The strange house or, A moment's mistake
Mrs. Shaddock looked from one to the other.
"'Which' did it?" she asked angrily.
"It was Hugh," said Randall; "I was quite away from him, and I saw it
in his hand."
"Randall let it fall in the fire," said Hugh steadily, his face white
even to his lips, and his hands clenched together till they ached.
"I don't believe it," said Mrs. Shaddock. "Don't you hear your brother
was sitting in the arm-chair, so it could not have been his fault. Here
is a whole five pounds gone, and you shall have no Christmas presents
at all, Hugh for being so careless, and then trying to put it on your
brother. Do not let me have another word on the subject. I do not know
what your father will say."
Mrs. Shaddock left the room in great displeasure, and the two boys
stood looking at each other.
"Now, cry-baby, go and tell it all to nurse," said Randall, shaking his
yellow mane defiantly. "I know it was your fault, so I don't care."
Hugh slowly left the room, his heart stinging with the pain of his
little brother's taunts.
Soon his father would be back from town, and then he pictured the fresh
investigation of the whole matter, and the fresh disgrace, and perhaps
punishment, which would fall upon him. It was not the first time that
Randall's selfishness and want of truth had got him into dire trouble,
and he was too sensitive, and too little respected, to fight for
himself.
He laid himself down on the nursery hearth-rug to think it all over,
and remained like that till the gong sounded for tea, and he must go
down.
Mr. Shaddock had come in, and Gertrude and his sisters had returned
from a lecture they had been attending. Everybody was present, as Hugh,
pale and dark-eyed, walked into the room.
"You need not come here," said his father, looking up. "Tell nurse to
give you your tea up-stairs, and put you to bed. Five-pound notes are
not to be burned with impunity."
Hugh said nothing. He went slowly up to the nursery, and sat down
dejectedly on a chair. Nurse had heard the account from Randall, and
knew all about it, or at any rate, so much as could be gathered from
one side.
"I expect I shall be caned," said Hugh at length, "and it was Randall
who did it from beginning to end."
"Then never mind, dear," said nurse gently.
If there was one thing that nurse found hard in her comfortable place,
it was that Hugh was often severely punished, while Randall got off
free.
But Hugh would not be comforted. He ate no tea, and crept into bed,
utterly crushed.
As he lay there in the darkness, above the fear of punishment, above
the threat of no Christmas presents, above the misery of being wronged,
came over him a greater misery still. For while he knew that every
word Randall had said was false, and that the burning of the note was
entirely Randall's doing, yet in his inmost heart he felt he had been
the one to touch it first, and this fault he had not acknowledged.
He could not do it! That was his first and strongest feeling. Nothing
on earth could make him volunteer that which would partly justify all
their displeasure. He had "not" burned the note, there it must rest.
That was his ultimatum.
But to those who are Christ's, a still small voice comes; the
Shepherd's hand is stretched out to restore the soul, and lead it in
the paths of righteousness.
A sudden thought came to poor little Hugh, and he looked up above the
misery and despair which had seized him. "Oh, help me to do right, by
Thy mighty power," he whispered. "I can't do it by myself—do help me,
Lord Jesus."
CHAPTER XXI.
BY THE NURSERY FIRE.
STRENGTHENED with a new strength, Hugh sat up in bed, and considered
what he ought to do.
Truth and falsehood were strangely mixed up in his mind. But of one
thing he was certain, he had not told any one the whole truth.
Great as was his fear of punishment, his fear of offending his God and
King was greater. What therefore ought he to do?
Just at this moment his father's step was heard crossing the nursery.
"I am going to put a stop to this deception," he said to the nurse.
"If he had said boldly that he had done it and was sorry, I would have
excused him, but to make it worse by a lie—"
"Oh, sir!" interrupted the nurse earnestly. "Do ask him to explain
it—indeed there may be some mistake. Master Hugh is so good and
straight and little Master Randall—you know, sir, in the heat of things
children do not always see quite how it is. Please, sir, do wait till
we can find out more about it!"
Little shivering Hugh could hear his father turn towards the
fire-place, and for a moment, he breathed more freely. But, even then,
after what his father had said, punishment must follow, no matter
what he might confess. Though he had, indeed, not been the one who
had burned the note, his father had in his estimation described him
accurately when he had accused him of a lie. If he had not told one, he
had acted one.
Then he heard—"Well, nurse, I do not mind waiting, of course, for I
respect your opinion very much, as you have been with the children so
long. But if it turns out to be as I think it is, nothing shall come
between Hugh and his punishment. I cannot make my children all I would,
but untruth shall not pass unreproved."
Nurse murmured some words of thanks and he seemed to be turning away.
Hugh sprang out of bed, and without waiting for his courage to ebb, he
rushed into the nursery.
"Father!" he said.
"Well?" said Mr. Shaddock, turning round, rather coldly.
"Father—will you hear all about it—will you hear about it before you
punish me?"
Mr. Shaddock came back to the fire-place and sat down. Something in the
boy's face touched him more than he had ever felt touched before.
"It was not my fault about the note—but—"
"I did not come back to hear you say that—" said Mr. Shaddock.
