"But, dear Hamilton," said Louis, after a few minutes' silence, "we ought to be thankful when G.o.d gives us the power of enjoying the beautiful things He has made. Would it not be ungrateful to check every happy feeling of grat.i.tude and joy for the power to see, and hear, and enjoy, with gladness and thankfulness, the loveliness and blessings around?"

"The height of ingrat.i.tude, dear Louis," said Hamilton, emphatically.

"But I am sure you understand me."

"To be sure," said Louis. "Many good gifts our Almighty Father has given us, and one perfect gift, and the good gifts should lead us to think more of the perfect ONE. I often have thought, Hamilton, of that little girl's nice remark that I read to you last Sunday, about the good and perfect gifts."

Hamilton did not reply, and for a minute or two longer they sat in silence, when the report of a gun at a little distance roused them, and almost at the same instant, a little bird Louis had been watching as it flew into a large tree in front of them, fell wounded from branch to branch, until it rested on the lowest, where a flutter among the leaves told of its helpless sufferings.

"I must get it, Hamilton!" cried Louis, starting up. "It is wounded."

"The branch is too high," said Hamilton. "I dare say the poor thing is dying; we cannot do it any good."

"Indeed I must try!" exclaimed Louis, scrambling partly up the immense trunk of the tree, and slipping down much more quickly. "I wish there were something to catch hold of, or to rest one's foot against."

"You'll never get up," said Hamilton, laughing; "if you must get it, mount my shoulders."

As he spoke he came under the tree, and Louis, availing himself of the proffered a.s.sistance, succeeded in reaching and bringing down the wounded bird, which he did with many expressions of grat.i.tude to Hamilton.

"I am sure you ought to be obliged," said Frank. "Royalty lending itself out as a ladder is an unheard-of anomaly. Pray, what are you going to do with c.o.c.k-sparrow now you have got him?"

Louis only replied by laying some gra.s.s and leaves in the bottom of his cap, and putting the bird on this extempore bed. He then seized Hamilton's arm and urged him forward. Hamilton responded to Louis'

anxiety with some queries on the expediency of a.s.sisting wounded birds if pleasant walks were to be thereby curtailed, and Frank, after suggesting, to Louis' horror, the propriety of making a pie of his favorite, walked on, singing,

"A little c.o.c.k-sparrow sat upon a tree,"

which, with variations, lasted till they reached the playground gates, where Louis ran off to find Clifton, that he might enter into proper arrangements for due attendance on his sparrow's wants.

CHAPTER XVII.

"In the mult.i.tude of words there wanteth not sin; but he that refraineth his lips is wise."--Prov. x. 19.

"Let another man praise thee, and not thine own mouth; a stranger, and not thine own lips."--Prov. xxvii. 2.

We are now considering Louis Mortimer under prosperity; a state in which it is much more difficult to be watchful, than in that of adversity. When he first came to school, his struggle was to be consistent in maintaining his principles against ridicule and fear of his fellow-creatures' judgment. In that he nearly failed; and then came the hard trial we have related, the furnace from whose fires he came so bright: and another trial awaited him, but different still.

By the beauty of conduct Divine grace _alone_ had enabled him to observe, he now won the regard of the majority of his school-fellows; and no one meddled with him or his opinions. He was loved by many; liked by most, and unmolested by the rest. We are told, "When a man's ways please the Lord, even his enemies are at peace with him;" and this was Louis'

case. If a few remarks were now and then made on the singularity and stiffness of his notions, the countenance of the seniors, and the general estimation in which he was held, prevented any annoyance or interference. His feet were now on smooth ground, and the sky was bright above his head; and he began to forget that a storm had ever been.

One day between school-hours, when Louis and his brother were diligently drilling the chorus, they were summoned to the drawing-room, where they found the doctor standing talking with a lady, in the large bay-window.

Her face was turned towards the prospect beyond, and she did not see them enter; and near her, leaning on the top of a high-backed chair, stood a tall gentlemanly youth, whom Louis immediately recognized as Mrs. Paget's esquire. The lady was speaking as they entered, and her gentle lady-like tones fell very pleasantly on Louis' ears, and made him sure he should like her, if even the words she had chosen had been otherwise.

"I have been quite curious to see him; my sister has said so much, poor little fellow!"

Dr. Wilkinson at this moment became aware of the presence of his pupils, and, turning round, introduced them to the lady, and the lady in turn to them, as Mrs. Norman.

"I am personally a stranger to you, Master Mortimer," said Mrs. Norman; "but I have often heard of you. You know Mrs. Paget?"

"Oh, yes!" replied Louis.

