Another year passed quietly over the Inglis household. Jem and David both did good service, each in his special calling, and made some progress in other things besides. David kept the plan of his life steadily before him, but this year did not, to all appearance, bring its fulfillment any nearer. It did not seem impossible to him that their life should go on in the same quiet routine, without break or change, for a long time, nor did this seem impossible to his mother.

There was this difference in their thoughts, however. While Davie, with the impatience of youth, grew anxious now and then, as though the sowing time were passing with no seed being put in, his mother knew that there was nothing lost to his future work as yet, that the discipline of early care and self-denial, the constant and willing giving of himself to work, which in itself was not congenial, was a better preparation than he knew. She felt that if the Master had a special work for him to do, He would provide a way for special preparation, and that His time was best. David knew this too, and was on the whole content to look forward a good way yet, for the change that must come, when his wish with regard to this one thing should be granted. He was more than content. Life went very quietly and happily with them this year, and it was a profitable time in many ways.

Jem’s work agreed with him, it seemed, for he was growing tall and strong. His gay and careless temper brought him into some difficulties this year, and being at that age when a young lad making his own way is apt to become tenacious about little things which concern his dignity, and impatient of the open exercise of restraint acknowledged to be lawful and right, he needed to be gently and carefully managed. But happily this uncomfortable period did not last long with Jem. He grew manly in character as well as in appearance, and grew more, rather than less, open to home influence as he grew older.

David’s fair face and quiet manner gave Jem an appearance of advantage over him as far as manliness was concerned, and strangers often took Jem to be the eldest of the brothers. Jem himself, in a laughing way, claimed to be beyond him in a knowledge of the world on its hard side and made merry pretence and promise of advising and protecting him in certain supposed circumstances of difficulty or danger. But in his heart he deferred to his brother, as in all things far wiser and better than he.

As to David’s plans and their carrying out, Jem saw neither doubt nor difficulty. In a few years not very distinctly specified Jem was to become the head and bread-winner of the house, and David was to go his own way to honour and usefulness. Jem was still to be the rich man of the family, though the time and manner of winning his wealth he could not make very clear; and David laughed and accepted his freedom from care and his brother’s gifts very gratefully, and professed to have no scruples as to his future claims upon him.

When Mr Oswald’s household was broken up, Violet returned home. But happily an opportunity occurred for her to obtain what she had long secretly coveted, a chance to improve herself, in some branches of study, under better masters than Singleton could afford. She passed the greater part of the year as pupil-teacher in a superior school in M , and returned home in the end of June. The year was of great advantage to her in many ways, though the children at home could not see it. She “was just the same as ever,” they said, which was a high compliment, though not intended as such.

She had not changed, but she had made advances in several directions her mother was pleased to discover. Her return was a great pleasure to her brothers, but Jem was critical now and then, and spoke of “airs and graces,” and “fine manners,” as though she were not quite innocent of those on occasion. David was indignant, but Violet laughed at them both, and proved that whatever change had come to her manners, none had come to her temper, “which was a blessing,” Jem acknowledged.

Mr Oswald’s household was broken up about the time of Miss Bethia’s death. Selina remained with her sister, and the little girls went with their aunt to her former home. Mr Oswald had been induced to take the sea voyage, and the entire rest from business, which his physicians declared absolutely necessary to his entire restoration to health. Frank accompanied him to England, where they both remained during the year. His health had improved, and there was some expectation that they would return at the close of the summer.

His house had been sold, and was now used as a hospital for the poor and sick of the town. The extensive grounds around it had been cut up by the opening of several new streets in that direction, and one could scarcely have recognised the place that used to be so beautiful in the eyes of the Inglis children. However, the only Oswald left in Singleton took the sale of the house, in which he had been born and brought up, very philosophically. The opening of the new streets had increased the value of the land immensely, and under the careful hands of Mr Caldwell, that and all other property belonging to Mr Oswald was being so disposed of that his creditors had a good prospect of losing nothing by him.

