30 A CONSULTATION Ted and I had made our confession to Uncle Reginald some time before Geoffrey's return, and it had been so kindly received and forgiveness had been so generously granted us that we had been greatly comforted and strengthened in our resolves to amend. I think Colonel Douglas had been both grieved and startled to find how often and how gravely his deeply loved little Ted had deceived him and had stooped to falsehood and disobedience. But the child's repentance was so real, his grief so great, his shame so painful to witness, that the father said but little in reproof. He talked to us very gravely, yet so kindly that we were touched to the heart. And when, with much feeling, and with a voice that shook a very little once or twice, he pointed out to us how cruelly Geoffrey had suffered for our misdeeds time after time, how the misunderstanding arising from our deceitfulness had done much to estrange him from his son, and had thrown a dark cloud over the boy's life, our tears flowed freely, and we felt that we could never love Geoffrey enough, or do enough for him, to make up for the wrongs he had suffered for us. Arthur's name was hardly mentioned all through the interview. We would not accuse him, and Uncle Reginald asked very few questions about him, seeing that we were reluctant to answer them, but I feel sure he had a very good notion as to how matters really stood, because at the end, when he dismissed us, he said something about forgiving the more readily because we had been led into wrongdoing by the force of a bad example. I rather fancy he had been hearing in other quarters of some of Arthur's vagaries. When Geoffrey came back we wondered a good deal whether he had been told of our confession, but we had no means of finding out, for we were shy of speaking openly of the matter. All we could see was that father and son understood each other perfectly and were on terms of closest intimacy. Uncle Reginald's quiet tenderness over Geoffrey was quite wonderful and was the cause of such deep happiness to the boy that I think even pain and weakness and lameness seemed easily borne, now that he was secure of his father's love. And, in addition to this, there was endless delight for him during the first weeks after his return home, in the drives and excursions he was able to take all over the country. He had been so long confined to the house even while at home, and still more so during the weeks of illness in London, that it seemed like a new life for him when he could drive out day after day, revisiting his favorite haunts and watching from day to day the changes creeping over everything around as the spring advanced further and further. When he was first allowed to change the landau for the pony Phaeton and to drive Lightfoot himself, his face beamed with delight and he looked almost like his old self. I began to wonder if he would be always happy and bright as he was now. I might have known that the novelty of these pleasures must wear off in time, and that then he would feel much more acutely how very little it was that he could do, and how helpless his lameness made him. But at any rate, the early days of his return were very bright and happy ones, and this was so contrary to our expectations that we enjoyed them tenfold more. Arthur had not yet returned, and I do not think any of us regretted his absence. We had not heard much about him, and did not even know when he was coming back to us. But after a talk with Uncle Reginald, a talk which I shall always well remember, we learned more about it. It was a soft, warm evening following upon an almost sultry day, though it was only April still. Geoffrey's couch had been wheeled out upon the lawn, and Ted and I were sitting beside him on the grass. Aunt Mary had been reading to us, and her chair stood beside the couch, but she had been a while we boys were alone together. But before very long Uncle Reginald appeared, and seeing us all together, he came over to us and sat down in the vacant chair. Well, boys, he said, so you're all enjoying this warm evening, are you? I think you have the best of it out here, eh, Geoffrey?" Yes, indeed, Papa. It is lovely and the birds do sing so. There was silence for a little while, whilst we all listened to the sweet notes of the birds as they sang their evening songs. Uncle Reginald's face grew grave and thoughtful, and when he spoke it was in a different tone. Boys, he said, I have often wanted to have a little talk with you sometime when you are all together. I think this is as good an opportunity as we could have. Listen to me, all of you." We were all instant attention. Ted stood up leaning upon his father's shoulder. I sat at his feet on the grass, gazing fixedly into his face. Jeffrey, he began, addressing himself at first to his elder son, You know that in past years, and especially during the one that has just gone by, a great deal of blame and some severe punishment have fallen upon you which were not deserved and which really belonged elsewhere. Geoffrey's face flushed hotly, his eyes were filled with wondering surprise, he looked as confused as though just detected in wrongdoing and made no reply. I do not mean to talk much of that. Ted and Arnold have told me the truth about it. Bygones shall be bygones. They confessed all fully and freely of their own accord, and I forgave them. You, I am sure, have forgiven them long ago." There wasn't anything to forgive," murmured Geoffrey rather indistinctly. It was my fault too. What do you mean, my boy? I couldn't bear Ted to be scolded. It wasn't his fault. I didn't like him to say anything. I was the elder. It was fair I should have the blame. Colonel Douglas's face softened into a very tender look of love, but he continued quietly. Well, Geoffrey, I do not altogether acquit you of blame in the matter. You are generous, but it is sometimes wiser to be just than to be generous, and I always think that straightforward truthfulness, both in word and deed, is the most manly and the most satisfactory course of action. It cannot be well for one person to make a principle of always covering the sins of another, screening him at his own expense, although it is generous, and under certain circumstances may be very noble. I think it is right that each one of us should abide by the consequences of his own actions, whether they be good or whether they be bad. Any living thing, be it a plant or an animal or a human creature, will never flourish or grow thoroughly healthy and strong if it is too much shielded from everything which might possibly seem to hurt it for the moment, but which is yet necessary for its ultimate good. You