The directions were given to Reuben, the doctor drove off, and Mr.

Linden set out on his quick walk home; after the confinement of the night, the cold morning air and exercise were rather resting than otherwise. It was a very thoughtful half hour--very sorrowful at first; but before he reached home, thought, and almost feeling, had got beyond "the narrow bounds of time," and were resting peacefully--even joyfully--"where bright celestial ages roll."

He entered the house with a light step, and went first upstairs to change his dress; but when he came down and entered the sitting-room, there was the tone of the whole walk upon his face still. Faith put her question softly, as if she expected no glad answer. And yet it was partly that, though given in very gentle, grave tones.

"There is more to fear than to hope, dear Faith,--and there is everything to hope, and nothing to fear!"

She turned away to the breakfast-table; and said little more till the meal was over. Then she rose when he did.

"I am going now, Endy!"--The tone was of very earnest determination, that yet waited for sanction.

"Yes," he answered--"Dr. Harrison says the fever is not contagious, I waited to know that. If I can I shall get free before midday, so I may meet you there. And can you prepare and take with you two or three things?"--he told her what.

Faith set about them; and when they were done, Mr. Skip had finished his breakfast and got Jerry ready. Some other preparations Faith had made beforehand; and with no delay now she was on her swift way to little Johnny's bedside. She came in like a vision of comfort upon the sick room, with all sorts of freshness about her; grasped Reuben's hand, and throwing back her hood, stooped her lips to Johnny's cheek.

And Johnny gave her his usual little fair smile--and then his eyes went off to the doorway, as if he half expected to see some one else behind her. But it was from no want of love to _her_, as she knew from the way the eyes came back to her face and rested there, and took a sort of pleased survey of her hood and, her fur and her dress.

"Dear Johnny!--Can you speak to me?" said Faith tenderly touching her cheek again to his.

"Oh yes, ma'am," he said, in a quiet voice and with the same bit of a smile. That was what Faith wanted. Then she looked up.

"Are you going to school now, Reuben?"

"I didn't expect to this morning, Miss Faith," Reuben said with a sober glance at his little comrade.

"Then you can wait here a bit for me."

Leaving Reuben once more in charge, Faith went on a rummaging expedition over the house to find some woman inmate. Not too easily or speedily she was found at last, the housekeeper and all-work woman deep in _all work_ as she really seemed, and in an outer kitchen of remote business, whither Faith had traced her by an exercise of determinate patience and skill. Having got so fur, Faith was not balked in the rest; and obtaining from her some of Johnny's clean linen which she persuaded her to go in search of, she returned to the room where she had left Reuben; and set about making the sick child as comfortable as in his sickness he could be.

It was a day or two already since Johnny had lain there and had had little effectual attention from anybody, till Mr. Linden came last night. The child might well look at his new nurse, for her neat dress and gentle face and soft movements were alone a balm for any sick place. And in her quiet way, Faith set about changing the look of this one. There was plenty of wood, and she made a glorious fire. Then tenderly and dextrously she managed to get a fresh nightgown on Johnny without disturbing him more than pleasantly with her soft manipulations; and wrapping him in a nice little old doublegown which she had brought with her and which had been a friend of her own childish days, Faith gave him to Reuben to hold while she made up the bed and changed the clothes, the means for which she had also won from the housekeeper. Then having let down the chintz curtains to shield off the intense glare of the sunny snow, Faith a.s.sumed Johnny into her own arms. She had brought vinegar from home, and with it bathed the little boy's face and hands and brushed his hair, till the refreshed little head lay upon her breast in soothed rest and comfort.

"There, Johnny!"--she whispered as her lips touched his brow,--"Mr.

Linden may come as soon as he pleases--we are ready for him!"

The child half unclosed his eyes at the words, and then sunk again into one of his fits of feverish sleep, the colour rising in his cheeks a little, the breath coming quick. Reuben knelt down at Faith's side and watched him.

"I used to wonder, Miss Faith," he said softly, "what would become of him if Mr. Linden ever went away"--and the quiet pause told what provision Reuben thought was fast coming for any such contingency.

"You can't think what Mr. Linden's been to Johnny, Miss Faith," he went on in the same low voice,--"and to all of us," he added lower still.

"But he's taken such care of him, in school and out. It was only last week Johnny told me he liked coming to school in the winter, because then Mr. Linden always went home with him. And whenever he could get in Mr. Linden's lap he was perfectly happy. And Mr. Linden would let him, sometimes, even in school, because Johnny was so little and not very strong,--and he'd let him sit in his lap and go to sleep for a little while when he got tired, and then Johnny would go back to his lessons as bright as a bee. That was the way he did the very first day school was opened, for Johnny was frightened at first, and a mind to cry--he'd never had anybody to take much care of him. And Mr. Linden just called him and took him up and spoke to him--and Johnny laid his head right down and went to sleep; and he's loved Mr. Linden with all his heart ever since. I know we all laughed--and he smiled himself, but it made all the rest of us love him too."