"She is my sister, and, not being able to come herself to-day, she commissioned me to bring an invitation for you and your brother to spend the rest of this day with her, if Dr. Wilkinson will kindly allow it."

[Ill.u.s.tration: The invitation.]

Louis looked at Dr. Wilkinson; and Reginald answered for himself--

"I am much obliged, ma'am; and, if you please, thank Mrs. Paget for me, but as it is not a half-holiday, I shall not be able to come this afternoon. I shall be very glad to come when school is over, if Dr. Wilkinson will allow me."

Dr. Wilkinson smiled. "Mrs. Norman will, I am sure, excuse a school-boy's anxiety to retain a hard-earned place in his cla.s.s,"

he said. "I have given my permission, you may do as you please."

"Mrs. Paget will be so much disappointed," said Mrs. Norman; "are you anxious about your cla.s.s, too, Master Louis?"

Louis blushed, hesitated, and then looked from Reginald to the doctor, but Dr. Wilkinson gave no a.s.sistance. Louis demurred a little; for he had a place to lose that he had gained only the day before, and that, probably, he might not be able to gain from Clifton for the rest of the half-year. But at length, on another persuasive remark from Mrs. Norman, he accepted the invitation in rather a confused manner; and, it being decided that Reginald was to join them at dinner, he went away to make some alteration in his dress. When he returned, Mrs. Norman carried him off in her carriage, which was waiting at the door, having first introduced him to her companion, as her son, Henry Norman.

During the ride to Clifton, Louis became very communicative. He liked Mrs. Norman very much, she was so very sweet, and now and then made little remarks that reminded Louis of home; and then he was sure she liked him; even if he had not guessed that the few words he first heard from her lips referred to him, her very kind full eyes and affectionate manner spoke of unusual interest, and Louis felt very anxious to rise in her estimation. Things that are not sinful in themselves, become sins from the accompanying motives; the desire of favor in the eyes of so excellent a person was not wrong, had it been mixed with a wish to adorn the doctrine of Christ, and thankfulness for the love and favor given; but now Louis talked of things which, though he really believed them, and of feelings which, though he had once really experienced them, were not now the breathings of a heart that overflowed with all its fulness of grat.i.tude. He had quickness enough to see what was most precious in his new friend's sight, and tried to ingratiate himself with her, by dwelling on these subjects, and showing how much he had felt on them. _Had felt_, for he had "left his first love."

Let it not be supposed that Louis meant to deceive--he deceived himself as much as any one; but he was in that sad state when a Christian has backslidden so far as to live on the remembrance of old joys, instead of the actual possession of new.

The carriage stopped, at length, at a house in York Crescent, where the trio alighted. Mrs. Norman led Louis up stairs into the drawing-room, while her son, who had scarcely spoken a word during the drive, stayed a minute or two at the house-door, and then ran down the nearest flight of steps leading to the carriage-road, jumped into the carriage, which was just driving off, and paid a visit to the stables.

The room into which Louis entered was very large, and littered so with all descriptions of chairs, stools, and non-descript elegancies, that it required some little ingenuity to reach the further end without upsetting the one, or being overthrown by the others. Near one of the three windows, reclining on a sofa, was Mrs. Paget, who welcomed Louis with her usual warmth.

"You see," said she, "I am a prisoner. I sprained my ankle the very day I saw you; and I am positively forbidden to walk. But where is Master Reginald?"

Louis informed Mrs. Paget of his brother's intentions, and, after expressing her regrets at his non-appearance, the lady continued:

"Now, sit near me, and let us have a little talk; I want to hear how you are going on, and how many prizes you are likely to get.

But, perhaps, my dear, you would like to go on the downs, or into the town, or to----Where's Henry, I wonder: where is Mr. Norman?"

she asked of a servant who came to remove a little tray that stood beside her.

"Just gone round to the stables, ma'am."

"Dear, how unfortunate! You can't think what a beautiful little horse he has; I tell him it is quite a lady's horse. He will show it to you.

I can't think how he could go away this afternoon. You'll be very dull, my dear--but my sister will take you out."

Louis a.s.sured her he should enjoy sitting with her.

"That is very kind of you; very few of your age would care about staying with a lame, fidgety, old woman."

Louis protested against the two last epithets, and as Mrs. Norman had left the room he began talking of the pleasant ride he had had with her, and how much he loved her.

Mrs. Paget warmly admitted every thing, only adding that in some things she was a little too particular.

"But, dear me! you must be very hungry," she exclaimed, interrupting herself. "How could I forget? Just ring the bell, dear boy--there's lunch down stairs. Oh, never mind, here is Charlotte."