Philip Oswald still asserted, that but for the faint-heartedness which illness had brought upon his father, and the untimely pressure of the creditors because of it, there needed have been no failure. He asserted it indignantly enough some-times, but he did not regret the disposal of the house or the spoiling of the beautiful grounds as he might have been supposed to do.

The sudden change in the circumstances of the family had not hurt Philip. The year’s discipline of constant employment, and limited expenditure, had done him good, and, as he himself declared to Jem and David, not before it was time. The boyish follies which had clung to him as a young man, because of the easy times on which he had fallen, must have grown into something worse than folly before long, and but for the chance of wholesome hard work which had been provided for him, and his earnest desire to work out the best possible result for his father’s good name, he might have gone to ruin in one way or other. But these things, with the help of other influences, had kept him from evil, and encouraged him to good, and there were high hopes for Philip still.

He had not been in Singleton all the year, but here and there and everywhere, at the bidding of the cautious, but laborious and judicious, Caldwell, who had daily increasing confidence in his business capacity, and did not hesitate to make the utmost use of his youthful strength. When he was in Singleton, his home was in Mr Caldwell’s house. He had gone there for a day or two, till other arrangements could be made. But no other arrangements were needed. He stayed there more contentedly than he could at the beginning of the year have supposed possible, and it grew less a matter of self-denial to Mr and Mrs Caldwell to have him there as time went on. He had a second home in the house of Mrs Inglis; and this other good had come to him out of his father’s troubles, and the way he had taken to help them, that he made a friend of David Inglis. He had supposed himself friendly enough with him before, but he knew nothing about him. That is to say, he knew nothing about that which made David so different from himself, so different from most of the young men with whom he had had to do.

“In one thing he is different,” Mrs Inglis had said, “He is a servant of God. He professes to wish to live no longer to himself.” With this in his thought, he watched David at home and abroad, at first only curiously, but afterwards with other feelings. David was shy of him for a time, and kept the position of “mere lad,” which Philip had at first given him, long after his friendship was sought on other terms. But they learned to know each other in a little, and they did each other good. Mrs Inglis saw clearly how well it was for David to have some one more ready and better fitted to share his pleasures and interests than Jem, because of his different tastes and pursuits, could possibly do. And she saw also that David’s influence could not fail to have a salutary effect on his friend, and she encouraged their intercourse, and did all in her power to make it profitable to them both. Violet and the children spent a month in Gourlay; but Mrs Inglis, not liking to leave David and Jem alone, only went for a day or two. They returned early in August. Mr Oswald and Frank were expected soon. Mr Philip’s spirits did not rise as the time of their coming drew near. He dreaded for his father the coming back to find no home awaiting him. He consulted with Mrs Inglis as to the preparations he should make for him; but, when it was talked over among them, it was found that he did not know enough about his father’s future plans to make it possible for him to make arrangements for more than a day or two. He did not even know whether he was to remain in Singleton. He did not even know whether he should remain in Singleton himself. He could decide nothing till they came. He was altogether too anxious and troubled, Mrs Inglis told him; he had not been like himself for some time.

“Well, it ought to be all the more agreeable to the rest because of that,” said he, laughing.

“It has not been. And you must let me say that I think you are troubling yourself more than enough with regard to the coming of your father.”

“But it is about myself, partly, you know.”

“Well, I think the trouble is uncalled for in either case. It will not be so bad for your father as you fear.”

“Do you know what is the news in town to-day, Philip?” asked Jem. “That you and old Caldwell are going into the produce business together. A queer team you would make!”

“We have drawn very well together for the last year,” said Philip.

Jem shrugged his shoulders, and made a grimace.

“Singleton might suit Mr Caldwell to do business in, but I wouldn’t fix myself in Singleton if I were you.”

“Nonsense, Jem,” said David. “There is no better place than Singleton for that business, everybody knows.”

