Left to Ourselves Part 19

"Now unto Him that is able to keep you from falling, and to present you faultless before His presence with exceeding joy, be glory for ever.

Amen."

After an instant's pause their minister began.

"I am not going to speak to the joyful this Christmas, for they do not need it so much; but I am going to speak to the downcast, that they may look forward to this exceeding joy."

Every word might have been meant for John, and he took it all humbly home to his heart. Never had his face looked like that before, and when they came out there were two people happy among the throng at anyrate.

Aunt Phyllis took Agnes's arm, while the rest lingered for a moment to shake hands with some friends.

"Agnes," said Miss Headley, "what has come to John; he looks different?"

Agnes pressed her aunt's arm, and whispered. "Don't say a word, auntie; but _G.o.d_ has been speaking to him."

Aunt Phyllis gazed at her, then, with a wondrous gladness in her pale face, turned homewards.

They all separated at their different doors. "The children," as they were called, promising to come in at the right time.

"No fear of our punctuality to-day, auntie," said John, smiling.

"I don't know," answered his aunt. "I have known unpunctual people as late on great occasions as on small."

"Have you? Then we shall prove ourselves, I hope, to be not unpunctual people."

They ran up their own steps and found Hugh taking off his coat in the hall.

"Make haste, Hugh," said John; "auntie has been giving us a lecture on not being late."

"I don't call it much of a lecture," said Alice. "Aunt Phyllis never lectures."

The girls went upstairs "to make themselves smart," as Hugh called it, and the two brothers walked into the dining-room.

John glanced at Hugh, but his face did not invite conversation, so he took up his new book and sat down in the window.

"What a smell of beer!" he suddenly exclaimed. "I wonder what it is?"

Hugh turned scarlet. "I've had a gla.s.s," he said defiantly.

"_You?_" said John, too surprised to hide his grieved dismay.

"There's no sin in that, I hope," answered Hugh coldly.

John thought a moment. "No--no, Hugh, I don't know that there is."

"Then why blame a fellow?"

"I don't think I blamed you; at least, not in words. But----"

"Have it out then. Cut me up to your heart's content."

"I wouldn't for the world, Hugh, dear boy. What would father have wished you to do?"

"He never bound us."

"I think he did. He never thought we should wish to take any till we were of an age to decide for ourselves."

"Don't you call fourteen old enough? Tom says he calls it absurd to tie us down to an idea."

"Tom knows nothing about it, Hugh."

"How doesn't he?"

"Nothing about father's opinions, nor the principle of the thing."

"Do you mean to say father has ever forbidden me?"

"Perhaps not in so many words."

"Do you think he would have, if I had waited to ask him?"

"I believe so."

"I did not do it as an act of disobedience," said Hugh, "and your making it out so is horrid. I thought I was free to take it if I liked, so long as I didn't take much."

John sat down by the fire, his face grave and troubled.

"Hugh," he exclaimed, in a beseeching tone, "say you won't be tempted to take it again till father comes home. Oh, Hugh, I would give everything I possess if you hadn't!"

Hugh was silent. In his present mood he did not feel inclined to promise.

"Where's the harm?" he asked at last.

"Father trusted us not to take it till we were old enough to judge of its dangers; he said we must take his judgment till then."

"And how long was that to last?"

"I don't know, but I was quite willing to leave it till then. Hugh, what does our text say, as father is not here?"

John's voice was low, and his face full of feeling.

"I hadn't _that_ to look at out there!" murmured Hugh.

"No. Oh, Hugh, _say_ you will not again till they come home?"

"I'm sure I wish I had not, now you say so much about it. John, you won't tell the girls?"

"Not 'the girls;' but I must tell Agnes."