CHAPTER LI.
AT LANRIFFE.
AFTER that, Randall quickly recovered, and very soon was running about the Strange House, and even walking in Mr. Swift's well-kept garden, where Mr. Swift himself walked slowly round the paths, his hands in his pockets to keep them from trying to pick up the weeds, which as yet he was too weak to do.
"Who'd think," he said to his wife, "that weeds would get ahead in three weeks as these have done! I'm a'most ashamed to say as this garden belongs to me."
He watched the child wistfully, as day by day Randall gained strength and grew more and more such as their own Johnnie had been. But when his wife saw the sad look in his eyes, she would say, with unusual gentleness, "He's in better keeping than ours, husband, and I can hardly wish him back. There are no weeds and no sin in heaven!"
When prudence permitted, and all the disinfecting was properly gone through, the doctor advised that Randall should be taken to the seaside before he mixed again with his brothers and sisters. So Gertrude was allowed to write to her mother at Lanriffe, asking her to find a cottage where they could be received. And in a very short time, she and Randall were standing on the beach, drinking in the autumn air, and feeling the salt spray dash in their faces from the restless sea.
Mrs. Ashlyn prepared everything beforehand for their comfort, and, waiting just a day to allow the sea breezes to blow upon them, she came to see her child, who had passed through so much since they had parted only so few weeks ago.
Randall was out on the beach in front of the cottage, when Gertrude was at last clasped in her mother's arms.
There was so much to tell, and so much to ask, that at first they seemed to have nothing to say.
"My dear, you look—as if you had been a long journey, and had come back different!"
"The same in love to you," faltered Gertrude, for her mother's look was almost more than she could bear.
"Ah! Absence does not make much difference in child-love and mother-love," answered Mrs. Ashlyn.
"And your eyes?" asked Gertrude, looking lovingly in the patient face.
"Not worse, my dear. I have been saving them up. Phyllis is such a treasure now you are gone; she does everything for me."
"I guessed she would."
"Yes; and Otto! Directly you were gone, Otto came to me and told me he intended to be my son."
"Did he?"
"Yes—not only in name, as a sort of pretence, but a son in real earnest. He told me of his love for you, and asked my consent."
"Oh, mother! And you never told me! But of course you did not."
"I left him to tell his own tale. And now he is gone abroad, Phyllis and I seem too lonely. You intend to stay in London, my child?"
Did her mother speak wistfully?
"I must—I think I ought; indeed, I wish it for every reason. You would not have me leave them, mother?"
Mrs. Ashlyn did not at once reply.
So Gertrude continued—
"You see, mother, Mrs. Shaddock has learned to trust me, and I should like to go back and help her. There is much to teach the children that they have never even heard of! Hugh wants help—Mollie is so nice in many ways, but so indulged and independent. I do really think that it would be unkind to leave them now, after all their kindness."
Mrs. Ashlyn did not press the matter further, and the conversation then turned on Mrs. Shaddock's health, which Gertrude explained was not yet satisfactory, though she was much better than she had been.
"I did not know she was subject to such attacks," said Mrs. Ashlyn.
"She has only had one other as serious as this," answered Gertrude, "but many slight warnings. Poor little Randall's piece of mischief has cost him and his mother very dear."
"Have they any idea how he took this?"
"We have no idea. People have suggested that there was some poison lurking in the old cabinet where he hid himself, but I am at a loss to guess what it could have been. He says he sat for ever so long on a form watching for us, by a woman who had a very funny smell in her shawl. Of course that may have been it; people are so careless about carrying infection!"
"Rose is longing to see you," said her mother, "but will wait for a day or two. It was very kind of the Shaddocks to plan your coming here, my dear."
"They are full of such kindnesses. I never saw people so thoughtful for others before—except you, mother; you are always everything!" she added fondly.
"You have heard from Otto?" asked her mother, returning her kiss.
"He writes by every mail that he can. His letters are full of incidents of the voyage—the strange people he meets, the amusing things they do and say, the dogs that people bring with them, the pets they patronize, the absurdities they perpetrate. It reads like a story, only more interesting!"
"I expect it is," said Mrs. Ashlyn, smiling.
"The boy has quite taken to him, and is improving every day. How I long to see Lester, to know if 'he' has gained anything!"
CHAPTER LII.
RANDALL'S RETURN.
"HERE is London!" said Randall, as the houses thickened fast, and the fields melted as it were into brick walls and chimneys, while the express train flew past them.
