Chapter 18945402

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Chapter NumberXXXIII
Chapter TitleTHE CRASH ON THE RAILROAD.
Chapter Urlhttp://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article18945402
Full Date1885-02-21
Page Number14
Corrections0
Word Count6859
IllustratedN
Last Corrected0000-00-00
Newspaper TitleThe Maitland Mercury and Hunter River General Advertiser (NSW : 1843 - 1893)
Trove TitleArley
article text

FACTION.

<From En «I I iii) Anierlcnn, aud other Periodical«*!

CHAPTER XXXIÏI.

THE CHASE ON TUB HAILBOAD.

Meanwhile strange things were happening to Philip

Paxton.

He had occasion one day to go to Greenwich upon important business for a client, and as he was anxious to get back just as soon os poetible, he resolved to go by the underground railway and return the other way.

It was strange, he thought afterward, that be should have planned it so, and thus run into such danger and trouble.

As he «entered und took his seat in the couch at the station, he found three others in the compartment -a man Bnd woman of very respectable opeorance, and with them an exceedingly bright boy of perhaps

twelve or thirteen years,

The men wob evidently a mechanic of some sort, with an honest, open face, a frank clear eye, and what particularly attracted Philip's attention-wes most politely attentive to his wife, who was a del- icate, pretty little woman, wearing the happiest smile

that he had ever seen.

The boy was full of life and eagerness, intelligent beyond his y eora, andkept oBking questions iogerding their trip, which, apparently, was one of pleasure» that both interested and amused Philip.

He appeared to take no notice of them, but nothing «scaped his observation ; he saw everything-the kind little attentions of the husband to bia wife, her bappy emile as she raised ber «yes in mute thankB to his, and the patient, tender replies of both to their

eon's eager pueetioning.

lhere was no sign of wealth about them, no attempt at anything like show, but every look and act be- trayed content end happiness.

It was a sharp reminder to Philip of what might have been his own life but for his miserable folly and wilfulnesa.

Thus the time passed until they had nearly reached «Greenwich, where he found his companions were also going, when there suddenly smote the air a short, «harp, terrible whistle, then followed a crash which

made him feel se if he was being crushed between a I couple of thunderbolts, and he knew no more until | bo felt biniBelf being lifted and carried quite a dis- tance, and then laid down upon a board or floor,

Opening his eyes, he found he wbs stretched upon the platform near the station where tbey were about to stop, and where the accident had occureed ; and SB the mist cleared still farther from his brain and eight, he saw a crowd of people, with anxious, scared faces, runing to and fro, carrying lanterns, buckets of water, ond implements for removing tha debris.

A little way back he could see a great mas» lying upon the track, and though but dimly discerning it in the gloom of that underground passage, he knew it was a .portion of the train which had brought him

?hither.

He bad not jet come to himself enough to realize whether he was very badly injured or not. He hod no strength to move either hand or foot, but be wbb quite sure that no boues was broken. The chief trouble seemed to be in bis head, which felt very strangely, for sharp pains kept darting through it» and down the back of his neck.

A man came up to him juet then had peered curiously into his face.

" Humph ?" be said, with an accent of surprise, * yer cum to, be ye ? I didn't think ye ever would when we hauled ye up here-thought ye had kicked the bucket, aute-"

" What has happened ?" Philip asked, faintly, and trying to raise his hand to his aching bead,

"Switch wor wrong, and there'o ben a smash-up," "Are there many injured ?"

"Thank heaven, no tir, though if a o wonder ther j weren't a hundred or more billed. But it's bad enough at best sir,-a man and woman wor killed outright, end a little boy mest done for-that wor all, besides yereelf, sir."

"A man and woman and little boy," Philip repeated, his mind reverting instantly to bis compan- ions in whom he had seen so interested ; " tbey must

have been in the coach with me."