“And, besides, Philip is well-known here,” said Mrs Inglis.

“I am not sure that it is a better place for me because of that, Aunt Mary; but it is as good a place as any, I suppose, in which to begin with a small capital.”

“Pooh! about capital! The only men in the country worth their salt began life without a dollar. Which of us has capital? And we are all bound to be rich men before we die,” said Jem.

“Yes, I dare say. If I were a boy of fifteen, I might say the same,” said Philip, with a sigh.

“Hear him! You would think him fifty, at least. And if you mean me,” said Jem loftily, “I am nearly seventeen. I only wish I were twenty-three, with the world before me.”

They all laughed at his energy.

“There is no hurry, Jem. You will need all the years that are before you. Violet, put away your work, and play, and the children will sing.”

Violet rose and opened the piano, and there was no more said at that time. While the children were singing, David went out, and, in a little, called Philip from the window. Philip rose and went out also, and they passed down the garden together. By and by they had enough of music, and Violet shut the piano, and sat down beside the window with her work again. Jem had the grace to wait till the children went out, and then he said:

“Mamma, you said I was to tell you the next time, and here it is. You must have noticed yourself Violet’s manner, I mean. Philip noticed it, I could see. She was as stiff and dignified as Mrs Mavor herself. I wouldn’t put on airs with Phil, when he is down as he is to-night, if I were you.”

Violet looked from him to her mother in astonishment.

“Do you know what he means, mamma?”

“You don’t need mamma to tell you.”

“Tell me, then, Jem. What did I say or do?”

“You didn’t say or do anything. You were stiff and stupid. Mamma must have seen it.”

“No, Jem, I did not. If you mean that Violet’s manner to Mr Philip is not the same as to you and Davie why, you know, it can’t quite be that.”

“No, because Violet made up her mind long ago that Philip Oswald was a foolish young man ­`not in earnest,’ as she used to say. Letty can’t bear people that are not quite perfect,” said Jem.

Letty laughed, and so did her mother.

“Thank you, Jem. That is as much as saying that I consider myself quite perfect.”

“Oh! you may laugh,” said Jem, loftily; “but if Phil, hasn’t proved himself steady enough by this time, I don’t know what you would have! There are not many would have staid it out, under old Caldwell, and have done as he has done. To say nothing about the business not being a very pleasant one.”

“He has improved very much,” said Mrs Inglis.

“And, now, when he and Davie are such friends,” went on Jem, who did not know when he had said enough. “I think if Davie approves of him, that ought to be enough for Violet.”

“Quite enough, I acknowledge, Jem,” said Violet. “I wonder where Davie has gone;” and she rose and went to the door as if to see.

She did not find him, if she looked for him, for David and Philip, after walking up and down the railway track for some time, went down to David’s favourite seat on the stones of the abutment of the bridge close by the water. They were silent for some time after they went there. David sat gazing at the bright clouds that lingered after the sunset, while his friend moved up and down and flung stones into the water. By and by he sat down by David’s side, saying

“And so I am all at sea again.”

“I don’t see why you should be `at sea again,’ as you call it,” said David. “Mr Caldwell’s offer was made without any reference to me, and my refusal can make no real difference.”

“It will make all the difference in the world to me.”

“Philip, promise me one thing. Don’t decide till your father comes and Frank. I don’t know when I was so glad. See how pleased your father will be.”

“Nonsense, Davie! It is no such great thing as all that a partnership with old Caldwell.”

“Hear what your father will say. I can’t say how fine a thing it will be to be his partner, but your father will think it a high compliment that he should have wished it. It will be good for you and for him too. I don’t know which I congratulate most.”

David was growing enthusiastic.

“It would do, I think, if you were coming with us. A clerkship now, and a partnership afterwards. There is no hope of making you change your mind, Davie?”

“Would you wish me to change my mind, Philip?” said David laying his arm over his friend’s shoulder, in a way that would have satisfied Violet of his interest and affection.

