The strange house or, A moment's mistake
his deep peaceful sigh as he fell asleep, she thought he had.
After all, that was a happy Wednesday.
CHAPTER L.
IN THE CABINET.
MRS. SWIFT was sitting with Randall one morning while Gertrude went
out for the constitutional which the doctor insisted on, and he had
been chatting to her about all his affairs with great volubility, she
listening, as she said to her husband afterwards, "with one ear," and
meanwhile plying her needle and thinking her own thoughts as well.
"Where's Miss Ashlyn?" he asked at length.
"Out for a walk, or else she's gone in to see my husband."
"Is he better?" asked Randall, with interest.
"Yes!—a deal better. He's better every way since Miss Ashlyn came to
see us."
"Then you are glad I've been ill here?"
"Very glad," answered Mrs. Swift heartily.
"So am I—"
Mrs. Swift looked up at him with surprise.
"Yes, I'm very glad," said Randall. "Do you know, all that time that my
throat was so bad, she used to read to me out of her little Bible, or
say a verse now and then, till it got right into my head. Wasn't that
funny? Now I can't forget it, and I don't want to either."
"That is very nice, I'm sure, dear. What words was it that you can't
forget?"
"I think she said them oftener than any others. Sometimes I'd sort of
wake up, and there she would be feeding me with little bits of ice, and
saying so softly, it didn't disturb me a bit, 'Him that cometh to Me, I
will in no wise cast out.' I've never forgotten it, now I'm better."
"Those are beautiful words—she said them to me. Have you come to Jesus
too, dear, and found He speaks true?"
Randall did not answer. His eyes shone, but the "yes" which he murmured
was hardly audible.
"I made up my mind to tell her something yesterday," he said presently.
"Miss Ashlyn?"
"Yes,—I want to ask her something, and to tell her something too."
"She is coming up-stairs, now," said Mrs. Swift, rising to leave the
room, "so I'll go down to my husband and repeat to him your text, dear!
It's always best to pass on good things!"
Randall smiled, and as Gertrude entered, she caught the look.
"What is it?" she asked brightly.
"I want you to let me do something!"
"To get up to-day? You may if you like; the doctor has permitted it."
He shook his head. "It is not that," he said. "Only—I've got nobody but
you here, and I want you to let me call you—Gertrude!"
She bent and kissed his forehead, answering softly, "If you love me
enough to wish it, I will let you, gladly, Randall."
He put his two arms round her neck. "I do love you—now," he whispered.
She sat down by him, still holding his hand and stroking it softly.
"Do you love me—now?" he questioned with a comical little look which
made her ready to laugh and cry both at once.
"Indeed, I do."
"You did not always? I don't wonder, because I was very nasty. But you
didn't love me till lately, did you, Gertrude?"
How could she answer? How could she acknowledge that there was a time
when this child had seemed almost an enemy? Still he was gazing in her
face expecting a reply.
"I began loving you when I remembered how much Jesus loved you," she
answered at length.
He pressed her hand in both his. "Ah, that was nice!" he murmured.
And Gertrude saw that the love of Jesus can bind together what else
might never be bound, can make the crooked straight, and the rough
places plain; so that each one of His loved ones may boast joyfully, "I
can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me."
Presently Randall started up with fresh energy.
"Gertrude! Oh, how kind you are to let me call you so! Gertrude, I'm
going to tell you about the Museum that day."
"Are you, dear?"
A week ago the thought would have made her shiver. Now she rejoiced
that she could think of it calmly, almost without pain.
"I didn't get lost—" began Randall.
"I knew that, dear."
"Did you? Why didn't you get me punished then? Well, I didn't get lost,
I lost myself. When Mr. Leigh left me in the doorway to go to you, I
waited till he was behind a big bit of furniture, and I just slipped
into a corner, and when no one was looking, I got into one of the old
cabinets! I could see you through the crack of the door searching about
for me."
"Oh, Randall!"
Still he looked in her face with quiet eyes. "I did it on purpose to
annoy you—I wasn't a bit sorry, I was very glad."
"But you are not now?" she said anxiously.
"Oh, no! Gertrude, you've been so very good to me that I ought to tell
you what made me sorry. Shall I?"
Her eyes were answer enough.
"It was yesterday—at least I think I was rather sorry before—but when
you told me to just say to myself, 'Jesus loves me,' all at once I
thought, how could Jesus love such a naughty, wicked little boy? And
then thought how kind He was not to cast out anybody, but to forgive
them; and then I asked Him to forgive me; and after that I was so
sorry—oh, so sorry for everything I have done wrong."
And as Gertrude kissed him again, she felt more glad than she could
say. Her prayer had indeed been answered abundantly.
CHAPTER LI.
AT LANRIFFE.
AFTER that, Randall quickly recovered, and very soon was running about
the Strange House, and even walking in Mr. Swift's well-kept garden,
where Mr. Swift himself walked slowly round the paths, his hands in his
pockets to keep them from trying to pick up the weeds, which as yet he
was too weak to do.
"Who'd think," he said to his wife, "that weeds would get ahead in
three weeks as these have done! I'm a'most ashamed to say as this
garden belongs to me."