"Thäy wor,sir; ye were all snarled in together; we thought ye wor all dead but the boy, and we took care o' bim fust ; poor little shaver ! it wor a pitiful eight, and he tried to be brave when they pulled him from under the cruel wheel that bad crushed hie leg to a jelly; the look in bia eyes and his bitter moans went through me like a knife, sir, I've a boy at home just his Bize," »nd the mon'd voice woe tremulous and bushy as he told his sor-

rowful tale.

" Poor little fellow ! where io he now ?" Philip asked, striving to lift himself to a sitting posture : but the effort made him faint and sick, while a shower of stars appeared to be hurried directly into

his eyes.

" Don't air," his companion sBid, kindly, while he threw one arm about him to support him ; " ye ain't fit to move yet ; ye must have bad a tremendous thump, for we found ye-lyin' on yer face, with a great beam across yer neck and head, and I hadn't an idee that there was a spark o' life in ye "

" Will you bring mo some water ?" Philip asked,

faintly.

"Lord, eir, here it are right to hand ; I brought it o' purpose to see what I could do with ye, but forgot all about it when I eee yer eyes open and ye etarin' up

.at me."

He raised a pitcher to hie lips, and supported his ¡head while he drank his fill with thirsty eßgemess,

." Now pour some over my head, pleaBe," 'be enid. " Ah, that is good 1" as the man daBhed the cool liquid over him and it seemed to revive and rofreah

3iim.

"Where is the boy now?" he aeked, after a moment has mind still upon the little sufferer,

" In the station yonder, sir."

" Help mo to my feet ; I want to go to him," Philip commanded, and bit> tfocd natured attendant assisted

him to rise.

But he swayed dizzily, ond again that shower of

stars seemed to blind him.

" Ye'rnotftt to stand, sir? let me ease ye down again until I can get some one to help corry ye to the station," the man entreated.

j " No.no ; I shall be better in a moment ; there ; I

am steadier already ; now we will go on."

Slowly, and not without much pain, he made his way to the station, where on a settee they had laid the poor litlle fellow, whom accident had made an orphan ina moment of tim9, and probably, also, a

cripple for life.

A crowd was gathei ed about him, gnzing awestruck and pityingly upon him, while they waited for a sur- geon, whom some one had cone to summm.

His young face was ghastly, and great drops of sweat, causad by the agony which he was suffering, were rolling off his forehead, and bended bis livid lips. His clothing was saturated with blood, which was also dropping and forming little pools upon the

floor,

As Philip drawnear him, a look of recognition came into his eyes, and ho made a spasmodic gesture with bis hand as if to beckon him to his side.

He went close to him, and bending over him, took his handkerchief and wiped the moisture from his

face.

" My poor boy, I am sorry to see you so badly hurt," he said,

. Water," gasped the child.

" Water," Philip repeated, authoritatively, and turning to those behind him.

A glass was instantly handed to him, and raising the sufferer's head with as much gentleness as an experienced nurse would have done, he held it to his mouth while he drank greedily.

But the effort cost him untold pain, and he moaned pitifully as he was laid back upon the pile of coats, which had been hastily formed into a pillow for

him.

At that moment a brisk, wiry man pushed up to

him.

" Go out-go out every one of you," he said turn- ing around and facing the crowd, and speaking with quiet decision.

They began to scatter obediently, though reluct- antly, for a sort of fascination seemed to poeeesB tbem to stay and view the ghastly horror.

Philip also would have withdrawn his position but the boy clung to bis hand, which he had grasped in a sort of terror when the Burgeon made bis ap pearance.

"Stay-pleaBe stay," be cried, in a feeble voice.

"Does he belong to you?" the surgeon asked, of

Philip.

" No " he returned, " but I was in the same carriage at the time of the accident, and he seems to cling to

to me."

" Very well, stay then, Ah ! you were hurt toot eh P" he queried, with a keen glance into his color-

less face.

" A tnfl e; but never mind me-see what you can do for him," Philip answered with s feeling of im- patience, for the sight of that still drippling blood was frightful to him,

But the surgeon bad begun examination almost before be ceased speaking.

