"And then the lady came and lifted him up, and she said, 'Gloria is given to all who do and suffer truly in a good cause, for faithfulness is glory, and that is thine.'"
Ethel's language had become more flowing as she grew more eager in the tale, and they all listened with suspended interest. Norman asked where she got the story. "Out of an old French book, the 'Magazin des enfans,'" was the answer.
"But why did you alter the end?" said Flora, "why kill the poor man? He used to be prosperous, why not?"
"Because I thought," said Ethel, "that glory could not properly belong to any one here, and if he was once conscious of it, it would be all spoiled. Well, Meta, do you guess?"
"Oh! the word! I had forgotten all about it. I think I know what it must be, but I should so like another story. May I not have one?" said Meta coaxingly. "Mary, it is you."
Mary fell back on her papa, and begged him to take hers. Papa told the best stories of all, she said, and Meta looked beseeching.
"My story will not be as long as Ethel's," said the doctor, yielding with a half-reluctant smile. "My story is of a humming-bird, a little creature that loved its master with all its strength, and longed to do somewhat for him. It was not satisfied with its lot, because it seemed merely a vain and profitless creature. The nightingale sang praise, and the woods sounded with the glory of its strains; the fowl was valued for its flesh, the ostrich for its plume, but what could the little humming-bird do, save rejoice in the glory of the flood of sunbeams, and disport itself over the flowers, and glance in the sunny light, as its bright breastplate flashed from rich purple to dazzling flame-colour, and its wings supported it, fluttering so fast that the eye could hardly trace them, as it darted its slender beak into the deep-belled blossoms. So the little bird grieved, and could not rest, for thinking that it was useless in this world, that it sought merely its own gratification, and could do nothing that could conduce to the glory of its master. But one night a voice spoke to the little bird, 'Why hast thou been placed here,' it said, 'but at the will of thy master? Was it not that he might delight himself in thy radiant plumage, and see thy joy in the sunshine? His gifts are thy buoyant wing, thy beauteous colours, the love of all around, the sweetness of the honey-drop in the flowers, the shade of the palm leaf. Esteem them, then, as his; value thine own bliss, while it lasts, as the token of his care and love; and while thy heart praises him for them, and thy wings quiver and dance to the tune of that praise, then, indeed, thy gladness conduces to no vain-glory of thine own, in beauty, or in graceful flight, but thou art a creature serving--as best thou canst to his glory.'"
"I know the word," half whispered Meta, not without a trembling of the lip. "I know why you told the story, Dr. May, but one is not as good as the humming-birds."
The elder ladies had begun to look at watches, and talk of time to go home; and Jem Jemmings having been seen rearing himself up from behind the barrow, the doctor proceeded to investigate his case, was perfectly satisfied of the boy's truth, and as ready as the young ones to befriend him. A letter should be written at once, desiring his father to look out for him on Friday, when he should go by the same train as Harry, who was delighted at the notion of protecting him so far, and begged to be allowed to drive him home to Stoneborough in the gig.
Consent was given; and Richard being added to give weight and discretion, the gig set out at once--the doctor, much to Meta's delight, took his place in the brake. Blanche, who, in the morning, had been inclined to despise it as something akin to a cart, now finding it a popular conveyance, was urgent to return in it; and Flora was made over to the carriage, not at all unwillingly, for, though it separated her from Meta, it made a senior of her.
Norman's fate conveyed him to the exalted seat beside the driver of the brake, where he could only now and then catch the sounds of mirth from below. He had enjoyed the day exceedingly, with that sort of abandon more than ordinarily delicious to grave or saddened temperaments, when roused or drawn out for a time. Meta's winning grace and sweetness had a peculiar charm for him, and, perhaps, his having been originally introduced to her as ill, and in sorrow, had given her manner towards him a sort of kindness which was very gratifying.
And now he felt as if he was going back to a very dusky dusty world; the last and blithest day of his holidays was past, and he must return to the misapprehensions and injustice that had blighted his school career, be kept beneath boys with half his ability, and without generous feeling, and find all his attainments useless in restoring his position. Dr. Hoxton's dull scholarship would chill all pleasure in his studies--there would be no companionship among the boys--even his supporters, Ernescliffe and Larkins, were gone, and Harry would leave him still under a cloud.
Norman felt it more as disgrace than he had done since the first, and wished he had consented to quit the school when it had been offered-- be made a man, instead of suffering these doubly irksome provocations, which rose before him in renewed force. "And what would that little humming-bird think of me if she knew me disgraced?" thought he. "But it is of no use to think of it. I must go through with it, and as I always am getting vain-glorious, I had better have no opportunity. I did not declare I renounced vain pomp and glory last week, to begin coveting them now again."
So Norman repressed the sigh as he looked at the school buildings, which never could give him the pleasures of memory they afforded to others.
The brake had set out before the carriage, so that Meta had to come in and wait for her governess. Before the vehicle had disgorged half its contents, Harry had rushed out to meet them. "Come in, come in, Norman! Only hear. Margaret shall tell you herself! Hurrah!"
Is Mr. Ernescliffe come? crossed Ethel's mind, but Margaret was alone, flushed, and holding out her hands. "Norman! where is he? Dear Norman, here is good news! Papa, Dr. Hoxton has been here, and he knows all about it--and oh! Norman, he is very sorry for the injustice, and you are dux again!"
Norman really trembled so much that he could neither speak nor stand, but sat down on the window-seat, while a confusion of tongues asked more.
Dr. Hoxton and Mr. Larkins had come to call--heard no one was at home but Miss May--had, nevertheless, come in--and Margaret had heard that Mr. Larkins, who had before intended to remove his son from Stoneborough, had, in the course of the holidays, made discoveries from him, which he could not feel justified in concealing from Dr. Hoxton.