Misunderstood

Even as a little baby it had always been the same. When he could scarcely stand alone, he would struggle to get out of his nurse's arms, and start off by himself, heedless of the many falls he would get on the way. And as memory brought back the early days of the child's life, came mingled with them the thought of the mother who had so delighted in him. And as Sir Everard remembered how she had gloried in his manly spirit, and in his energy and activity, he bowed his head, and thanked God that she had not lived to see this day.

Once more he saw her restraining her maternal fears that she might not interfere with her boy's love of enterprise, or bring a shadow on his happiness. Once more he seemed to hear the baby voice at the bed-room door, before the shutters were opened.

"Mother, mother, may I go out?"

The breathless pause till the answer came.

"Out now! My darling, it is so early and so cold. Better wait a little!"

"The insides of houses are so hot, mother; please say I may go out!" …

Had the boy ever walked? Had he ever done anything but run?

Sir Everard could not recall one instance of meeting him out of doors, except running and rushing headlong, jumping over everything which obstructed his path.

Once again, there rose the thought of the motionless little figure sitting pale and silent in a cripple's chair. God help the poor father! In the bitterness of his spirit he had almost said, "Sooner than clip his wings, let him soar away."

He retraced his steps, and on entering the hall, was informed by the trembling Virginie that Humphrey had recovered consciousness, and had spoken.

He hurried to the drawing-room, but the doctor met him at the door, and motioned him back.

"Do not go in just yet," he said, closing the door behind him; "he seems to fear your displeasure about something, and shows great excitement at the thought of seeing you. I dare say," he added, quickly, for he was touched by the expression of pain which passed over the poor father's face, "I dare say he will get over it, when he is a little less confused."

"Does he understand what has happened?"

"I think so, now. At first he was sadly confused at finding himself in the drawing-room; but by degrees he remembered the events of the day. The moment he grasped the idea of the accident, he became excited, and asked repeatedly for his little brother. I should fancy this anxiety was associated with his shrinking from seeing you. Perhaps you understand better than I do?"

"I have been obliged several times lately to find fault with him for leading his little brother into mischief, and this last unfortunate escapade I had most especially forbidden. Miles is, as you know, so very delicate that I am obliged to be very careful of him."

This was said almost in an exculpatory tone.

"He is certainly very delicate," answered the doctor, "and ought not to be exposed to such dangers. I am very thankful he has escaped so easily. Now my little patient's constitution is altogether different; seldom have I seen a finer or stronger. However," he added, breaking off with a sigh, "the most iron frame is not proof against such an accident as this. I think, Sir Everard," he concluded, "that what you tell me would quite account for the excitement. May I tell him from you that he has no cause to fear your anger?"

"Need you ask?" said the baronet, impatiently, and the doctor returned to the sick room.

Sir Everard paced up and down till the door re-opened, and the doctor made him a sign to come in.

He entered, and advanced to the side of the sofa. The room was so dark that he could only see the outline of the curly head, lying back among the pillows, but a little hand came out, and pulled him down.

"Father," in a voice which was hardly above a whisper, "it's all right. He isn't hurt a bit—not even a cold. I am so glad it is me that is hurt instead of him."

"Oh, hush! hush! my darling."

"You're not angry with me, father? I'm so sorry I climbed. I'll never do it again. Say you're not angry, father."

"No, no my poor child—I'm not angry only so sorry to see you ill."

"Am I very ill? What is the matter with my head? Shall I soon be well again?"

"I hope so, darling. There are some gentlemen coming to-morrow, to help you to get well very quick."

"I shall be well by the Harvest Home shan't I?"

"The Harvest Home? When is that?"

"You promised to fix a day early next week, you know, father. Which day shall it be?"

"I—I don't—quite know what day to fix, my boy."

"The corn fell so fast, all day, father—it must be ready soon. Shall we say Tuesday?"

No answer: only an inarticulate murmur.

"Then that's settled. Shall I be well enough on Tuesday to dance 'Up the middle and down again,' with Dolly?"

Rises again, all unbidden, before the father's eyes, a motionless little figure, sitting in a cripple's chair. Dance! Ought he to tell him? ought he to prepare him? who was to do it, if not he? who else was to tell him of the blight that had fallen on his young life?

"You don't tell me, father. Shall I be well soon?"

He could not tell him. He only kissed the little hand, and murmured, "God grant you may, my child!"

"I shan't be able to lie still very long. If it wasn't that I feel so tired, I should like to jump up now."

"Are you very tired, Humphrey?"

"Yes," with a sigh, "and my back aches, and so does my head, and feels so funny. It makes my eyes swim, and that makes me so sleepy."

"Will you try to go to sleep?"

"Yes," murmured the child, and his heavy eyes closed; "I shall wake up quite well to-morrow."

"A good sign," whispered Sir Everard to the doctor. The doctor did not answer; and Sir Everard went up to the nursery, to see Miles. The little fellow was gazing out of the window, humming a forlorn little tune to himself. Jane, with red eyes, was sitting at work.

Sir Everard took the child up in his arms "What are you doing, my little man?"

"I'm so dull without Humphie. When will he come and play?"

"Soon, I hope, darling."

"Is Humphie going to sleep all night in the drawing-room?"

"Yes—isn't that funny?"

"May I go and say good-night to him?"

"No; you can't go to him to-night."

Miles's eyes filled with tears. "I can't go to sleep without saying good-night to Humphie."