This audio was created with an artificial voice for the Audiobook Initiative on Sermon Audio. Chapter 5 The Father As we drove up to the house, Ted shaded his eyes with his hand and looked eagerly ahead. Then he cried suddenly, There's Papa! Jeff, look! There's Papa standing waiting for us! Drive fast! How nice that he has come back!" Already Ted's fear was drowned in delight at the sight of his beloved parent. The little carriage had hardly stopped before he was out and in his father's arms, clinging to him with loving demonstrations of joy. Oh, Papa, dear Papa, it is so nice to have you back." Colonel Douglas returned his little son's caresses with great tenderness, but he soon put him down and spoke a few kind words to me. He was a very handsome but a stern-looking man, and every inch the soldier. He was more like Geoffrey than Ted, or rather I should say Geoffrey was like him, for he was fair in colouring, only that he had been deeply bronzed by the Indian sun. He was a man to be feared as well as loved. I felt that I could do both, but that fear would come first. Last of all, Colonel Douglas turned to Geoffrey, and his smile, though less gentle, was very pleasant. Well, my boy, and how are you getting on? Papa? said Jeffrey, standing up and looking bravely into his father's eyes. It is my fault. I did what you told me not and the pony chaise is broken. His father gave a quick glance at the damage done. How came that about? And Jeffrey told his tale, only concealing Ted's share of blame. The colonel's face grew stern. I thought I had told you not to attempt to harness or unharness the pony. Yes, Papa, you did. "'Had you forgotten that, Geoffrey?' The answer was rather long in coming, and came with effort. "'No, papa.' "'Then it was deliberate disobedience,' continued Colonel Douglas sternly. "'Geoffrey, I am disappointed in you, deeply disappointed. How can you expect me to trust you when you behave so? Disobedience where you are trusted is a dishonourable breach of confidence, unworthy of a man or a gentleman.' In your case the offence is aggravated inasmuch as you are setting a bad example to your brother and teaching him to follow in your footsteps. I am much displeased with you, Geoffrey." I saw Geoffrey's throat swell and his lip quiver, but he mastered himself and answered steadily, "'Papa, I am very sorry.' So you have said many times, but the proof of sorrow is amendment." The boy made no answer. I cannot bear to begin with fault-finding and punishment just as I have returned home," continued Colonel Douglas with a ring of impatient regret in his stern tones, but I cannot let such an offence as this pass without notice. I shall stop your pocket money for three months to help to pay for the damage you have done, and to try to teach you obedience, you must remain indoors the whole of tomorrow after you return from church. Jeffrey turned and went away without a word. I think he was afraid to trust his voice. My heart ached for him. Ted had stood all the while with drooping head and downcast mien. Every moment I expected to see him spring forward and claim his own far larger share of the blame. But he did not say a word until Jeffrey had gone, and then, indeed, he did more. He crept to his father's side, took one of his hands, and caressingly laid his cheek against it. But the words spoken were not those I had expected to hear. Papa, dear Papa, don't be angry with Geoffrey, please. It makes me so unhappy. He is such a dear Geoffrey, and it was I, too, as well as he. The father patted his child's head and his face relaxed. When Geoffrey does wrong he must be punished, Ted. Disobedience is a very bad fault and I always punish it wherever I see it. It would be just the same if it were you, Ted. I could not overlook it. Try to be a man, my child. Try not to give way too readily. But I can trust my little Ted. I know he would do nothing that would grieve his father. I expected to see Ted covered with confusion, but instead of that he looked up at his father with his beautiful dark eyes full of innocent tenderness. I love you, dear Papa. I like to please you always." And the strong man stooped and kissed the child with a kind of passionate tenderness wonderful to see in any one so self-restrained. And the two wandered off together hand in hand, leaving me in a state of great bewilderment and dissatisfaction. All the little scene had passed so quickly that I hardly grasped at its true significance. I fancied I must have been in some way deceived, for surely loving little Ted would never let Geoffrey suffer for his misdeeds as it had seemed to me that he had done. I would wait and ask him about it. By the time we met at the tea table, the clouds seemed to have rolled away. Geoffrey