With nimble fingers and a pair of sharp, glittering scissors, be cut away the clothing from that injured limb, and nothing but the convulsive clasp of that small hand upon bis kept Philip from fainting dead away at the ghastly sight thus revealed.

The surgeon's own face grew stern and resolute as he looked upon the work before him, though his eye was calm and his hand steady, nor did ha make a single false movement as he examined the cruel hurt to ascertain the extent of the injury.

But gentle ns was his touch, the ordeal was a fear- ful one, nnd the child cringed and screamed with pnin, but still clinging through it all to Philip, whom he seemed instinctively to trust.

" I shall have to give him ether-I can never take those arteries up properly with him in this state,'' the surgeon said, in a low tone to him,

" It would be a mercy, I think," Philip onwered, with colorless lips.

"You will stay," pleaded the boy, with a closer grip.

" Yes, I will stay-I will not leave you until you are comfortable," was the reassuring reply.

He looked relieved, and made no resistance when the surgeon applied the sponge to his nostrils, and he knew nothing more until all was over; which menns a great deal, for the bones of his foot and ankle had been so broken and crushed that it was found necessary to remove it just above the joint, while the taking up of the arteries, the placing and sowing of tbe bruised and torn flesh was in itself no trifling operation.

But it was very quickly and neatly done, and when the poor little fellow recovered his consciousness, he was ready to be removed to more comfortable quarters.

"He must go to a hospital immediately," the surgeon said to Fhilip, and he held a strengthing mixture to his lips and told him to drink it.

"No-not there," he cried, feebly, but with a shudder of repulsion.

"But you Will be much better cared for there than anywhere else, my boy, returned the doctor, kindly.

"No, no; father-mother-home !" he gasped, wildly,

Tho surgeon lookod grave ; he had been told the whole story on his way hither.

" But, my child," he said after a few moments, hesitation, " they are both injured, too"-he had not the heart to tell bim that they were dead-" and they could not take care of you, is you should go

home."

" Oh !" he moaned, with a frightened look.

"Ib there anyone else in your house'?" Philip

asked,

He shook his hoad wearily, a despairing look in

bis face.

" Where do you live ?"

" Clover-street," the pale lips whispered.

" Have you any other friends whom you would

like me to Bend for."

Again he shook his head, while great tears gathered and rolled down his white cheeks.

', No ; father and mother were all," he snid.

" Then there is no other way but to send bim to the nearest hospital," the surgeon said decidedly.

" No-no," pleaded the little fellow, to whom the word seemed accountably repulsive,

"Is hospital treatment absolutely neceBsary?', Philip asked, thoughtfully.

" No ; not if he had a good home and some one to give him proper care."

" Then I can supply the first, if you can recom- mend a good, reliable nurse for him," Philip returned, adding, after a moment, in a lower tone :

" I feel deeply interested in the boy, and I will be answerable for him until some other provision can

be made."

411 can send you a trained nurse from the the hos- pital with which I ana connected, and if he could be in a quiet, airy room by himself, there is no doubt that he would do better than in a hospital ward where tbere is so much excite one of a sensitive temperament like his," replied the surgeon.

" Very well," was Philip's rejoinder ; " then I will take him with me. My landlady has a large room next to mine, which is vacant. He shall have that' and you may send me the nurse at once."

He took a card from his pocket, wrote his address upon it, and gave it to the surgeon.

" AU right, Mr. Paxton," be said, as he read it. " You are very good, I am sure, to take this upon

yourself, and I will see that you have a first-rate nurse. But"-suddenly remembering that he, too, had been injured, and remarking bis pallor-" what can I do for you ? Where were you hurt ?"

" Nowhere p irticulorly. I had an ugly knock on the head which stunned me, but I seem to be getting better of it, and I hope it will not amount to any- thing."

"Don't be too sure," replied the doctor. "You muet look out for yourself. Give your head plenty of water for the next fortnight, and live light. These knocks on the head sometimes prove more harmful than one would imogine."