Reuben had gone on talking, softly, as if he felt sure of sympathy in all he might say on the subject. But that "first day school was opened!"--how Faith's thoughts sprang back there,--with what strange, mixed memories the vision of it came up before her! That day and time when so many new threads were introduced into her life, which were now shewing their colours and working out their various patterns. It was only a spring there and back again, however, that her thoughts took; or rather the vision was a sort of background to Reuben's delineations, and her eye was upon these; with what kind of sympathy she did not care to let him see. Her cheek was bent down to the sick child's head and Faith's face was half hidden. Until a moment later, when the door opened and Johnny's father came in to see what was become of him; and then Mr. Fax had no clue to the l.u.s.trous softness of the eyes that looked up at him. He could make nothing of it.

"What!" said he. "Why who's Johnny got to look after him now?"

"I am his teacher, sir."

"His teacher, be you? Seems to me he's a lot of 'em. One teacher stayed with him last night. How many has he got, among you?"

"Only two--" said Faith, rejoicing that she was _one_. "I am his Sunday school teacher."

"Well what's your name, now?"

"Faith Derrick."

"_That's_ who you be!" said Mr. Fax in surprise. "Don't say! Well Johnny's got into good hands, aint he? How's he gettin' along?"

Faith's eye went down to the little boy, and her hand pa.s.sed slowly and tenderly over his hair; she was at a loss how to answer, and Reuben spoke for her.

"He's been sleeping a good deal this morning."

The father stooped towards the child, but his look went from him to Faith, with a mixture of curiosity and uneasiness as he spoke.

"Sleepin', is he?--Then I guess he's gettin' along first-rate--aint he?"

Again Faith's look astonished the man, both because of its intent soft beauty and the trembling set of her lip. But how to answer him she did not know. Her head sunk over the child's brow as she exclaimed,

"His dear Master knows what to do with him!"

Jonathan Fax stood up straight and looked at Reuben.

"What does she mean!"

"She means that he is in G.o.d's hands, and that we don't know yet what He will do," Reuben answered with clear simplicity.

Yet it was a strange view of the subject to Mr. Fax; and he stood stiff and angular and square, looking down at Faith and her charge, feeling startled and strange. Her face was bent so that he could not see that quiver of her lip now; but he did see one or two drops fall from the lowered eyelids on Johnny's hair. Perhaps he would have asked more questions, but he did not; something kept them back. He stood fixed, with gathering soberness growing over his features. Little he guessed that those tears had been half wrung from Faith's eyes by the contrast between his happy little child and him. It was with something like a groan at last that he turned away, merely bidding Reuben Taylor to call for anything that was wanted.

The morning wore on softly, for Johnny still slept. Reuben went quietly about, giving attention where it was needed; to the fire, or to the curtains--drawn back now as the sun got round--or bringing Faith a footstool, or trying some other little thing for her comfort; and when he was not wanted remaining in absolute stillness. As it neared midday, however, he took his stand by the window, and after a short watch there suddenly turned and left the room. And a moment after Mr. Linden came in.

Faith met him with a look of grave, sweet quiet; in which was mingled a certain joy at being where she was. She waited for him to speak. But something in her face, or her office, moved him,--the gravity of his own look deepened as he came forward--his words were not ready. He sat down by her, resting his arm on the back of her chair and giving her and Johnny the same salutation--the last too softly to rouse him.

"Has the doctor been here?" he said first.

"No."

He was silent again for a minute, but then Johnny suddenly started up--waking perhaps out of some fever dream; for he seemed frightened and bewildered, and almost ready to cry; turning his head uneasily away from everything and everybody as it seemed, until his eyes were fairly open, and then giving almost a spring out of Faith's arms into those of Mr. Linden; holding him round the neck and breathing little sobbing breaths on his shoulder, till the resting-place had done its work,--till Mr. Linden's soft whispered words had given him comfort.

But it was a little wearily then that he said, "Sing."

Was it wearily that the song was given? Faith could not tell,--she could not name those different notes in the voice, she could only feel that the octave reached from earth to heaven.

"'How kind is Jesus, Lord of all!

To hear my little feeble call.

How kind is Jesus, thus to be Physician, Saviour, all to me!

'How much he loves me he doth shew; How much he loves I cannot know.

I'm glad my life is his to keep, Then he will watch and I may sleep.

'Jesus on earth, while here I lie; Jesus in heaven, if I die: I'm safe and happy in his care, His love will keep me, here or there.

'An angel he may send for me, And then an angel I shall be.

Lord Jesus, through thy love divine, Thy little child is ever thine.'"