CHAPTER VI.
WINIFRED’S BROTHERS.
INIFRED went away from little Phil’s home in a grave and quiet mood; but she did not feel unhappy, and she did not feel afraid.
This serious mood lasted for many days, during which the child did a great deal of thinking, although, with the invariable reticence of childhood, she did not speak of her thoughts to those about her.
She did not leave Phil’s couch under any distinct impression of approaching death. What had passed between the two children was not sufficient to make Winnie think she was going to die; but the talk with the sick boy had put new thoughts into her head, made plain some puzzling questions which had troubled her before, and given her food for much meditation.
The sense of approaching change seemed to overshadow her more and more as days passed on.
Nobody spoke to her of any journey, and yet something in Winnie’s heart seemed to tell her every day that she was going away—that a time would soon come when she would have to say good-bye to those around her, and go, she knew not whither.
She watched the swallows with an ever-increasing interest, for were they not going too before very long? They, too, were feeling as she was feeling, that some power stronger than themselves was working within them, and would in time urge them to the last flight. They would have to go when they were bidden, and they would obey the voiceless call without a murmur and without a fear, and why should she not do the same?
“They don’t know where they are going, and I don’t know where I am going,” mused the child sometimes. “They don’t know the way, and I don’t know the way. But they aren’t afraid to go. They know that something will show them the way, and will take them to a nice place where they can be happy. I don’t see why I need be afraid either. Mamma knows where I am going, I think. She will take care of me; and God knows too, and He will take care of me. I think it must be God who takes care of the swallows and shows them where to go. If He is so kind to the birds, He is sure not to forget me. I don’t see why we need ever be afraid of anything, because He can always take care of us.”
But in the midst of new thoughts Winifred did not forget the old wish, to do things for other people, and make herself of use.
She took the boys’ play-room under her special care. She looked after their toys, their books, and all those nameless treasures which a housemaid despises, and destroys, but which she could appreciate and care for.
She let them come to her now with all their stories, either of sorrow or joy, and was always ready with sympathy or congratulation. She mended their gloves, and sewed on refractory buttons, and never sent them out of the nursery because their noise made her head ache.
Charley and Ronald were affectionate boys, and very fond of their little sister. Now that she had begun to be interested in their affairs, and to encourage their attentions, it seemed as if they could not make enough of her, and a very happy nursery party was always to be found round the fire each evening, the brothers chattering away to Winnie of all the day’s adventures, she listening with unfeigned interest, and more often than not working with her active little fingers at some light task in their service.
She liked to hear about the other boys who shared her brothers’ studies with the tutor in the nearest town. She soon learnt to know their names, their characters, and dispositions, and to take an interest in every one; and by-and-by she revealed a little plan which had long been working in her head.
“Charley,” she said one evening, “do you think it would be nice to give a tea-party?”
“A tea-party, Winnie?”
“Yes, a sort of a tea-party on a Saturday afternoon, and ask all the boys. Do you think they would care to come?” asked the little girl.
“Come here!”
Charley and Ronald looked pleased and interested; and both fastened their eyes eagerly upon Winifred, as if to make sure of her meaning.
“Yes, I feel as if I should like to see them, before—I mean I have heard about them and I think it would be nice to know them a little. Do you think they would come?”
“I’m sure they would!” cried Ronald, “they’d like it awfully.”
“Would you like it too?”
“Of course we should. You’re a brick, Winnie, for thinking of it,” cried Charley. “What could have put it into your head?”
Winifred smiled in the quiet way which had grown upon her of late.
“I don’t quite know. I seem to think of a lot of things now.”
“You do,” assented Charley with an emphasis that brought a flush of pleasure to Winifred’s pale face. “You think of everything now. I can’t think what we did before you were well enough to look after our things. I knew they were always in a horrid muddle.”
Winnie smiled and sighed too.
“I wish I’d begun before,” she said, “when I had more time. I wish I hadn’t been so lazy before.”
“You weren’t lazy, you were ill,” said Charley stoutly. “But you’re getting better now—you’ll soon be well, won’t you, Winnie?”
Charley spoke with a certain earnestness of manner which made his sister look at him to see what made him ask the question.