"Where?" asked a girl with a beautiful face, who was sitting opposite to Randall, looking out eagerly.
Randall gave a little laugh, at which Phyllis coloured vividly.
"I have never seen London, you know," she said apologetically.
"It is everywhere," said Randall, waving his hand about, "all these houses, and churches, and gardens, and factories, and Board Schools, and everything are London!"
"I see," answered Phyllis.
"Never mind, Phyllis," said Rose, who was seated by her, "you will have to be a little 'country cousin' for a few days. When you go back to Lanriffe, you will be 'the London young lady.'"
"I do not wish to be anything but what I am," said Phyllis quietly.
"I wonder what Dr. Blank will say of Lester?" remarked Gertrude, looking down at him as he nestled against her shoulder.
The little boy glanced up at her as she spoke. They sometimes fancied—was it only fancy?—that he did look up when his name was spoken.
Randall and Gertrude had been at Lanriffe for more than a month, and were now returning to spend Christmas at Hampstead.
The weather had been unusually mild for the time of year, and Randall had passed most of his time out of doors, catching all the air and sunshine he could.
Soon after their arrival, Rose had brought little Lester over from Camptown on a visit to her mother and Phyllis. And Randall had found a new delight in tending the little invalid, wheeling him about in his easy carriage, and talking to him of what he saw around him.
Those looking on so anxiously and eagerly noticed that the child was more bright when Randall came near him, and would put out his arms to welcome him. That even sometimes there was a movement of his lips as if he were trying to speak; and once a rippling laugh broke from him at one of Randall's sallies.
The boy was devoted to him, and one day when they were left for a few minutes on the beach together, he was seen to coax him from his little carriage, and tenderly to lead him a few steps along the firm sand. By the end of the month he had begun to run about, and each day strength of body seemed to be coming back to him.
"Randall," Gertrude had said on the last evening before they were to return home, "you have been very, very kind to Lester, and Rose and I love you dearly for it."
Randall threw his arms round her neck.
"I never was kind to anybody before, but I thought now I loved the Lord Jesus—it seemed the only thing I could do for Him."
If ever Gertrude felt happy and thankful, it was at that moment.
So the train that bore Gertrude and Randall back to Hampstead, bore Mrs. Ashlyn to consult an oculist, as well as Rose and Lester to see Dr. Blank, Phyllis having been invited meanwhile to pay a visit to Mollie Shaddock.
But Rose was not to stay long in London. She was to meet her husband from one of his frequent journeys. And after the physician had examined little Lester, she and her mother were to return home together.
Rose and Fritz had arranged to take up their abode with Mrs. Ashlyn and Phyllis at their seaside cottage.
This had been Rose's own thought.
"Mother!" she had said one day. "Here am I lonely at Camptown when Fritz is away, and there are you lonely at Lanriffe. Suppose we pack up our furniture and come over to you? Gertrude will never come back for more than a brief visit, because she is going to stay with her Shaddocks till Otto comes back. And then, why, mother, Dr. Blank told me they would be married directly, as he needs Otto so much, and he wants to see them settled!"
"But, my dear—" Mrs. Leigh had begun.
"Oh, I know all about the furniture and all that! Fritz and I have made a grand calculation, and he wants you to give anything you can spare to Otto and Gertrude, and we will bring ours to your house. He was going to buy them some, but instead, he will put a hundred or two in the bank for you. That will be a little help all round."
Mrs. Ashlyn was greatly astonished, but when she had time to think of Fritz's plan, she liked it the more she thought of it. To have Rose and Phyllis always near her, and to be able to cherish little Lester—well, nothing could be nicer.
And Rose had whispered "that she never need think of care any more about money matters, because Fritz said he had enough for everybody!"
So the party in the train were in very good spirits. And when they separated, Rose and her mother to the Great Northern Hotel once more, and Gertrude and her two young companions to Hampstead, it was difficult to say which was the happiest or most hopeful party of the two.
When the cab stopped at the house at Hampstead, Conway sprang down the steps to meet them.
"Welcome back!" he exclaimed. "Welcome back!"
And there in the hall was Mollie, ready to greet Phyllis, while Ned and Hugh stood behind with Daisy, waiting for their turn.
"How grown Randall is!" said Mrs. Shaddock, when, after tea, he stood within her arms for the twentieth time at least. "And how different!"
"I 'am' different," whispered Randall. Then, as Gertrude passed near, he held out his hand to her and drew her close. "Am I not different, Gertrude?"
And Gertrude thankfully answered, "Yes, indeed, darling."
THE END.