He watched the child wistfully, as day by day Randall gained strength
and grew more and more such as their own Johnnie had been. But when
his wife saw the sad look in his eyes, she would say, with unusual
gentleness, "He's in better keeping than ours, husband, and I can
hardly wish him back. There are no weeds and no sin in heaven!"
When prudence permitted, and all the disinfecting was properly gone
through, the doctor advised that Randall should be taken to the seaside
before he mixed again with his brothers and sisters. So Gertrude was
allowed to write to her mother at Lanriffe, asking her to find a
cottage where they could be received. And in a very short time, she and
Randall were standing on the beach, drinking in the autumn air, and
feeling the salt spray dash in their faces from the restless sea.
Mrs. Ashlyn prepared everything beforehand for their comfort, and,
waiting just a day to allow the sea breezes to blow upon them, she came
to see her child, who had passed through so much since they had parted
only so few weeks ago.
Randall was out on the beach in front of the cottage, when Gertrude was
at last clasped in her mother's arms.
There was so much to tell, and so much to ask, that at first they
seemed to have nothing to say.
"My dear, you look—as if you had been a long journey, and had come back
different!"
"The same in love to you," faltered Gertrude, for her mother's look was
almost more than she could bear.
"Ah! Absence does not make much difference in child-love and
mother-love," answered Mrs. Ashlyn.
"And your eyes?" asked Gertrude, looking lovingly in the patient face.
"Not worse, my dear. I have been saving them up. Phyllis is such a
treasure now you are gone; she does everything for me."
"I guessed she would."
"Yes; and Otto! Directly you were gone, Otto came to me and told me he
intended to be my son."
"Did he?"
"Yes—not only in name, as a sort of pretence, but a son in real
earnest. He told me of his love for you, and asked my consent."
"Oh, mother! And you never told me! But of course you did not."
"I left him to tell his own tale. And now he is gone abroad, Phyllis
and I seem too lonely. You intend to stay in London, my child?"
Did her mother speak wistfully?
"I must—I think I ought; indeed, I wish it for every reason. You would
not have me leave them, mother?"
Mrs. Ashlyn did not at once reply.
So Gertrude continued—
"You see, mother, Mrs. Shaddock has learned to trust me, and I should
like to go back and help her. There is much to teach the children that
they have never even heard of! Hugh wants help—Mollie is so nice in
many ways, but so indulged and independent. I do really think that it
would be unkind to leave them now, after all their kindness."
Mrs. Ashlyn did not press the matter further, and the conversation then
turned on Mrs. Shaddock's health, which Gertrude explained was not yet
satisfactory, though she was much better than she had been.
"I did not know she was subject to such attacks," said Mrs. Ashlyn.
"She has only had one other as serious as this," answered Gertrude,
"but many slight warnings. Poor little Randall's piece of mischief has
cost him and his mother very dear."
"Have they any idea how he took this?"
"We have no idea. People have suggested that there was some poison
lurking in the old cabinet where he hid himself, but I am at a loss
to guess what it could have been. He says he sat for ever so long on
a form watching for us, by a woman who had a very funny smell in her
shawl. Of course that may have been it; people are so careless about
carrying infection!"
"Rose is longing to see you," said her mother, "but will wait for a day
or two. It was very kind of the Shaddocks to plan your coming here, my
dear."
"They are full of such kindnesses. I never saw people so thoughtful for
others before—except you, mother; you are always everything!" she added
fondly.
"You have heard from Otto?" asked her mother, returning her kiss.
"He writes by every mail that he can. His letters are full of incidents
of the voyage—the strange people he meets, the amusing things they do
and say, the dogs that people bring with them, the pets they patronize,
the absurdities they perpetrate. It reads like a story, only more
interesting!"
"I expect it is," said Mrs. Ashlyn, smiling.
"The boy has quite taken to him, and is improving every day. How I long
to see Lester, to know if 'he' has gained anything!"
CHAPTER LII.
RANDALL'S RETURN.
"HERE is London!" said Randall, as the houses thickened fast, and the
fields melted as it were into brick walls and chimneys, while the
express train flew past them.
"Where?" asked a girl with a beautiful face, who was sitting opposite
to Randall, looking out eagerly.
Randall gave a little laugh, at which Phyllis coloured vividly.
"I have never seen London, you know," she said apologetically.
"It is everywhere," said Randall, waving his hand about, "all these
houses, and churches, and gardens, and factories, and Board Schools,
and everything are London!"
"I see," answered Phyllis.
"Never mind, Phyllis," said Rose, who was seated by her, "you will have
to be a little 'country cousin' for a few days. When you go back to
Lanriffe, you will be 'the London young lady.'"
"I do not wish to be anything but what I am," said Phyllis quietly.
"I wonder what Dr. Blank will say of Lester?" remarked Gertrude,
looking down at him as he nestled against her shoulder.
The little boy glanced up at her as she spoke. They sometimes
fancied—was it only fancy?—that he did look up when his name was spoken.
Randall and Gertrude had been at Lanriffe for more than a month, and
were now returning to spend Christmas at Hampstead.
The weather had been unusually mild for the time of year, and Randall
had passed most of his time out of doors, catching all the air and
sunshine he could.
Soon after their arrival, Rose had brought little Lester over from
Camptown on a visit to her mother and Phyllis. And Randall had found a
new delight in tending the little invalid, wheeling him about in his