understand me, Geoffrey? Yes, Papa, I think so," he answered thoughtfully. But this is not exactly what I meant to say. I have come here to talk over with you a matter which has been causing me much serious thought lately. I like to take my sons into my confidence when I can, and Arnold, though not a son, is very dear to us all, and he is so much concerned in this matter that he must be consulted too. we all listened with great interest for what was to come. You all know that. About a year ago I asked the son of an old and intimate friend of mine to spend a few months with us in the absence of his parents. You know that he came, and you seemed to like him so well that he stayed on and on. My chief reason for arranging for this was that I believed his visit was doing you all good and giving you pleasure, and even more, because I believed that on a certain day, long ago, when all you boys were in very great peril, it was his courage and presence of mind that saved you. I now know differently, and I know too that so far from setting you a brave and manly example, it was a very different one he gave, and one which you followed only too readily, two of you, that is. You need not think that you have betrayed Arthur's faults to me, for you have not. You have told me almost nothing. But from other sources, from the parents of his new playfellows, from Dr. Arden, from the uncle with whom he is now staying, I have heard a great deal about his sayings and doings, and it makes me feel very anxious and very uncertain as to the future. How, Papa? asked Geoffrey. The uncle he is with now is leaving England very soon and cannot have him any longer. His own parents are at the other side of the world. I have told his father that so long as he is away, Arthur shall make his home with us. He will not go to school before September. He will be expecting to come back to us very soon, and yet what am I to say? Can I take him back if I think that my own son and the boy I am learning to look upon as a son will follow him wherever he leads and will learn to deceive me and speak falsehoods? We hung our heads in silence, our flushed faces telling our shame. Geoffrey answered eagerly for us. Oh, Papa, they will not again. They will not any more. I am quite sure of it. Please let us try again. I will do more this time. It was my fault, partly. I might have said a great deal more. I might have tried to persuade Arthur, but I hardly did anything. and Ted and Arnold are younger than I am. I ought to have done a great deal more. Please let Arthur come back and let us try again. You know I was wrong too, you said so, and then we will all try to do better. Do you want him back, Geoffrey? I thought you and he were not great friends. We were not at first, but he was kind to me when I was ill. Perhaps if I had tried harder we might have been friends before, but I should like us to be friends now. Are you sure you want him back, Geoffrey? Persisted Uncle Reginald. Remember he was not always pleasant to you. He did you a good many injuries. But he will not any more, pleaded Geoffrey. And I never think about them now. I want him to come, please. I want to love him. I don't think I ever loved him properly before. Perhaps that was why we never seemed quite friends. But now I know I can. Please let him come back, Papa. What do you say, you two?" asked Uncle Reginald, turning to Ted and me. Geoffrey's will was law now, and we answered with one breath, Oh, let him come back, please. So the matter was settled, and by the time another week had passed over our heads, Arthur was once more amongst us. He seemed very glad to be back, and was subdued in manner. I do not think he had much enjoyed himself where he had been. Geoffrey welcomed him back most warmly of us all. He seemed to like Arthur's company very much. He was always asking him to sit with him, to read with him, to drive him out, and little by little these two, once almost at enmity, became close friends and companions. Arthur at first had seemed half afraid of Geoffrey, but this feeling wore away by degrees as the two were more together. How Geoffrey obtained so great an influence over the older boy I could not imagine. Perhaps it was by the attraction of that marvellous sweetness and brightness which had stolen over him of late. He had always been loving and cheerful, but now it was more than that. I used to be almost frightened at times to see the look upon his face. It was so intensely bright and happy, and it seemed illuminated from a light within which no pain or trouble was able to quench. His uncomplaining patience was a vague distress to me. I could not understand how he took his lameness so quietly, but his influence over Arthur was the most wonderful thing of all. "'Jeffrey,' I said one day, "'Arthur is quite different now. He never laughs at being good, and he is never cruel to the animals, and he seems to try so hard to be like you. How have you managed to change him so?' "'I haven't changed him,' answered Jeffrey. "'Well, something has, and I think you have had a great deal to do with it. Do you?' Yes, I am quite sure of it, Geoffrey. I wish you'd tell me how you did it, what you did." Well, I prayed about him a great deal," answered Geoffrey slowly, and I began to love him then, and I went on loving him more and more. That was all. Don't you remember what I read you once from the Ancient Mariner about loving and praying? I think it is so nice. And now Arthur is beginning to love everything and everybody and to pray, and the more he loves, the more he will want to pray. I am quite sure of that. I looked at Geoffrey almost with awe. There was something almost unnaturally mature in the way in which he spoke his thoughts, as well as in the thoughts themselves. Was it natural for a boy of thirteen and a boy of Geoffrey's elastic temperament to have gone so deeply into the philosophy of love as to reach such conclusions? I did not put the question so definitely to myself. I could not have done it, but it troubled me vaguely. Jeffrey, I said anxiously, I want to know what makes you look and speak so differently from other boys. Jeffrey's answer was a smile, a smile which I think I can never forget, and which brought the smarting tears into my eyes. I could not tell why. End of Chapter 30 A Consultation This audio was created with an artificial voice for the Audiobook Initiative on Sermon Audio. There may be mispronunciations or occasional repetitions. To report a mistake, please email us at info at sermonaudio.com and include the sermon ID or title of the message and the time at which the error occurs. We will do our best to get it corrected for future listeners.