“Oh yes, I think so, Charley,” she answered. “I think I’m going to get well quite soon.”
Ronald’s thoughts were busy with the proposed plan of the tea-party.
“It would be jolly,” he said, “awfully jolly. Do you think mamma will let us have it?”
“Oh yes, I am almost sure she will,” answered Winnie. “I will ask her to-night. I was waiting till I had asked you, because I wanted to know first if you thought it would be nice.”
“Will it be soon?” Ronald asked eagerly.
“I should like it to be soon,” answered Winnie, “just as soon as we can have it. Next Saturday, perhaps. That is three days off.”
“Oh, jolly!” cried Ronald. “I like things to come soon. I can’t bear to wait.”
“No, I don’t think it would do to wait,” answered the little girl, her eyes turning towards the window, which overlooked the water-meadows where the swallows were beginning to gather.
Charley’s eyes followed the direction of her glance, and then returned to her face.
“Why wouldn’t it do to wait?” he asked with a touch of uneasiness in his voice. “What are you thinking of, Winnie?”
“Of the swallows,” she answered still absently; “we must have it before they go, you know!”
“Why?” and Charley opened his eyes wide, not seeing the connection.
Winifred awoke from her daydream with a little start, and smiled.
“Oh, I don’t quite know. Perhaps it is all fancy. Only it seems sometimes as if everything would be different when the swallows go.”
Charley looked still half-uneasy and half-puzzled; but Ronald had so many questions to ask about the tea-party that there was no time to wonder more about Winifred’s thoughts.
“Will anybody else come beside our fellows?”
“I shall ask Violet,” answered Winifred. “She will be pleased to come, and can stay with me whilst you and the boys are playing in the garden before tea. We will get it all ready for you. Violet will like that; I don’t think I have been quite kind lately. I have forgotten her sometimes; and poor little Vi has no brothers, and not half so many nice things as I have. I wish I hadn’t been so selfish.”
Winifred sighed a little, and Charley stood up and put his arm about her neck.
“You’re not selfish, Winnie. You’re just as nice as you can be. Everybody says so. Everybody loves you—I know it, if you don’t.”
“Of course they do, Win,” added Ronald, waking up to what was passing. “All the fellows ask about you. They all want to know how you are when you’re ill. They don’t know you hardly at all; but they all like you—everybody does.”
Winifred was pleased to hear this, although she hardly felt to deserve praise.
“People are very nice and kind,” she said smiling. “I shall like to see the boys. I know mamma will let us have a very nice tea-party. Cook will be pleased too; she will like to make us nice things.”
“Jolly!” cried Ronald again, whilst Charley said more gravely:
“People like doing what you want them to, I think, Winnie.”
Winifred was silent a moment, thinking, then she said half-shyly:
“Should you like to do something that I wanted you to, Charley?”
“Yes, to be sure I should.”
“So should I,” added Ronald.
It was a little while before Winifred spoke: but the boys waited eagerly to hear her commands. They had been wishing one to another that they could do something to please their little sister.
“I should like very much, if you didn’t mind, if you would go every week to see little Phil at the lodge. He is so lonely.”
“Oh yes, I’ll go!” answered Charley. “I like poor Phil, but I’m afraid I’ve forgotten him often; but he likes you best, Winnie.”
“I shall go to see him as long as I can,” answered Winnie. “But—but—”
“Why, Winnie!” cried Ronald, “you’re not going to be ill again this winter, are you?”
“Oh no, I hope not—I don’t think so. Only—I—I fancy perhaps I shan’t be able to go and see poor little Phil very much longer. I should like to think you would go instead, and talk to him and lend him books, so that he will not miss me very much. Sometimes I think he’ll die before very long.”
Charley’s face was grave and troubled; but all he said was:
“We’ll take care of him, Winnie. He shan’t be dull if we can help it. I’ll never forget him any more, I promise you.”
“Thank you,” said Winnie gratefully, and her heart felt the lighter for this promise. She knew Charley would not fail when he had once pledged himself.
Mrs. Digby gave a willing consent to Winifred’s plan for the proposed tea-party; and entered into an animated discussion of its every detail. It was arranged for the following Saturday. The guests were to be invited for three o’clock, to have games in the garden, tea in the nursery, charades in the play-room, and fireworks after supper just before going home.
