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Authors: Grace Livingston Hill
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pushed him toward the stairs after a glimpse of his father’s room. “Well, there must have been a fairy god-mother along, too, to get all this done in one day. I think it would take several wands working double time to accomplish so much. It looked like a pretty hopeless dump to me when I left here this morning. I was thinking as I left the house that I’d like to touch a match to it and burn the whole thing up and begin again. It certainly was a mess!”
“Some mess! Especially my dump!” assented Jack as he threw his own door wide open and waved his brother inside.
“Some change I should say!”
Gene’s eyes traveled all about, and halted at his mother’s picture on the bureau. He went over and stood before it, looking long and earnestly. Then he spoke, and his voice was husky and unnatural.
“Things would’a been different if she’d lived, kid,” he said half embarrassedly.
“Sure!” agreed Jack in a faint, shy tone, turning his back and looking out the window.
“Do you remember what a wonderful woman she was, kid?”
“Sure, I do!” came the voice from the window with a little tremble to it.
The older brother sighed, and turned to go downstairs. “Gee! ’twould be great if she could come back! Things like this all the time! And she’d be here every night when we came home!” he said, unexpectedly voicing the wistfulness that was in both their minds.
“Wouldn’t it, though?” Jack sauntered down behind his brother as though he could not quite give up the subject, but neither spoke of it again. Gene pushed Elsie’s door open, and glanced in.
“Nothing doing in there! Fairy godmother doesn’t approve of her!” declared Jack flippantly.
Gene brought it shut with a bang, and sighed heavily. The room they had by common consent tried to keep as it had been for the sake of the sister to whom it belonged—for the sake of having some shrine in the house—looked bare and desolate beside the other rooms now. He wanted to shut it away in its dust and emptiness and forget it.
“Wake Dad up and bring him up here!” he commanded. “I’m going to light the hot-water back, and have a bath!”
What with the excitement and the splashing and the search for clean laundry it was late, after all, before the brothers were ready for those clean white beds that drew them so invitingly.
Just as Jack was about to go up to his room at last, they were both drawn by some strange power toward their father’s open door to see what had become of him. They found him asleep on his knees before the bed, with their mother’s old wrapper hugged close in his arms and traces of tears on his face.
Tenderly, with unaccustomed hands and words that sounded strangely on their young lips, they roused him and made him go to bed. They crept awe-stricken into their own beautifully clean beds, and lay down, handling the covers carefully as though these might be harmed with rougher touch. And then they lay with crowding thoughts upon their hearts. They had not been so stirred since their mother died. They felt her presence had somehow come back again to bless them. It may be that the thankfulness of their hearts as they put their heads upon those clean pillows, and sighed contentedly, was something akin to prayer.
The whole thing was mysterious, so wholly un-explainable by any of the common surroundings and circumstances of their lives, that they could not settle on an explanation; and there was nothing else but Providence to lay it to. They had never thought much about Providence. They had scarcely thought they believed in higher powers anymore. It wasn’t exactly the thing to do in the world in which they moved.
There was not an aunt in the whole connection who would have done this for the house and them, no, not even for the sweet morsel of giving them a rebuke. There was not a devoted old servant; for Rebecca had been the only servant they had had for years, and Rebecca never had a knack of making things look tidy,
“Some mess! Especially my dump!” assented Jack as he threw his own door wide open and waved his brother inside.
“Some change I should say!”
Gene’s eyes traveled all about, and halted at his mother’s picture on the bureau. He went over and stood before it, looking long and earnestly. Then he spoke, and his voice was husky and unnatural.
“Things would’a been different if she’d lived, kid,” he said half embarrassedly.
“Sure!” agreed Jack in a faint, shy tone, turning his back and looking out the window.
“Do you remember what a wonderful woman she was, kid?”
“Sure, I do!” came the voice from the window with a little tremble to it.
The older brother sighed, and turned to go downstairs. “Gee! ’twould be great if she could come back! Things like this all the time! And she’d be here every night when we came home!” he said, unexpectedly voicing the wistfulness that was in both their minds.
“Wouldn’t it, though?” Jack sauntered down behind his brother as though he could not quite give up the subject, but neither spoke of it again. Gene pushed Elsie’s door open, and glanced in.
“Nothing doing in there! Fairy godmother doesn’t approve of her!” declared Jack flippantly.
Gene brought it shut with a bang, and sighed heavily. The room they had by common consent tried to keep as it had been for the sake of the sister to whom it belonged—for the sake of having some shrine in the house—looked bare and desolate beside the other rooms now. He wanted to shut it away in its dust and emptiness and forget it.
“Wake Dad up and bring him up here!” he commanded. “I’m going to light the hot-water back, and have a bath!”
What with the excitement and the splashing and the search for clean laundry it was late, after all, before the brothers were ready for those clean white beds that drew them so invitingly.
Just as Jack was about to go up to his room at last, they were both drawn by some strange power toward their father’s open door to see what had become of him. They found him asleep on his knees before the bed, with their mother’s old wrapper hugged close in his arms and traces of tears on his face.
Tenderly, with unaccustomed hands and words that sounded strangely on their young lips, they roused him and made him go to bed. They crept awe-stricken into their own beautifully clean beds, and lay down, handling the covers carefully as though these might be harmed with rougher touch. And then they lay with crowding thoughts upon their hearts. They had not been so stirred since their mother died. They felt her presence had somehow come back again to bless them. It may be that the thankfulness of their hearts as they put their heads upon those clean pillows, and sighed contentedly, was something akin to prayer.
The whole thing was mysterious, so wholly un-explainable by any of the common surroundings and circumstances of their lives, that they could not settle on an explanation; and there was nothing else but Providence to lay it to. They had never thought much about Providence. They had scarcely thought they believed in higher powers anymore. It wasn’t exactly the thing to do in the world in which they moved.
There was not an aunt in the whole connection who would have done this for the house and them, no, not even for the sweet morsel of giving them a rebuke. There was not a devoted old servant; for Rebecca had been the only servant they had had for years, and Rebecca never had a knack of making things look tidy,
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