them."

Hugh seemed entirely satisfied; for was he not forgiven? And then they turned to other subjects, though Alice's eyes were looking wonderingly at them all.

"Mother," she said suddenly, as Mrs. Headley's white shawl fell from her shoulders, "you have a different dress on from any you had before you went away, and it----has _crepe_ on it."

"Yes," answered her mother gently; "but my heart is not in mourning."

"But----," said Alice, not liking to ask more.

"Yes," Mrs. Headley went on, "I had a lovely two months with her; 'cheered her heart,' she said. We had time to talk together of all the way we had been led. I learned from her how faith in G.o.d can triumph when outward circ.u.mstances are anything but prosperous (for she had not let me know all these years what a struggle she had had with poverty); and then I was, through dear father's kindness, able to arrange things a little better for her, and to add several comforts to her lot. Directly I got there, dear father let me buy an invalid chair for her, and many things which eased her exceedingly, and I prepared to leave her with the prospect of her never being so straitened again; for he allowed me to arrange for her to receive that little money I have of my own, which added to her small income would make a great difference.

"But the Lord knew best; and though He let me do all this for my mother, that my heart might be comforted, He took the care of her into His own hands.

"Just a week before we sailed I was sitting with her one evening when she said, as quietly as we are talking now:

"'My dear, the Lord's been very good to give you to me--long ago, and now. The journey is almost over, but _He_ is at the end.'

"I only clasped her hand in answer; for she looked tired, and I thought she would sleep; and so she did--but it was to wake to find herself at the end of her journey, and with Him."

"Dear mother," said John, coming over to kiss her, "why did you not tell us? We have been too cheerful and noisy for you to-night."