Everything sounded delightful, and the boys went off in high spirits to prepare their lessons.
“Mamma,” said Winnie, after she was in bed, her mother still remaining beside her, “may I give away some of my books and toys to Violet when she comes?”
“What makes you wish to do so, dear?”
“I have so many, you know, mamma, and Violet has so few, and she would be so pleased. Besides, I feel sometimes as if I was growing older. I don’t seem to care so much for toys and fairy tales. I like some of my books better than ever; but I hardly ever read the stories I used to be so fond of, and I haven’t played with my dolls—Oh, I don’t know when!”
“And so you would like Violet to have them instead, would you?” asked Mrs. Digby, caressing the child’s head.
“Yes, mamma, if you don’t mind. I feel as if I’d not been quite kind to Violet all this while. She would have liked to come here oftener to play, and I haven’t asked her; and I haven’t been to see her when I know she would have liked it. I didn’t think about things once; but I do now, and I know it wasn’t quite right of me.”
“And you think Violet would be pleased by having the dolls and fairy tales?”
“I think she would; and I should like to feel that she had them. You don’t mind, do you, mamma?”
“No, dearest. If you do not want your toys yourself, it is better to give them to some one who will be pleased by having them.”
“Yes; and it will be nice to have seen the boys’ friends, and to have made Vi happy. I wonder I never thought about it before. Mamma, the swallows won’t have gone by Saturday, will they?”
“No, darling, no,” and it seemed as if Mrs. Digby’s voice shook. “They will gather a long while yet. What makes my little girl think so much of the swallows?”
“I don’t quite know, mamma. Sometimes I can’t help fancying that everything will be different when the swallows have gone.”
The mother kissed her child very fervently and tenderly, and left the room without another word.
To her surprise she found Charley lingering about the door, as if waiting for her. His face wore a troubled look, and he did not speak at once, but followed his mother down the passage, and did not speak until they reached the window at the end of the corridor near to the staircase, which looked over the water-meadows.
“Mamma,” he said then, looking up into her face, “have you been crying?”
“Just a tear or two, my boy. What makes you ask?”
Charley was nearly fifteen, and old enough to have been made anxious by one or two things he had heard and seen of late.
“Were you crying about Winnie? Mamma, is there anything the matter with Winnie?”
“Your little sister is in a very precarious state of health, Charley.”
“I know, mamma, she is pale and thin and weak; but she was much worse last winter.”
“She seemed to be worse, my boy.”
“Mamma, mamma!” cried Charley anxiously, “you don’t mean—Oh, mamma, she isn’t—”
The boy could not say the words, but his eyes spoke his meaning plainly enough. Mrs. Digby’s tears fell for a moment fast and freely; but then they were checked, and she answered steadily:
“We are in God’s hands, dear Charley, and our precious little child is under His care. He may be willing to spare her to us a little longer. We may all pray and even hope; God’s ways are not our ways, and He is very merciful.”
Charley’s face grew pale. He saw by his mother’s looks how little hope she had.
“Mamma!” he cried; “Oh, mamma!”
“Dear Charley,” she said tenderly, “we must all be brave; we may still pray to God to spare our darling, only we must pray first ‘Thy will be done.’”
The boy choked and a lump rose in his throat; then he commanded his voice and asked:
“What does Dr. Howard say?”
“He says that—that—he thinks Winifred cannot get any better.”
There was silence after this, and then the boy said more slowly and calmly:
“Does Winnie know?”
“I do not know how much; but from what she says I feel sure she knows something.”
“It was her talk to-day made me begin to think,” said the boy with a tearless sob. “Oh mamma, she is such a dear Winnie; and she talks just as if she were going away.”
“My poor Charley, we shall all miss our sweet little girl; but, dear boy, we must remember where she has gone, and Who has taken her.”
The boy sobbed on still.
“She will never come back any more.”
“No, Charley—could we really wish her back? She will not come to us; but we may go to her. That must then be more than ever the aim of our lives.”
“Yes, yes,” said the boy; and by-and-by he asked in a whisper, “When?”
“Ah, Charley, I ask that question every day. Sometimes I think it will not be very long after the swallows go.”