CHAPTER III.

T was a great comfort to the little nurse, as well as to Harry Dunlop, to see their patient safely laid in bed at the fisherman's cottage, and though half smothered in blankets, sleeping soundly, with the glow of returning health stealing softly over his cheeks.

It was of no use watching beside him, and therefore Margaret and Harry stole quietly down into a lower room to hold their consultation about what was to be done next. Before any definite conclusion had been come to, however, George Dunlop appeared in the doorway, and as he was decidedly the best messenger to send on such an errand, he was immediately requested to hasten home, and convey the intelligence of the morning's disaster to his parents, and then to provide for the whole party some means of reaching home; for, besides Archy's helpless condition, they were none of them in circumstances to make the journey on foot. Margaret had no outside covering but the mantle which she had given up; and Harry's clothes were torn with the sharp rocks over which he had had to clamber as he could.

Nobody could break the subject to Mr. and Mrs. Dunlop so well as George: "He is always so cool and self-possessed," said Harry; "nothing moves him; and as Archy is all right now, there could be no good in making a frightful story out of what has

THE WOMEN OF ENGLAND," ETC.

happened, as I most likely should; for I declare to you, Margaret, I thought at one time the poor little fellow was lost."

Saying this, Harry, much against his inclination, became the subject of a burst of tears, such as he scorned and hated, and tried to dash away, but which still kept falling, and the more stupidly, as it seenfed to him, that the lad was doing well-"sleeping like a top," he said; "and his pulse," which at one time they had some trouble in finding, now "regular as a clock."

"Then what are you crying for, you great baby?" said George; and Harry's tears were checked on the instant, but he said nothing. It is easy to stop the flow of tears if we set about it in the right way, and George Dunlop had a sure way of stopping tears, as well as other emotional expressions. He did not intend to do anything unkind: he liked emotion well enough, if it was of the right sort-at least, he thought he did; and on this occasion no one could have felt more genuine grief for a brother than he would have done had little Archy been lost. But why did he get into that situation? How was it altogether?

These were the questions George kept asking, as some people do when they experience the symptoms of even so uninteresting a malady as a common cold, never resting until they have settled in their own minds the moment of time when, and the inch of space where, it was caught. Such persons are not satisfied when there has been an

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make it their business first to obtain all the circumstantial evidence as to how the accident occurred; and, above all, their crowning point of satisfaction appears to be that of awarding to all concerned, but especially to the poor sufferer, his exact share of the blame. "I told you how it would be. You should never have done so-you might have foreseen the consequences." Preserve us from the pitiless judgment of these witnesses of our calamity!

George Dunlop meant no harm. He was not wanting in kindness; but he must be allowed to express his mind upon the blindness and folly of any one wandering on the seashore without calculating upon the tide. And then, why had his brothers left him? -and so on. At length, when his many inquiries had been to some extent replied to, he set out on his mission, to which he was urged the more earnestly that the day was now declining, and if he did not go quickly it would be impossible for the party to reach home before midnight.

"The lad is all right," repeated Harry, going with his brother a few steps beyond the door. "Tell my mother it has only been a little ducking in the sea. But they must send some kind of close carriage up here for us; and they must lose no time, or we shall be here all night; and however efficient James Halliday may be, I can't say that the atmosphere of his cottage is the most agreeable-rather 'ancient and fishy,' tell mother-anything to make her smile. It's all right now, and I don't doubt but the lad will be himself again to-morrow; but oh, George, it has been a terrible day! I should not like to live through the last few hours again. And as for the poor little fellow, he could not have struggled on for another half-hour-not to save his life of that I'm confident."

When George Dunlop was gone, Margaret and Harry sat quietly down to unburden their full hearts by talking the whole matter over. They could think of nothing else; and after excitement such as they had just passed through, every detail connected with the one great event becomes of such im

find a welcome relief in repeating them again and again, with all such varieties as the nature of the case permits.