Philip enid nothing to this, though his head still felt very strangely, but turning to his new charge, who had been watching the two men anxiously,

said :

" You cinnot go home, my boy, just now, because there is no one there to toke care of you, and you do not wish to go to the hotpital. Will you go with me, and be taken care of until you ore able to go home ?"

" Where are fathef and mother?" the boy asked, raising his wistful oyes to Philip's, witk o look that made him shrink with pain."

.'I told you that they were hurt you know. Some people outside are dring for them," he answered, evasively.

"Arethey much hurt?" the child asked with a

sob.

" I have not seen them. I come direotly to you as eoon as I was able, But what will you do ?"

Philip did not dare to tell the truth, and he longed to get him away aBquickly as possible, lest he ebould, overhear something.

*' I will go with-you," he answered, feebly ; and tbey saw he was getting faint from excitement end the exertion of talking

The eurgeon gave him a stimulating draught ; then, a carriage having been obtained, he waa borne out and laid upon the cushions, and driven to Philip's lodgings, which were in a pleasant street and a quiet locality,

His landlady was very willing to rent the empty room, and, her sympathies being aroused, she did her utmodt to make the little stranger confortable in

it.

The nurse arrived by noon, and Philip was relieved of his charge and began to think of himself a little, and wonder if those sharp, shooting pains which made him blind and sick every few moments would never Btop.

He showered his bead thoroughly with cold water then binding wet bandages about it, he threw bim, elf upon his bed, and was soon in a profound

slumber.

When he awoke he felt better though there wes Btill a queer sensation in bis bead, and he was yet weak from the shock which bia system had sustained

at the time of the accident.

He went into the adjoining room to ascertain how hi; protege was progressing, and found him more comfortable than he had anticipated, and sleeping quietly under the influence of anodyne.

As he stood looking down upon his pole face, be could not help remarking what a fine little coun- tenance it was. Every feature was clearly cut, and wonderful intelligence was stamped upon it for one so young. It was such a pure, innocent face, too, with its fair, open forehead and straight, symmetrical, brows ; and Philip sighed as hs remembered his own j hia own boyhood, with its careless freedom and u n

trammeled conscience,

He remembered his mother's pride and joy in him her tender counsels, her gentle admonitions, her pray- ers, too, and a rush of hot tears aroBe to his eyes as this memory shot into his mind, as night after night she knelt at his bedside to ÜBten to the simple petitions which rhe had taught him to repeat, and then poured forth her own earnest supplications that her boy might rise to a noble and stainless manhood, that his life might be chaste and honourable until the end-and heaven won.

Years and years had passed since his mother had been laid to ber long rest, and not once during all that time had he recalled these things bo vividly as

now.

Why was it ? Why like a picture did those even- ing scenes come up before him now, and fill him with such acute pain, and longing, and regret?

Was io because of a fear that this orphan boy, lying there bo fair and innocent before him, end who, having been so suddenly and cruelly deprived of all such holy influences, might live to repeat the reck- less, unprincipled life which he bad been living of

late?

He could not have told, but his heart was melted within him.

" Oh, how I have wasted my time and my oppor- tunities 1" he cried out within himeelf ; "how selfish, ambitious, and hardened I have become; how I have ignored my mother's love, that most sacred in- fluence of my life, and steeled myself against its hallowed teaching ! But it comes back to me now like a strain of distant but familiar music, or like the whisper of a guardian angel. Mother ! mother I wherever you moy be in the great beyond, if you can hear me, listen while I bind myself to follow henceforth, as far as I am able, the Great Example, whom you strove to imitate, and to make your God my God." ,

He had bowed his head upon the post of the bed near which he waa standing, and tears, which did honor to his manhood, rolled over his face, ob these tender memories surged over him and stirred t° action the germ of a consecrated life.

| Then all at once a great calm seemed to come over him, the 'Peace be still,' upon the troubled waters ; the burden of bitterness which bad so oppressed him of late dropped from his heart-an angel hod 'rolled away the stone,'and his soul had seemed to come forth into the light of a new and better life,

Still standing there and looking upon that sleep- ing boy, other thoughts came crowding upon him, adding deeper gravity and tboughtfulnees to his

face.

