by Edwin Hodder
CHAPTER II.
SCHOOL-BOY DAYS.
George Weston was an only son, and, at the time our story commences, wasnearly seventeen years of age. His early years had been spent at home,under the watchful care of kind and good parents. When he was ten yearsold he was sent to a boarding school at Folkestone, and placed in thecharge of Dr. Seaward, a good man, who superintended his education, and,besides imparting secular instruction, endeavoured to train hischaracter and make him good as well as clever. George was a sharp,shrewd boy, a keen observer, who would know the why and the wherefore ofeverything, and his lessons always came to him more as an amusement thana task. He had a horror of being low down in his class, and if he didnot retain his place at the top, it was rarely through inattention orwant of study on his part.
George was a great favourite with the whole school; he was a merry,joyous fellow, who always had sunshine in his face and a kind word onhis lips; a ringleader in any harmless fun, and a champion on the sideof all the younger boys who met with oppression or injustice from theelder classes. At cricket or football, swimming or boating, George hadfew superiors; and as he was one of those boys who seem determined,whatever they do, to do it with all their might, he went heart and soulinto all the spoils with such a zest and earnestness that he acquiredthe name of the "Indefatigable." Nor did this name merely apply to hiszeal in sports. There was not in the whole school a more diligentstudent than George: there was for him "a time to work and a time toplay," and he never allowed one to trespass upon the other. He wouldrather go without a game at cricket for a fortnight than be behindhandin one of his lessons. The boys would laugh at him for this, but Georgecould bear to be laughed at on such points, because he knew he was inthe right. "I came to school to learn," he would say, "and I don't seeany fun in making my parents pay heavy fees for me every year to playcricket at the expense of study." Every boy knew there was wisdom inthis, and they secretly admired George for it, although it condemnedtheir own conduct, more especially when they had to go to him notunfrequently, and say, "Weston, I shall get in a scrape with theselessons to-morrow, unless you can help me a bit with them. Do give me aleg up, that's a good fellow!" and though George never said "No," he didsometimes take an opportunity to say, "If you did not waste so much timein play, you might be independent of any help that I can give."
It was a source of great pleasure to his parents to hear from time totime, through Dr. Seaward, some good account of his conduct; and when hereturned home at the holiday seasons, generally laden with prizes whichhe had victoriously borne off, they did not feel a little proud of theironly son.
George remained at the school at Folkestone for five years, during whichtime he rose from the lowest to the highest form. It was the intentionof his parents then to place him in a college for a year or two, inorder to give him in opportunity to complete his education, and have themeans to make a good start in life. But this purpose was frustrated byan event which happened only a month before George was to have beenremoved.
One day, when all the boys were out in the playfield, busily engaged inmarking out boundaries for a game at hockey, Dr. Seaward was seen comingfrom the house towards the field. This was an unusual event, as herarely interfered with them during play hours. "Something's up," saidthe boys; and waited expectantly until the Doctor came up to them.
"Call George Weston," said he; "I want to speak to him."
"Weston! George Weston!" shouted one or two at once; and George camerunning up, nothing abashed, for he knew he had done nothing wrong.
"George," said the Doctor, laying a hand on his shoulder, "I want you tocome with me; I have something to tell you;" and they walked togetheraway from the field.
"What is it, sir? You look pained: I hope I have done nothing to offendyou?"
"No, George," replied the Doctor; "few lads have ever given me so littlecause of offence at any time as you have. But I _am_ pained. I have somesad news to tell you."
"Sad news for me, sir? Oh, do tell me at once. Is anything the matter athome?"
"Yes, George; a messenger has just arrived to say that your father hasmet with a serious accident; he has been thrown from his chaise, and ismuch hurt. The messenger is your uncle, Mr. Brunton; and he desires youto return at once to London with him."
George waited to hear no more; he bounded away from the Doctor, clearedthe fence which enclosed the garden at a leap, and rushed into the roomwhere Mr. Brunton was anxiously awaiting him. No tear stood in his eye;but he was dreadfully pale, and his hands trembled like aspen leaves."Oh, uncle!" was all he could say; and, throwing himself into a chair,he covered his face with his hands.
"Come, George, my boy," said Mr. Brunton, tenderly; "do not give way todistress. Your poor father is seriously hurt, but he is yet alive. Wehave just half an hour to catch the train."
That was enough for George; in a moment he was calm and collected, ranup to his room to make a few hasty arrangements, and in five minutes wasagain with his uncle prepared for the journey.
"Good-bye, Dr. Seaward," he said as he left the house.