In the present instance, it was the character, conduct, appearance-everything, in short, belonging especially to little Archy— which formed the theme of conversation; for the boy was a favourite with all, though none could perhaps have described exactly why he was so. A lad of fourteen, without any extraordinary recommendations of face or person, there was still something about Archy, whether in his open, guileless countenance, or his frank confiding manner, no one could tell; but there was that about him which won the goodwill of all, and the tenderest affection of those who knew him best, so that they would often suffer themselves rather than allow any kind of suffering to come to him.

Perhaps little Archy felt suffering more than most; for there are natures with whom it is so. Indeed, there is a vast difference in constitutional capability in this respect, only we may generally accept it as a law of our being that those who suffer most intensely are those who also enjoy most intensely. Archy did both in the extreme, and hence his great liability to temptation from sources of pleasure and pain-from the love of enjoying on the one hand, and the dread of suffering on the other.

A sensuous nature this is usually called; but the word has no pleasant associations in our language, and scarcely conveys its own real meaning-certainly not the meaning which would have been understood by the lifting up of those large clear blue eyes of Archy's, which few persons of any sensibility could resist in their tender and earnest appeal.

Little Archy the boy was always called at home; and he must have obtained this designation more from the tender love which his nature inspired, than from his actual size; for though somewhat short in comparison with his brothers, his figure was, as Margaret had described him to the fisherman, rather broad and sturdy. His face was fair, his eyes, as already said, were blue, with

heavy lids, and the smile of his handsome mouth was peculiarly sweet and winning.

So it was, altogether, that nobody could bear the idea of little Archy being subjected to any kind of ill-treatment. What would have been simply unjust, or wrong, towards others, was absolutely cruel, they thought, towards him. "He feels things so," his mother used to say of him; and if she loved him a touch more tenderly, though not more truly, than her other children-if she rejoiced at times that he at least was exempt from that turbulence of spirit which so troubled her life, there were other times when she almost wished that her sweet Archy had a little more of the boldness and resolution of his brothers, for how was he ever to fight his way through the world when he felt things so?

Archy himself had at this stage of his experience very little concern about his own way in the world. Hitherto he had lived in the bosom of a secluded family, whose home was their world, and he at least knew little of any other. Hitherto his brothers had always taken such kind care of him, that he had had little either to fear or to suffer from external causes; and his own heart, with all its intimate and peculiar feelings, was habitually laid bare before his mother, who dealt with it so tenderly that her corrections were scarcely more painful than the cherishing and encouragement with which she endeavoured to bring forward all that was good. Beyond this, he believed that he had in sincerity given up all-both heart and life-to that Saviour on whom he loved to lean. To him it was no painful surrender. So far as it went, it had been willingly-nay, joyfully made, and he felt neither shame nor hesitation in speaking of the relation in which he believed himself to stand as a child of God, redeemed by the sacrifice once offered upon the cross for all.

This experience, which is so difficult for some to describe, or even to speak of to others, had been gone through by the happy boy as simply as if it had come in the usual course of events. It did in truth appear very simple to him; the more so, because he could form no conception of such a state as

that of being contented for a moment without a sense of Christ Jesus being his Redeemer, Saviour, and Friend. He could form no conception of such a thing as being safe under any circumstances, or happy, without this sure foundation of security and peace. "And, oh mother!" he would often say, after the terrible ordeal of this disastrous day, "what should I have done on those bare rocks, with those terrible waves dashing up, foaming, and raging, and ready to devour me, if I had not prayed with all my soul, and with all my strength ?—yes, and if I had not been used to pray, so that it seemed quite natural to cry to the Lord in my distress, and to ask Him to help me? And you see, mother, He did help me." "Yes, my child," the mother would reply, "and He will always help you, if you cry to Him in sincerity of heart."