" He has neither father, nor mother, nor relative of any kind," he said. " Am I fit, I wonder, to keep bim with me ? Would it be presumptuous of me to take him and try to mould his life to something like what I would like mine to bave been, or what I would hope a son might be, if I had one ?"

A feeling of affection for the lad was stealing into his heart and taking the place of the pity and sym- pathy which at first he bad felt for bim.

He seemed to feel, even now, those clinging Angers and to see that eager, appealing look which had been raised to him when no one else had been near to befriend him in his extremity ; and now a desire had taken possession of bim to do what he could to make him realize as little as possible the desolate ness of his condition in being deprived by one blow of father, and mother, and home.

He did not even know the child's name as yet; but

that di<3 not matter ; and, with a feeling of astonish-1 ment, he found himself involuntarily repeating something which his mother had once taught him Tnaemuch as ye have done it to one of the least of these, ye have done it unto Me,'-and with those words his resolution was taken ; henceforth this little waif, so strangely thrown upon his tender mercies, should be his especial care.

Many weeks went by, and the boy still lay upon

his bed, too weak and ill to heed much eave the ad» I

ministering ot medicines and the dressing of bis

mutilated limb*

But he always greeted Philip when he entered his roc m with a light in his eyes which told him more plainly than words how welcome he was, while his thin hand would creep languidly out from beneath the coverlid to be taken into bis strong claBp, and he would lie quite and contented as long as he would

sit beside bim thus.

He could not talk much, nor could bethink of much save his own sufferings. Indeed he had not even asked anything concerning bis father's ODd

mother's fate.

Perhaps some dim consciousness of the dread truth lurked within his heart, and made him shrink from facing it openly in his present weak state, and this may account Tor his clinging so helplessly to Philip.

But there carne a time when bis wound began to heal nicely and he showed signs of increasing

strength.

His appetite, too, once more asserted itself, and he partook eagerly of the rosny delicacies with which Philip kept him supplied. He became interested in what was transpiring about him, and then came

ntfKfttnuf end difficult questions. ,

This was the one tóte of all others which Philip dreaded most, and he neve» "je'f.nrmed a more diffi- cult task in his life than when he was cou^elled at last to tell Eddie Winthorpe-for that, he had leafnti was his name-that he was an orphan.

But there waa no violent outburst of grief when ho made thiB sad disclosure. The poor boy gave him one wild look of horror, while his face blanched to the hue of death, when he was told of his parants' sad fate ; then he covered his eyes with his hands and shrank beneath the bed-clothes, where he lay so long and so still that Plilip became alarmed.

" Eddie," he said, at length, in a husky voice, while he gently uncovered the white face, " it is very, very sad for you, I know, and I have suffered more than I can tell you,, knowing that I must relate the cir- cumstances to yon ; but you must try to bear it as bravely as possible, and try to feel that it was so much better for them to be taken in a moment of time, instead of having to linger, mangled, brnieedi and torn, for an indefinite period, and perhaps be rendered useless for the remainder of their lives. They could not have suffered mncb, for death must have been almost instantaneous, and clasped in each other's arms, they looked as if they were asleep."

Then he went on to tell how kind hands had pre- pared them for their last resting-place-a pleasant spot in a quiet cemetery just out of the city, and where the broad branches of f. venerable beech tree shaded the new-made graves,

He did not tell bim then, that he had attended to all this-purchased the lovely spot, and followed the friendless couple to their last home, and borne all the attendant expenses. But such was the case, and it was one of the grand acts with which he com- menced this new era of his life-one of the first fruits testifying ts the strength and sincerity of the new purpose within him,

Poor Eddie listened in helpless silence to the sad tale, and when Philip at length concluded, he lifted a pair of pitiful appealing eyes to his face, and

moaned :

" Ob, I know they cannot come back, and heaven must be beautiful to them, to go there together ; but what will become of me, without my father or mother, Bnd only one foot to go through the world

with ?"

