by Anonymous
CHAPTER VIII
MORE TRIALS.
The next day Arthur returned to Mr. Martin's. His affectionate heart wassaddened, and every pleasure seemed to have lost its charm. But thegriefs of childhood quickly pass away; and Arthur in a few days becamecalm and cheerful. A close observer, however, might have seen a deepershade of thoughtfulness in his eyes, and a softer tone in his alwaysgentle voice. He went to school again, and mingled in his quiet way,with the sports of his companions. Theodore could not be spared fromhome-duties to attend school in the summer months, and Arthur saw muchless of him than formerly. They would meet occasionally after tea, andwith Rover by their side, stroll down by the stream which wound infanciful little curves about the lot; or would play at ball, on thegreen before the house. Arthur seemed less inclined than usual for noisysports, and Theodore sometimes thought he was a sad, stupid playfellow.One evening about five weeks after Henry's funeral, Mrs. Martin said toher husband,--
"It seems to me, Arthur is not well to-day. He has complained a greatdeal of his head, and his face looks flushed and feverish."
"I haven't noticed him to-day," replied Mr. Martin, "but he certainly isnot a healthy boy, and I am afraid never will be."
The next morning, Arthur refused to eat; and before night a burningfever had evidently seized upon him. A physician was called, who said atonce,--
"He is a very sick child; his head is so hot, I fear a brain fever. Youhad better send for his mother, for mothers I find are generally thebest nurses. He's a fine little fellow, and we must try to save him."
Mr. Martin went himself for Mrs. Hamilton the next morning. It wasindeed heavy tidings that he bore. Was God about to strip her of all sheloved? Her little, tender-hearted Arthur was a precious child, and musthe be taken too? But she quietly prepared to go to him. That wasmanifestly her first duty. There was no time for the indulgence ofgrief, though heavy forebodings weighed upon her heart.
When Mrs. Hamilton reached the bedside of her child, she found himdelirious, and was shocked to see he did not know her. He was muchsicker than she expected to find him, and her heart sunk within her.
"Is there no hope, Doctor?" she asked, with a quivering lip.
"Certainly there is a chance for a boy of his age; but he is a very sickchild, Mrs. Hamilton. Twill be a hard struggle for life, and it isimpossible to tell what will be the result."
Day after, day, night after night, the mother bent over the sick-bed ofher child; her heart sickening with alternations of hope and fear.Sometimes the pulse would lessen, and the medicine seem to affect himfavorably, and she would hope her prayers had been heard, and that lifeand not death was to be his fate; then the fever would rage with renewedviolence, and his little frame would be convulsed with pain. At no timedid he appear to know who was with him, or have the slightest gleam ofconsciousness.
He talked but little, and that incoherently; like one in a dream. Thosewere long, sad hours to the anxious mother's heart. "How I lived throughthose days and weeks of anguish, I know not," she afterwards said, "butstrength was given me according to the day."
And where was Rover, faithful, affectionate Rover, in these mournfuldays? The poor animal moaned and howled perpetually. He would it throughthe whole day and night, upon the stairs leading to Arthur's room,endeavoring to gain admittance, and when driven away, would contrive toreturn to his post, watching with intense eagerness those who entered orleft the room; continually making that dismal moaning which a dog indistress usually does. It was heartrending to hear him. One day, theyallowed him to enter the room, hoping it might quiet him; he jumped uponthe bed instantly, and disturbed the suffering child so much that he wasnever permitted to go in again. Poor Arthur! he no longer had a smile orcaress even for Rover, the companion of his lonely hours, the sharer ofhis exile! He did not even notice him, except by raising his hand tokeep him off.
After three weeks of severe suffering, a change came over the belovedchild. The physician thought it barely possible that such a crisis mightterminate favorably, and had prescribed powerful stimulants, but it wassoon evident that he was rapidly sinking in spite of them. He sufferedno longer, but the shadows of the grave were gathering upon his face,and it was not probable he would survive till morning. But Mrs. Hamiltondid not wish any one to sit up by his bedside except herself. "They werewearied," she said, "by watching; she should not sleep if otherswatched, and if any thing was needed, she would call them." So shepassed the night alone with her sweet boy. In after years, I have oftenheard her speak of it. It was one of those glorious moonlight Octobernights. The loveliest of landscapes lay before her eye as she stood bythe window, and gazed out upon the scene. Green hills, with intersectingvalleys, forest trees lifting their tops toward the sky, wide-spreadingpasture lands, and, threading its way among them, a littlemountain-stream, bright and pure as innocence itself; all these werevisible, and over all, lay that holy moonlight bathing each object inits spiritual radiance. Who would imagine, to look on the earth on sucha night, that it could be filled with sin and suffering, that thoseglorious skies bent over breaking hearts, and opening graves? The scenewas full of calming influences, and the heart of the mother as shegazed, was soothed and elevated. She felt the presence of God who hadmade the universe; and she knew that while he guided those glorious orbsin their courses, he also felt compassion and love for her poorsuffering heart. _He_ had afflicted her, and He, in his infinitepower and love, knew so much better than she what was best and good,that it was pleasant to commit all her interests into his hands.
Her older son, her bright, beloved boy, had gone she believed to minglehis songs in a purer worship than that of earth, and would she call himback from glory? As she lifted her eyes up to the serene heavens, shealmost fancied she heard his voice, saying, "He doeth all things well,do not fear to trust him." And when she returned to her dying child, itwas with a feeling of sweet confidence. "I will not fear to trust him,even with this darling child. His gentle spirit was not fitted forearthly strifes; now it shall expand in an atmosphere of perfect love.'The Lord gave him, the Lord taketh him away; blessed be his name.'"
The dying boy breathed gently, and looked as if in a sweet sleep,sometimes a smile would play around his mouth, as if he were in apleasant dream. There was no perceptible change till nearly morning,then Mrs. Hamilton called Mr. and Mrs. Martin. They stood in tearfulsilence round his bed, (for they loved Arthur almost as a child),watching his shortened breathing. There was no pain, no sigh, but as themorning light gleamed across the eastern hill, the spirit passed away.