Left to Ourselves; or, John Headley's Promise.

by Anonymous

  CHAPTER IX.

  _THE FIRST SUNDAY ALONE._

  The next morning dawned bright and clear, and Agnes was the first awake.

  She slipped on her dressing-gown, and went across to her brothers' doorand tapped gently.

  "It is time to get up," she called.

  "All right, mother," answered a very sleepy voice, and there was acomfortable sound of smothering bedclothes, and then silence.

  "Hugh and John, do wake," exclaimed shivering Agnes; "we shall be latefor church, if you go to sleep again."

  She tapped louder this time, and then John's voice responded:

  "All right, old woman; I'm awake now."

  "Really, John?" asked Agnes.

  "Really," said John; and she heard a bump on the floor, and a patteringacross the room.

  She flew back, for if those feet were by chance Hugh's, a wet spongewould probably be trickling down her neck before she had time to escape.

  She had waked with the heartache, but her brothers' cheerful laughterhad turned her thoughts, and as she dressed, though she consideredsoberly her responsibility as head of the house, yet it was trustfullytoo, and the remembrance of the great joy which John's words yesterdayhad brought her, made her so glad, that she felt ashamed of being dullor mopish because her parents were gone.

  So she went downstairs, looking as bright as if no weight of careovershadowed her.

  "This is our first day alone," she remarked as they sat at breakfast,"for I do not count yesterday anything, because we went out to dinner."

  "I like going to grandmama's," said Hugh, "for she always makes us jollycomfortable."

  "That's Hugh's idea of bliss," said Alice mischievously, "nothing todo--and plenty to eat."

  "Oh, Alice!" exclaimed Agnes, shocked.

  Hugh was not disconcerted, as it happened, but answered:

  "Well, what if it is? We're all in the same boat it strikes me. Onelikes one sort of ease, and another sort; but there isn't much to choosebetween us."

  "Thank you," laughed Alice, who was a little ashamed of her home truth;"but my idea of comfort isn't like yours, Hugh."

  "What is yours, Alice?" asked John.

  "A warm fire and an interesting book," said Alice promptly.

  "Like yesterday," said Hugh, whose memory was often inconvenient.

  "Like yesterday," assented Alice soberly, remembering something aboutthat which Hugh knew nothing of.

  "I hope you will all be ready in time for church," said John, "for Imean to start whether you are or not. Agnes will be sure to be ready."

  Agnes acknowledged the compliment with a smile, but candour forced herto add, "I'm afraid I'm not always ready."

  Then they rose from the table, and Agnes stood hesitating for a moment,while the colour mounted into her face.

  "John," she whispered, "could you take prayers, do you think?"

  John shook his head.

  "I thought, perhaps, since yesterday----"

  "Oh, Agnes," he returned, "you'll do it twice as well; and the servants,and all--you will not mind. You were going to, weren't you?"

  "Yes, I was; and if you would rather I did----"

  "Much rather--of course I would. You need not be nervous."

  The whispered conversation was unheeded by the others, who had gatheredround the fire looking at their mother's bullfinch taking his morningbath on the mantelshelf.

  "I hope you won't forget his royal highness," said Hugh to Alice.

  "I do not suppose I shall."

  "If you do I'll remind you," said Minnie.

  "When it is starved to death," answered Hugh.

  Minnie looked distressed, and Alice rather defiant. "I mean to attend tohim every morning before I taste my own breakfast."

  "Oh, I am sure we shall think of him," said Agnes, joining the circle,while her hand pulled the bell for the servants, "we are so used togiving him his bath that his food will be sure to be remembered."

  And then they sat down for their first prayers without their parents;and Agnes read with a voice that trembled nervously at first, but as sheproceeded she took courage. Their text flashed across her, and she feltthat what He wished her to do now was just this, and the thought madeher wonderfully happy.

  When they sat at dinner--Agnes taking the top of the table and John thebottom--Hugh exclaimed:

  "How awfully funny it is without father and mother!"

  Minnie looked up quickly, and then looked down, and her knife and forkfell from her fingers.

  John turned towards her kindly. "Why, Minnie," he said, "think how muchgood the change may do them; and if it were _you_, you would want tosee your own mother, wouldn't you, after twenty years?"