CHAPTER XXXIV. A "LADX BOnN."

" Have you no relatives anywhere P" Philip asked, when his little charge had grown more calm.

" No, sir," he answered, " I do not know of any- body in the world who belongs to either father or mother who would care anything for me."

" Philip's face lighted ; if he took the boy to rear and educate, he would prefer not to be hampered by relatives-it would be rnuoh better and pleasanter for both of them to h«v>i no one to interfere with their plans or to criticise their movements,

" I am sure, sir, I don't know what I nm going to do," pursued the boy, plaintively. .* I suppose I could work when I get well, if I only knew what to do ; but it will be rather hard to get around with only one foot; and-it will take me a long time to pay up all I owe for the doctor, and the nurse

and-"

"Eddie," Philip interrupted, moved almost to tears by this evidence of his instinctive honor, " how would you like to give yourself to me, and be my boy ? I, too," he added, with a keen p^in at his heart, "have no one in the world who cares anything for me. I, too am alone. Would you be willing to let me adopt you ?"

"What, sir! would you be willing to take a boy like me ? Why, I shall be nothing but a cripple all my life, and not good Tor very much !" the boy ex- claimed, rasing himself on his elbow, and starting in amazement at his companion, while his pale face had flushed crimson, and he was actually panting with

excitement.

" Yes, I should not only be 'willing', but very glad if you would consent to auch an arrangement; and don't be too sure about not being 'good for much,' " Philip returned, with a smile.

" But, sir, I-I'm afraid that you pity me now, and you might be sorry by and by," Eddie returned, the flush Btill on his face, and bis oyes bright with gathering tears.

Philip reached out and took the thin, trembling

hand that lay neBr him

" Will you be my boy until you see that I am beginning to be 'sorry' ?" he asked, smiling still, " I will leave you perfectly free to go away Bnd leave me then, if you choose. I do pity you, of course," he added, " for it is a very hard thing to lose a foot, or any member of the body ; but that is not so hard as to be obliged to live without any one to love you, and I have no one, I am n very lonely man, Eddie."

Eddie fell back upon his pillow and covered his face with his hands, a bitter sob rising to his lips, for Philip's reference to his lonely state, had recalled his own desolate condition very forcibly,

He had loved his parents very devotedly, and those few words had made him realize, more than ever be- fore, how i1 -h be Bhould miss their lore and care.

" I did not K. ^ , to remind you of your sorrow like this," Phili|s b-id, regretfully; "I know, of eourse, that I cou^ never fill a father's place to you, but I would do what I could towards it. I believe you could brighten my solitary life, and thus we should help each other."

" You ore very good, sir," Eddie replied, looking up again, and trying to speak steadily, " I think I should like to stay with you very much ; but-"

" But what ?" Philip asked, encouragingly,

" You said that you wanted to ' adopt' me-that means to make me the same as your own child,

doesn't it ?"

"YeB."

" I know that is very kind," he pursued, with evi- dent embarrassment, " but-I don't think I could quite make up my mind to-to call you ' father,' at least not just yet," and his lips trembled pain-

fully.

" I could not ask you to do that," Philip returned, gently. "You moy call me 'Uncle Philip' if you like; that will suit me better than any other name, and I will try to make you forget as soon as possible

f

that I am not really ard truly your uncle. Will this

arrangement please you ?.'

"Yes, indeed, fir, I never expected to feel so happy again over anything," the child answered, with a very earnest little face, though his lips trem- bled. "It seems strange though, tint anybody should be so good to me, just wh«n I need it the most ; but I will try to bo a good boy, and do judt as you want me to,"

"That is a good beginning, I i.rn sure," Philip re- turned, looking much pleased ; " find the first thing I want you to do is to get well na soon ns possible, and then we will see what is before us in the new

life."