"No, but I was going to tell you all about it. It was my fault,
because I touched the note first, and said to Randall that it was such
a dirty old thing to be worth so much. But it was quite safe on the
mantel-shelf again, and Randall would touch it. And I tried to prevent
him by putting down my hand on it, and then he snatched it and it fell
into the fire."
Whether the child's eyes convinced his father, or whether the story
bore the impress of truth, Mr. Shaddock felt that he knew the whole.
There was a silence while he thought it all over.
"Why did you not tell this to your mother?" he asked, at length.
"I did try to, but—she did not understand."
There was another pause.
"Did you tell her all this?" asked his father, opening his arm to
invite the little boy within it.
Hugh thought of Randall's overbearing clamour and was silent.
"Did you?" persisted Mr. Shaddock.
"I tried to—" Hugh's eyes looked appealingly in his father's face, but
he said no more.
"I see. Now, my boy, go back to your bed. I am glad that you have told
me."
But Hugh hesitated. Never before had he stood like that within his
father's arm; it was hard to go out from it, and yet he must.
"Father," he said, gently and bravely, "are you not going to punish me?
I would rather get it over, and then, perhaps, you will forgive me?"
Mr. Shaddock looked down upon him wonderingly. "Forgiveness does not
depend upon punishment," he said, slowly, "but upon—other things."
"But I deserve what you said," answered Hugh, "because I 'did' not tell
all the truth."
In that five minutes Mr. Shaddock had learned a great lesson. He had
never thought of "forgiving" his little son. He had considered it his
duty to punish him, and there the matter would end. Now he was asked
for forgiveness!
What had he to do with forgiveness?
Hugh's eyes were still fixed upon him inquiringly his colour going and
coming.
"I freely forgive you, my boy," he answered then; "God bless you."
Hugh flung his arms round his father's neck, and was inclosed in an
embrace such as he had never had before.
Mr. Shaddock rose then, and leading his child back to his bed, kissed
him, and went slowly down-stairs.
"I doubt if I could have done such a thing myself," was his mental
comment. And all the evening afterwards, those words which he had heard
so often in church, but had never heeded before, seemed to sound in his
ears—
"'Blessed is he whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is
covered.'"
CHAPTER XXII.
NO THOROUGHFARE.
"THERE is a lady down-stairs waiting to see you, Miss Ashlyn," said
Mollie, putting her head in at the door of the schoolroom one morning,
and then withdrawing it without waiting to receive any answer.
"For me?" exclaimed Gertrude, colouring with surprise. "I do not know
anybody here."
"Go down and see," said Randall. "I dare say it's some old fogey! Our
last governess had some of those sort to see her."
If Gertrude had not blushed before, she blushed now. Suppose it should
be her mother whom Randall had called by such a name?
"You are very rude," she said coldly, turning to him ere she left the
room. "Do not move till I come back. I will at any rate not be long."
She ran down-stairs, her heart beating. Could it be her mother? But she
would never have come unless something had been the matter!
She had not long to be in doubt. As she opened the door, a white-haired
lady indeed sat near the window. But the beautiful complexion and soft,
dark eyes belonged to no one else than her sister Rose!
In a moment they were clasped in each other's arms, and then Rose in
rather an agitated way began to explain about the basket, and the old
man, and the Strange House, and the little slippers.
At mention of these, Gertrude turned pale.
"Rose!" she exclaimed. "That is what has been haunting me ever since. I
could not make it out!"
"That makes it more necessary than ever for me to do my utmost to find
out if my child is really—"
Rose broke off. She could not get through those words. The imagined
nearness of her child, if as she fondly believed, he were in the next
house, made her altogether frantic. She could hardly control herself.
"Dearest Rose," said Gertrude persuasively, "sit down quietly now,
while I go and tell Mrs. Shaddock you are here, and speak to my
children up-stairs. I am sure they will be interested in it all, and
Mrs. Shaddock will perhaps advise us as to what is best to be done."
Rose sat down obediently, though she glanced out of the window at every
passer-by with such anxiety, that Gertrude feared she would not even
allow her time to make her explanations, before she would want to be
out of the door, and knocking at that Strange House which she thought
contained her darling.
However, Gertrude hastened to the schoolroom to beg Daisy and Randall
to amuse themselves with a book till her return, and then she sought
Mrs. Shaddock, who was busy with Mollie in the dining-room writing
invitations for an "At Home" the next week.
The explanations were soon made, and Mrs. Shaddock went into the other
room to make acquaintance with Mrs. Leigh, and in her hospitable way to
beg her to use her house as if it were her own.
Rose's tearful eyes were a grateful answer enough.
"I am going to the house to see if I can find out anything," said
Rose, rising. "You cannot wonder that I dare not delay after my sad
experiences!"
They let her go, and Gertrude went back to the schoolroom to tell Daisy
about it, and to wait her sister's return. Rose had begged them not to
accompany her or be seen outside.
Meanwhile with trembling steps, growing more firm as she went along,
Rose tried to remember Otto's words of there being no "blind streets"
in God's paths, and so gathered courage as she leaned on Him who is
mighty.
But her repeated knocks at the door brought no answer, and after she