looked a little subdued, but Ted was full of gay spirit, and Colonel Douglas talked to all of us very pleasantly, without making any allusion to what had passed earlier in the day. Ted sat close to him, chattering away with all his might, and Geoffrey by and by forgot his silence, and launched out into eloquent descriptions of what was going on in the great world of nature which he loved so well. Aunt Mary's gentle presence always seemed to act like oil upon the waters and she had a way of leading me on to talk and to join in what was passing, which was very reassuring and helpful in making me feel at home. Colonel Douglas, too, was very kind, and soon told me that if his sister was my aunt, he must surely be my uncle, and so I learned to call him Uncle Reginald, and to love him in a kind of fearful way that had a certain fascination in it. "'Ted,' I said that evening as he came into my room, according to custom, to bid me good-night. "'Ted, I want to ask you something, if you won't be vexed.' "'Vexed, Arnold. Oh, no, I shan't be vexed. What is it?' "'Well, about to-day, you know. Don't you think it was really your fault, not Geoffrey's, that the carriage was broken?' "'Mine?' asked Ted innocently. How mine? Why, because it was you who persuaded Geoffrey to stay and not put the carriage up at the inn. He would have done that if it had not been for you. Would he, returned Ted doubtfully. I don't think I said very much. I think we all wanted to stay. And then you let Geoffrey have all the blame and all the punishment. I thought it was very unfair. The tears sprang to Ted's eyes and he looked almost reproachfully at me. He answered in his appealing way. Arnold, don't say that. You make me unhappy. I would have said something, but it only makes it worse. Papa thinks it is Jeff's fault for leading me into mischief, and that seems to vex him more than Jeff's doing it himself. I paused, hardly knowing what to say, feeling the flaw in the argument, yet unable to detect it. For the first time since my arrival, Ted's soft tones jarred upon me. It was not like a child's, that calculating spirit. Geoffrey, I felt by instinct, would never have had the art to dive down to such a conclusion. Well, Ted, I don't think I would let myself be made out such a baby that I had to have all my sins fastened upon my brother. Jeffrey is only three years older than you are. What can I do? Said Ted appealingly. I can't help it. As I had no suggestion to offer, I held my peace. Jeff can't bear me to get into trouble, continued Ted. He would much rather it was himself. He doesn't mind. I remembered the look on Jeffrey's face and thought differently. Yet it was very hard to feel vexed with Ted for long, he was so loving himself and so gentle. Before he left me that night we had quite made up our little difference and I was almost ready to condone any offence of which he had been guilty. But I was still rather disturbed in my mind, and when Aunt Mary came in, as she always did to all our rooms, the last thing at night, I was lying broad awake, quite contrary to custom, for the sweet country air had made me sleep like a top these past nights. Awake, little boy, she said softly. Is anything the matter? No, Aunt Mary, not exactly. Only I can't help wondering about something. What is it, Arnold? Anything I can tell you? I don't know, Aunt Mary. Perhaps you could. I wonder what makes Uncle Reginald love Ted more than Geoffrey. Aunt Mary paused and looked at me, and then she set down her candle and came and sat down beside me. What makes you think that he does, Arnold? Why, I can see it for myself, can't you? Aunt Mary paused a while, and so I continued. And I don't think it's fair, and I want to know why it is. Hush, Arnold, said Aunt Mary gently. You must not allow yourself to judge other people too readily, especially those who are older and wiser than yourself. And I hope you will not talk so to your cousins. But since you have asked me such a curious question, I see I must explain something to you. You know Ted is a very little boy, young for his age and not very strong, and has always been rather the pet and the baby. And he is the very image of his mother, and your uncle loved her very, very dearly, and was nearly broken-hearted when she died. So when he sees in Ted something which reminds him so much of her, it makes him very loving and tender, and although he loves Geoffrey too, he does not show it quite in the same way. Do you understand, darling?" "'Yes, I think so,' I answered doubtfully. But Aunt Mary, you love Geoffrey as much as Ted, don't you?" Yes, dear," she answered, stooping to kiss me. I love Geoffrey very dearly. End of Chapter Five The Father 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.