" But I shall never be like other bays," Eddie said, sadly " I must always be lame and go upon a

crutch-''

"Don't dishearten yourself at the outset," Philip interrupted, " there is no sense in making yourself uselessly miserable. If your leg heal3 nicely, we can have o shapely little French foot fitted to you, and after you get used to it, with a nice pair of boots on, no one would know but what you have two feet the same as anybody else."

"Oh! can that be done?" cried Bddie, with ex- cited eagerness.

'. Yes ; it has been done a great ninny times-some people hove lost almost the whole of a leg or arm and ort has supplied the deficiency so as to moko it almost unnoticeable."

" Ana will I be able to walk like other people ?"

" Of course >v: will ; you may be a trifle lame at firBt, but it will be so l'ight that one would eenrcely

mind it."

"Oh ¡"with a sigh of conten't,"Iamso glad-I have been bl wretched and all for nothitfol want to get right up and shout hurrah ! but," checking him- self suddenly, " won't it cobí a heap ?"

Philip laughed at his eager inquisitiveness ; he hod not Been bim appear so much like a genuine boy before. Hope wsb putting new life into him,

ou are not to trouble yourself about the cost," he returned ; " get well and ready for your new foot, and you shall hove it. Now, are you to be my boy from this time?" and he held out his hand os he

spoke.

The thin white hand upon the coverlid wob lifted and laid into it unhesitatingly, and with a very earnest look in bis fine eyes, Bddie responded :

"Yes, indeed ; and thank you very much- Uncle Philip."

Thus waa sealed the compact which gave to Philip Paxton a new interest in life.

He was troubled with many misgivings regarding his ability to rear his protege ; he realized his own weaknesses so fully that be feared their influence upon Eddie ; but be resolved to do the best that he could for bim, and believed that be would himself be a better man for the companionship of this noble minded, intelligent boy.

And so the weeks lapsed into months, Eddie Winthoipe growing better all the while under kind and judicious treatment. His pale cheeks filled out round and full, and grew rosy with health; his injured limb healed as only healthful childish flesh can beal, and he was not long in learning how to help himeelf, and make his well foot do the work of two, for the other was still very sensitive, and it would be a long time yet before he could bear to

have a false one attached.

Philip had bought bim a strong but light crutch, nnd be soon grew very expert with it, being able to walk as fast as even Philip himself cared to go.

And the man was changed, also, in many respects ; bis nature seemed to expand, his sympathies were enlarged, his affection broadened and deepened with the thought and care which ho was obliged to exer- cise over his young charge, while Eddie, thinking that no one was ever so grand and noble as " Uncle Philip," grew to admire and love him more and more with every day.

As soon na he was able, Philip thought it best for him to resume his lessons which had been so cruelly interrupted ; but until he was thoroughly strong and well he was unwilling to have him attend at any regular Behool, and bo a competent teacher was secured to come to him for o few hours each day.

The boy displayed quite a talent for drawing, and begged that he might receive instruction in that also

" You told me to ask for what I would'like, Uncle Philip," he sold, somewhat timidly, when he pre- ferred this, his first request of any moment.

" You shall learn to draw to your heart's content," wos the ready response ; " hovo you ever made any pictures ?"

"No, not pictures really, but figures; we were taught to do that in school ; see 11 will make that vaae for you," said the embryo artist, pointing to one that stood upon the table.

He waa very still for a little while, and then pushed a paper acroBS to Philip, who sat opposite him.

He was surprised to see a very correct and well executed copy of the vase,' and resolved to let him cultivate his talent if he wished.

" That is very well done," he said, " and you shall take lessons if you deBire ; do you like to do it ?"

" Oh, yes, sir, I would like to be an artist," Eddie replied, flushing with enthusiasm.

" Well, on artist you shall be then, if that is your bent," Philip said within himself, and a drawing master was forthwith engaged to give him leesons.

About this time Arley returned.

She had travelled eight months with Lady Herbert end her eon, instead of four or five, as tbey had ori- ginally intended.