And thus the two would talk together, without hesitation and without reserve, for this subject, above all others, was familiar to both; and good, simple Mrs. Dunlop, though far from being the best manager of her household, was yet a true-hearted Christian woman, and so far a true friend to her children that she cared supremely for their spiritual interests; at the same time, it must be confessed that she cared less than many women, and certainly less than she ought, for their manners and their clothes.

Mrs. Dunlop was indeed far from being a perfect woman. Mrs. Anderson, who herself was all neatness and order in her domestic regulations, thought her very far indeed from being perfect, and could, in fact, scarcely believe in her Christianity since it did not make her a good household manager; so apt are we to judge of others by our own rule, overlooking the fact sometimes that while a neighbour may not be exact, and set on buttons when and where she ought, we ourselves may possibly be inexact on some point of truth; or that, while a neighbour may be letting some provision for the table run to waste, we ourselves may be neglecting some golden opportunity for doing good.

But Mrs. Dunlop's husband knew that

and humble Christian, and her boys knew it, or felt it rather in the depth of their young hearts. It was much to be regretted, both for them and for her, that their mother was not a better disciplinarian; but her own bringing up had been desultory, and much neglected; and where is the good woman under any circumstances who has not one fault? Nowhere, except in books; and the wonder is that anyone should place them there, seeing that just so far as they are perfect, they fail to excite interest, simply because they are untrue. There can be no sympathy excited by such perfect beings. We know exactly how they will act under all circumstances, and consequently fail to follow out their course with either fear or wonder as to how they may conduct themselves. Neither are they good, as some worthy people seem to think, in the way of example, because we feel within ourselves that their condition is unattainable to us. In the same way, those biographies in which all the faults and even sins of a lifetime are suppressed, afford little either of help or encouragement to the reader, who knows that human life-even Christian life, is for the most part a conflict with evil from beginning to end; and that by no means the least instructive portion of human experience is that in which error is corrected, and sin repented of and forgiven.

Mrs. Anderson also was a good woman, but in quite a different way from Mrs. Dunlop -as different at least as the essential elements of Christian life permit two individuals to be whose faith and hope are the same. Strict in discipline, somewhat narrow in observation, and very limited in experience, this lady was prone to lean rather too much upon a kind of external respectabilityrather too little upon vital principle. If the outside aspect of human conduct was orderly and right, and in strict accordance with the rules of propriety as by society established, Mrs. Anderson was disposed to be contented. But if any of these rules were violated, especially if the censure of good people was in any way incurred-if there was anything even questionable in a person's appearance,

found it extremely difficult to speak of them as good Christians, and could sometimes go so far as to doubt whether they were Christians at all.

Hence it may readily be supposed that between these two ladies there existed no very strong points of sympathy or attraction, and that to the precise lady the Dunlop boys were especially objectionable. It is true that she had not in so many words forbidden her niece Margaret to associate with them. She could not very well do that without a direct insult to her husband's relatives and friends; but on the day of Archy's disaster, had she entertained the least idea that Margaret was likely to go with the boys on a long rambling expedition, the severest protest would have been entered against such a proceeding. It is not difficult, therefore, to imagine what was the amount of her astonishment and indignation on first learning that there had been some kind of dangerous enterprise undertaken by the boys, in which Margaret was deeply implicated.

What this enterprise had really been, it was for some time very difficult to understand, because of the many vague and exaggerated reports which spread quickly through the little fishing town-as usual, growing as they spread; and as Mr. Dunlop had set out instantly in the carriage which was to bring the little party home, there was no hope of learning the exact particulars except from George, who remained in close attendance upon his mother, doing everything in his power to allay her fears, and to keep up a feeling of cheerfulness. Beyond this, it is quite possible that George might not be very desirous of encountering Mrs. Anderson on such an occasion, although, as regarded his share in the matter, there was little of an adventurous or eccentric nature to condemn.

At length little Archy was brought home in safety to his anxious mother, very happy, very thankful, but it must be confessed at the same time very sleepy; and not until the following day was he able to give any clear account of how he came in that posi