"God bless you, my young friend," said the kind-hearted Doctor; "andgrant that you may find His providence better than your fears."
George thought he had never known the train go so slowly as it didduring that long, wearisome journey to London. At last it arrived atthe terminus, and then, jumping into a cab, they were hurried awaytowards Stamford Hill as quickly as the horse could travel.
"Now, George," said Mr. Brunton, as they came near their journey's end,"we know not what may have happened while we have been coming here. Be aman, and recollect there is one who suffers more than you."
"Do not fear, uncle. I will not add to my mother's grief," was all hecould reply.
We will not pry into that interview between mother and son when theyfirst met; there is a grief too solemn for a stranger's eye.
Mr. Weston was still alive, and that was all that could be said. Thedoctors had pronounced his case beyond human skill, and had intimatedthat there were but a few hours for him on earth.
As George stood beside the bed of his dying father, the tears which hadbeen long pent up came pouring thick and fast down his cheek.
"Don't give way to sorrow, George," said his father, in a low voice, forhe had difficulty in speaking; "it will be only a little while before wemeet again; for what is life but a vapour, which soon vanisheth away?"
"Oh, father, it is so sudden, so sudden!" sobbed George.
"Therefore, my boy, remember that at all times there is but a stepbetween us and death; and if for us to live is Christ, then to die isgain. Make that your motto through life, my dear boy, 'For me to live isChrist.'"
That night the silver cord was loosed, the golden bowl was broken, andthe spirit of Mr. Weston returned to God who gave it. "Precious in theeyes of the Lord is the death of His saints."
Never did a mother more realize the joy of possessing the unbounded loveof an affectionate son, than did Mrs. Weston during those melancholydays between the death and the funeral of her husband, "Cheer up, dearmother," he would say; "God is the father of the fatherless, and thehusband of the widow, and did not _He_ say 'to die is gain'?"
George and Mr. Brunton followed the remains of the good man to theirlast resting-place; and then the body was lowered to the grave "in thesure and certain hope of a glorious resurrection."
Mr. Weston had not been a rich man, nor had he been a far-seeing,provident man. He had moved in comfortable circumstances, with an incomeonly sufficient to pay his way in the world, and had made but scantyprovision for the future. At the time of his sudden death, his affairswere in anything but a satisfactory state; and it was found that itwould be impossible for his widow to live in the same comfortable styleshe had formerly done.
After all his accounts were wound up, it was seen that she would onlyhave a sufficient sum of money, even if invested in the best possiblemanner, to keep her in humble circumstances. She determined therefore toleave her house at Stamford Hill, and take a s
maller one in Islington,and let some of the rooms to boarders.
Mr. Brunton acted the part of a kind brother in all her difficulties; hewas never wearied in advising her, and on him principally devolved allthe necessary arrangements for her removal. Everything he did was withsuch delicacy and refinement that, although his hand was daily andhourly felt, it was never seen.
One evening, shortly before leaving the locality in which they had livedso many years, George and his mother walked together to the cemeterywhere Mr. Weston had been buried, to pay a farewell visit to thathallowed spot. They had been too much reduced in circumstances to have astone placed over the grave where he lay, and they were talking about itas they journeyed along, saying, how the very first money they couldafford should be expended for that purpose. What was their surprise tofind a handsome stone raised above the spot, bearing these words:--
_Sacred to the Memory of_ MR. GEORGE WESTON, Who departed this life, Feb. 18th, 18--, aged 46 years.
* * * * *
"For me to live is Christ, and to die is gain."
Tears of grateful joy stood in their eyes as they recognized anothertoken of the kind, tender love of Mr. Brunton.
The bereavement and change of fortune were borne by the widow with thatfortitude which is only shown by the true Christian. It was hard, veryhard, to begin the world again; to be denied the pleasure of allowingGeorge to go to college and complete his studies; and to bear thestruggles and inconveniences of poverty. But Mrs. Weston knew that vainregrets would never alter the case; the Lord had given, the Lord hadtaken away, and from her heart she could say cheerfully, "Blessed bethe name of the Lord."
George had not been idle. Every hour in which he was not occupied for orwith his mother, he was diligently engaged in prosecuting his studies,and preparing himself for the time when he should be able to procure asituation. Mr. Brunton had not been anxious for him to enter upon one atonce; he knew how lonely the widow would be without her son, andtherefore he did not take any steps to obtain for George a situation.But when a twelvemonth had passed, and the keenness of sorrow had wornoff, he mentioned the matter to his friend Mr. Compton; with whatsuccess we have seen in the first chapter.