Nominally, sho was the companion of Lady Her- bert, but she was really regarded more as a friend and equa1 by them both, while every day of her stay with them seemed to strengthen their friendship and

admiration for her,

As soon as tbey discovered how deftly ehe handled pencil and brush, both mother and son advised her to put herself under first-class instruction.

It was what she had longed to do ever since she become conscious of the genius burning within her

but she bad lacked the means, besides not feeling quite eure that her talent was ot an order high enough to make the expenditure advisable ; she was unwilling to make art a profession and give her name to the public unless she could excel and ier standard was high,

But Lady Herbert soid so much, and Sir CharleB, in hie quiet but conclusive way, having remarked that it would not be right for her to slight her gift, she yielded, and during the two months of their stay in Florence, and the three that they were in Rome, she went every day to paint under the teaching of the best masters that could be found.

She did not know that these opportunities were made purposely for her, or that Sir Charles, in ar- ranging with the artists with whom she woe to study, gave them to understand that their terms must be very reasonable to the young lady, while he would make up the deficiency in price, if there should be

any.

This was Lady Herbert's ideo, for she was greatly interested in her charming protege ; but had Arley suspected it, nothing would have induced her to

accept Buch costly favours.

But everything was done with so much delicacy, and in such a matter-of-fact way, that she did not

mistrust.

Lady Herbert pretend'ed that it would take her a

long time to do justice to those two cities so full of

Mt,

" I am an old woman," she saul one day, " and I shall probübl) never see either Rome or Florence again, so I stn goms; to take plenty of time and pack my memory full of their treasure» to carry home for future enjoyment." "X

But the "plenty of Unit)" was uioie ou Arlúj'a account than on her own, loi* twice bolore she had traversed Italy from end to tiwi.

So our young artist «uve herssll enthuähstic »Hy to her work, making such rapid progresa that her touch- ers promised her that some d ¡y sho would do eome« thing famous ; but she did not feel quito easy in her mind, BLd often cut her dajs short to devote herself

to Lady Herbert.

" You must not do so, dear," «-li » - iid diidinsly, to her, when one afternoon she led h- r work and dime to her earlier than uiunl; "you must put all the knowledge poesiMe into this pretty hena, and all the skill and cunning you can into these lingeis, while we are here ; it would be ii pity not to make, the most of these opporturitiiis, wheu your efforts

promise so much, too."

" But I shall not fulfil my obligation to you, if I spend so many hours every day over my painting," Arley replied, with a troubled countenance.

" Do not speak of obligations," Lady Herbert an- swered, with her sunny smile, " when ¡tis such a pleasure to me to have you with mi ; besides, I am as much interested to have your pictuies finishod before we leave as you can possibly be. However," she. added, with a merry twinkle in her eyes, " if you feel very much oppressed, you shall paint me as charming a picture as you choose when we return, and it shall have the best light in my drawing

room,"

" How kind y lu are to me," Arley said, gratefully, and there were tears in her eyes as she lifted them to her friend ; but she could not refuse her kindness wiù'.i't appearing to under-estimate it, and went back to hei 'tainting with ronowed energy.

She had told L.tû'j Hwbert nil her and story, and found in her a true sympathizat and counsellor; bat after it was once related, she strove to lñae'iJJ.hñ.t unhappiness within her own heart, and to bo always calm, and even cheerful, when in the presence of her

friends.

They admired her still more for this, and often re- garded her invariable good nature as a mark of heroism, for they knew well enough that she must have many sad and wretched hours.

There were indeed times when she felt ob if she could not beor her hard lot-when her nights would be spent in weeping and almost rebellious grlof.

But her smarting eyes and heavy head always warned her the next day that such indulgence would not do-that she would soon be piMstrnted and unfit for work if she allowod ber sorrow to rule her thus ;

so she strove to court forgetfulnoss by every poseible*

device.

She was, however, developing into a masnificent

woman.

_(To be continued/)_