  This roused Minnie's sympathy. She had never thought such a thingpossible before as being separated from her mother for so long; so sheswallowed down her tears and began her dinner, which, in spite of herwoe-begone feelings, tasted very nice.

  "What shall you do with yourself after dinner. John?" asked Hugh.

  "I shall look out some texts I have to do, and enter them into my book."

  "What book?"

  John hesitated. "One I began some little time ago."

  "What for?"

  "To enter special subjects in that I am interested about."

  "What sort of subjects?" asked Alice.

  "Scripture subjects; or any others that seem to me to belong to thatsort of thing."

  Hugh gave a little shrug of his shoulders.

  "What time are you going to read to us, Agnes?" asked Minnie.

  "A little before four, I think. Hugh and Alice, you have your scripturequestions to do for father, haven't you?"

  "Yes," they answered.

  "Then, John, can you come in the drawing-room to do your writing?Minnie and I shall not disturb you."

  He got up and followed her upstairs, smiling as he went.

  Turning round on the first landing she saw the smile, and enquired:

  "Well?"

  "You're a good general," he said.

  "Why?"

  "Take care to separate your different regiments in case----"

  "John!"

  "Now, don't you?"

  "Not exactly----"

  "I know you!"

  "Well, come along; you cannot say that my generalship has not made youcomfortable, anyhow."

  "I don't wish to. What a glorious fire, Agnes; and what a nicearm-chair; and what a jolly little table; and what a nice inkstand;and----"

  "There, John, leave off, or our afternoon will be gone; and thosechildren will be up before we have had a moment's quiet."

  She seated herself on the sofa, at one side of the fire, Minnie curlingherself up by her with her book, and Agnes opening her Bible and bendingover it.

  Silence reigned for an hour; while John's pen scratched, and the leavesof his concordance turned over; and Agnes's eyes were fixed on onepage, from which she hardly raised them, except to give Minnie anoccasional caress, or to whisper something to her about her book.

  At last there was a stir downstairs. Chairs were pushed back; carefulAlice put on some coal, that the fire might not be out when theyreturned to it; and then there was a rush, and the two came tearing upthe stairs.

  "How jolly comfortable you look!" exclaimed Hugh.

  "We are," said John, preparing to close his book.

  "Any room on the sofa for a fellow?" asked Hugh.

  "Oh, yes! plenty."

  "Sit next me," said Minnie.

  "All right. I say, Agnes, how strange it will seem to have Christmas Daywithout them!"

  "Yes; but we can make it happy if we try," said Agnes.

  "How?"

  "By _being_ happy."

  "That's all very well," said Hugh; "but then, you know, Agnes, _being_made happy depends on outward things."

  "Of course it does; and on inward things too. If we have got a well ofhappiness inside us, it will make everything round us seem bright andbeautiful."

  "What do you call a 'well of happiness'?"r />
  "I know what Agnes means," said Minnie.

  "I was thinking then of the day father came home from America--lasttime; and we had received the telegram that he had landed at Liverpool.How we all went about singing and happy; how we never thought ofquarrelling, but hastened to get everything ready for him."

  "I remember that day," said Alice; "it was one of the nicest I everspent."

  "So that is what I mean by a 'well of happiness;' something which givesus joy, independently of anything else."

  "And what's your Christmas 'well of joy' for this year, Agnes?" askedJohn with a smile.

  Agnes gave an answering smile. "Oh, John, it is that we are His; that,through the coming of the dear Saviour, we have been given all otherblessings--happiness and peace here, everlasting joy hereafter."

  "And you think that ought to make up for all other deficiencies?" askedHugh.

  "If we have _got_ it," said Alice thoughtfully; "but sometimes Iwonder----" she looked down, and tears glittered in her eyes.

  Agnes heard the quiver in the tone, and put her arm lovingly round hersister. "Is it so difficult to know?"

  Alice shook her head.

  "He gives the Holy Spirit to them that ask Him."

  The little party were silent; Alice's unusual feeling startled them. TheSunday afternoon was drawing in, and the light fading.

  Presently Agnes said, "I have thought of a little allegory; would youlike to hear it? It might help us to understand Alice's difficulty."

  The question did not need repeating, and she began: