Misunderstood

"Humphie! Humphie! wake up and give me your hand."

"Don't be frightened, Miles," murmured Humphrey, dreamily: "come close to me, I'll take care of you."

He strove to move to the edge of the sofa, as if he thought his little brother's bed was close up against it, and he threw his feeble arm round Miles in the dear old protecting way.

"We won't talk much to-night, Miles, because I'm so very sleepy. Good-night."

He said something faintly about seeing his mother, but Miles couldn't catch the words.

"Didn't quite understand, Humphie."

Something of a movement of impatience passed over Humphrey's face.

"Of course you don't—because—you can't—remember her."

"No," said little Miles, meekly, "but you'll tell me, Humphie?"

"To-morrow," he murmured, "I shall be able to explain—better—to-morrow—good-night—good-night."

And in the silence that reigned, every one present heard the little brothers exchange their last kiss.

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"I can't see them," said Sir Everard, huskily; "some one draw up the blind."

The setting sun outside was illumining the landscape ere it sank to rest, and shedding its beams on the haunts and the companions of the boy's young life. On the lambs he had chased in the meadows, on the birds he had watched since they had learned to fly, on the fields and the gardens which seemed so empty without him, it was shining with a softened glow;—but it seemed to have reserved its richest glory for the children, for, as the blind went slowly up, such a flood of light poured into the room, that the eyes of the father were dazzled, and it was some minutes before he could distinguish them.

There, in the golden sunset, they lay. The sun kissed their little faces, and touched with a loving hand their curly hair. It lingered lovingly round them, as if it knew that the lambs would be frisking when it rose again, the birds would welcome it with their glad song; but that never again would it rest on the nestling forms and clasped hands of the two little brothers!

Sir Everard, bending over them, saw a troubled expression over Humphrey's face.

"What can it be that ails the child?" he mentally questioned; "is it physical pain, or is something troubling his thoughts? Is the fear of death coming over him?"

He did not like to speak for fear of disturbing him, but as the look deepened almost to pain, he could not restrain himself any longer.

"Humphrey, my darling," he exclaimed, in his longing to do something, be it ever so little, to soothe his boy's dying hour, "what is it? What can I do for you?"

Nothing! With all his love and all his yearning, nothing!

For surging once more in the boy's brain is the noise as of rushing and singing, and with its sound a fear has risen in his breast. Shall he ever, ever catch the music of that wondrous song? Doubts of his own power to learn it are troubling his wandering thoughts; dim misgivings that children can not learn it, founded on his own inability to follow the singing in church. Always too soon or too late! Do children ever learn it? "'And no man could learn that song save the hundred and forty and four …' nothing about children there!"

Vain is the father's endeavor to reach a trouble of this kind; vainly, bending over him, does he seek to discover its cause, in his longings to remove or alleviate it.

Is the child, then, to pass away uneasy, with a cloud upon his happiness; or must a miracle be worked in his favor? Must Heaven open and show him the army of innocents standing at the right hand of God? No. God's ways are not as our ways: infinite in power, He yet reveals Himself by the simplest means.

As once before He sent the child consolation so will He send it now. As once before, not by signs and wonders, but by the gift of sleep, so now, not by miracles and visions, but by the voice of his baby brother.

"Talk to me, Humphie. Don't go to sleep yet. I haven't said my hymn. Fardie said I might say it to you to-night. Shall I say it now?"

Without waiting for an answer, Miles raised himself on his knees, and put his little hands together. Then arose the sound of the baby voice:

"Around the throne of God in Heaven
Thousands of children stand;
Children whose sins are all forgiven,
A holy, happy band.
Singing Glory, Glory, Glory."

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Faster and louder comes the rushing and singing, but the misgiving is lulled to rest. Faster and faster, louder and louder, surging around him. But hushed are the doubts at once and for ever, and the fear has vanished away! Loud in his brain sounds the song of the children, throbbing there almost to pain; beating so loud as to stun and confuse him. Everything seems to be turning and whirling; and, as if to save himself, he opens his eyes. On what a sight did they fall! There, close before him, bathed in light, and a glory round her brow stands the figure of his mother, looking down upon him with a smile. And with a glad smile of welcome he stretched out his arms, and cried, "Has God sent you to fetch me at last, mother? Oh, mother, I'll come! I'll come!"

*         *         *         *         *

Those who were standing round, saw only the expression of pain change to the old sunny smile. His lips moved, and he lifted his arms, as his eyes were raised for a moment, to the picture above him, on which the sun was pouring a dazzling light. They closed; but the smile, intensely radiant, lingered about the parted lips; the short breathing grew shorter … stopped … and then....

"It's no use my saying the rest," said little Miles in a whisper, "for Humphie has gone to sleep."

Finis