This audio was created with an artificial voice for the audiobook initiative on Sermon Audio, true to himself, or my boyhood's hero, by Evelyn Everett Green. Ah, well, those days seem to carry one back a long way. Not that I am such an old man yet if it comes to that, but thoughts of my boyhood bring back memories very tender and sweet, memories that haunt me very often in these quiet twilight hours. Still more when on lovely summer evenings I am watching the sun sink in the west, but yet they are memories of which I very seldom speak. And now all your faces are grave and your laughing voices are silent. Is there anything very strange in what I have been saying? When you are as old as I am you will understand better what I mean by the haunting memories of past days that come and go in twilight hours. About myself you want to hear. I do not think I shall be the hero of my own story, but I will tell you about my boyhood, about one year of it at least, and you shall judge for yourselves whether or not I was the hero. You know perhaps that I was adopted by some friends of my mother's upon her death. You know that I never had brothers of my own, and yet, looking back to my boyhood, I do not feel that I was brotherless. Well, I will tell the story my own way, and you will understand then what I mean. Is it a sad story? Somebody asks. Well, my little maiden, that all depends on how it strikes you. To me it is not a sad story, but a very happy one, happy to the very end, so at least I see it, looking back upon it now. There were times long ago when many things in it seemed very sad, but the sadness has all passed now, and left only brightness behind. And now, without any more preface, I am going to tell the story, and you have only to listen. Chapter 1 Motherless I am going to begin my story with an account of the very saddest day of my life, the day following my mother's death. I was an only child, a lame, sickly boy of some ten summers. My father I could not remember. My mother had been all in all to me. I think if ever a boy worshipped his mother, I worshipped mine, and now she was dead. She had held me in her arms to the very last, Her lips were cold before they ceased to kiss me, but the last flicker of life had at last died out, and I was left quite alone in the world. My mother had been feeble for a long while, but the end had come very suddenly. I knew no more what would become of me than the unfledged sparrows do. And I do not think I cared any more than they. Just before the end my mother had whispered faintly, They will take good care of you, my darling. I have not heard, there has been no time, but I know she will come and take you. My little boy will learn to be very happy by and by. I had clung to her, sobbing passionately, crying out that I could never, never be happy any more. Darling, she had said very faintly, your father will comfort you. He is very near us now. Very soon I shall see him. He will watch over my little boy. Our father which art in heaven, thy will be done. Those were almost her last words. At midnight she had gone and left me alone, desolate and heartbroken. I cannot remember how the rest of that dreadful night passed, nor the first part of the following day. I suppose the people of the house looked after me and did all that had to be done. We must have been very poor, although I never knew it or thought about it. We lived on the second floor of a dismal London lodging-house. We had lived there ever since I could remember and had never left it even for a week. Seaside and country were but names to me. I never pined after green fields or waving trees because I never remembered having seen them. It was enough for me to be where my mother was. I never even wished for anything beyond. Out of the window, near to which I lay most of the day, I could see nothing save the dull brick wall, and above that a strip of sky that was white or grey, blue, red, or gold, according to the hour of the day and the power of the sun. To me, the varieties of light and shade upon the brick wall and in the sky above gave endless and complete occupation for eyes and mind. I had all kinds of strange fancies for every hour of sunshine or shade, but I must not dwell on fancies. You want to go on to facts and to hear the story. The close of that dreadful day which opened in blackness and despair I can distinctly recall to mind. They must have carried me into our little sitting-room and I must have fallen asleep upon the sofa, for I remember gradually returning to consciousness and lying with closed eyes trying to grasp what it was that had happened to me. It was growing dusk, I knew, and the fire was burning with a soft crackling sound, very soothing to listen to. I knew that a candle was burning in the room, and could picture just how the shadows would fall, and how the cold twilight stealing in through the uncurtained windows would meet and be absorbed by the ruddy flickering glow from the fire. It was the hour of the day I always had loved the best. My time, I used to call it, because my mother would always then give herself up entirely to me, and follow any fancy of mine, and do just what I required of her. I looked forward all through the day to this quiet twilight tea hour, and now Now I was alone. Yet, was I alone? Certain quiet sounds in the room seemed to denote that I was not its only occupant. There had been a clatter of tea things. That was the servant, I said to myself. But surely no lodging-house servant ever moved about so gently as someone was now doing in the room. A curious, trembling awe fell upon me. Who was it moving so quietly about in a dress that swept the floor without exactly rustling, just as mothers did? Who but she could move so gently and so softly? I did not dare to open my eyes. I knew not upon what object my glance might fall. I had been so used to wake up and see my mother pacing to and fro with quiet steps that hers was the only form I could picture. Could they be true, those fearful stories I had read of the spirits of the dead haunting their old abodes? I shivered, and a cold moisture stood upon my forehead. In an agony of silent terror I opened my eyes at last and looked to see who was there. I thought I must still be dreaming. I rubbed my eyes and gazed again and again, but the dream was obstinate and would not vanish. A lady was standing beside the fireplace, looking down into the flickering flame. a lady not small and thin and careworn like my mother, but tall and graceful, young, too, that is, not much over thirty, with a beautiful, gentle face and hair like threads of gold. She was dressed in black, and everything she wore was plain, yet somehow she brought to my mind the impression of a wealth and luxury which had only been names to me so far. I never had seen anyone like her before. I gazed in speechless fascination until at last she suddenly lifted her beautiful blue eyes and met my curious glance. Then a sudden, very sweet smile shone out over her face and she made a step towards me. So you are awake now, darling? Poor little lonely boy! Did he think nobody would come to him? Do you think I can take care of you now, Arnold?" And the lady bent her beautiful head and kissed me on the mouth. I felt the tears spring to my eyes, and still I stared at her in helpless amazement. Who are you? I asked. I am going to be Aunt Mary to you now, if you will have me for an aunt. Did you know my mamma? Yes, darling. Long ago she was the dearest friend I had. We have not been able to meet of late years, but we have always loved each other. Now I'm going to learn to love her little son. I'm going to take care of him. To take care of me? How? Will you come home with me into the pretty country, Arnold?" Would you like to live amongst tall trees and green fields and beautiful flowers? Would you like to have little companions of your own age? Would you like to get to know my two little nephews whom I take care of too? I could not answer. I was too bewildered and too miserable. Jeffrey and Ted are my brother's little boys, continued the lady. They have no mother and I take care of them. They will try to make you very happy when I take you back. My lip quivered, and the tears started afresh. I don't want to go. I never play with other boys. I never see them. I don't want to. I'm lame. I can't run about. No, darling, I know that. But you will grow stronger, I trust, in our purer air. My little nephews will be very pleased to take care of you and will try to make you happy, and so will I. But then my sobs broke out uncontrollably, and neither tender words nor kisses could check them. I don't want them. I don't want to go away. I want my mother, my mother. I shall never be happy any more. Oh mama, mama." End of chapter one MOTHERLESS 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.