“I don’t know. I am not sure. I don’t understand it.”

“Yes, you do, Philip or you will sometime. I mean, you will understand why this should be the best thing for me to do. You cannot quite understand all I feel about it, because you never knew my father.”

“Tell me about him,” said Philip.

“It is not what I could tell you that would make you understand. But we speak about aspirations and ambitions, Philip; but if I had my choice what I should do, or what I should be, I should choose the life, and work, and character of my father.”

David’s voice faltered.

“Since when has that been your choice?” asked Philip.

“Always! I mean, always since he died. And, before that, he was my ideal of wisdom and goodness, though I did not particularly wish or try to be like him then?”

“And it was his wish that you should choose his profession, and live his life, and do his work?”

“He wished it, yes. And now I wish it, not merely because of his wish, but because I love my Lord and Master, and because I wish to honour Him as His soldier and servant ”

David did not find it easy to say all this to Philip, and there was silence for a minute or two.

“But haven’t you been losing time?” said Philip.

“No. Mamma does not think so. Time should try a decision so important, she thinks. I am young yet, and I have been keeping up my reading pretty well. And, besides, she thinks the care, and the steady work, and our life altogether, having to manage with just enough, you know, has been good discipline for me, and a sort of preparation.”

“I see! And when is the other sort of preparation to begin?”

“I don’t know. The way will open, mamma always says. When we came here first, mamma and Violet meant to keep a school; but, after Violet went to teach your sisters, we could get on without it, and it was so much better for us to have mamma all to ourselves. She may think of it again, and Violet is better able to help her now.”

“It is a slave’s life.”

“No; I don’t think mamma objects to it on that ground. But there is no haste about it. I always remember what mamma said to me once ­`If your master has a special work for you to do, He will provide the means for special preparation.’”

“What a wonderful woman your mother is!” said Philip.

David laughed, such a happy laugh.

“Is she? She does not think so.”

“I wonder if she would be on my side if I were to tell her all about old Caldwell’s plans, and how much good you could do with us and a future partnership, and all that. Why, Davie, you might, when you are a rich man, educate any number of ministers. Wouldn’t that do as well as to be one yourself?”

“That will be something for you to do. No; I don’t think mamma would be on your side.”

“But you are her bread-winner, as I have heard her say. How can she spare you?”

“And I shall always be so while she needs me. I can wait a long time patiently, I think. But I cannot give it up now. It would be `looking back,’ after putting my hand to the plough.”

They were silent for a good while, and then Philip said:

“Tell me about your father.”

David doubted whether he had anything new to tell, for, as they had come to care more for each other’s company, he had often spoken to Philip of his father. But if he had nothing new to tell, he told it all over in a new way a way that made Philip wonder. He told him all that I have told you, and more, of his father’s life and work how wise and strong he was how loving and beloved. He told him of his love for his Master, of his zeal for His service. He told him of his own lessons with him, of how he used to go with him to the North Gore and other places, and of what he used to say, and how happy the days used to be. He told him of his last days, and how, when it came to the end, he was so joyful for himself and so little afraid for them, though he was going to leave them alone and poor how sure he was that God would care for them and keep them safe until they all should meet again. Sometimes he spoke with breaking voice, and sometimes, though it had grown dark by this time, Philip could see that his cheeks flushed and his eyes shone as he went on, till he came to the very last, and then he said:

“He told me then, at the very last even after he had spoken about mamma, that I was to take up the armour that he was laying down. And, God helping me, so I will,” said David, with a sob, laying down his face, to hide his tears, on the shoulder of his friend. But, in a little, he raised it again, and said, quietly:

“I couldn’t go back after that, Philip.”

“No,” said Philip; and he said nothing more for a long time, nor did David. Philip spoke first:

“And so it must be `Good-bye,’ Davie?”

“Good-bye?” repeated David. “I don’t understand?”

“You are to take one way and I another; so we part company.”

David was silent from astonishment.

“As our fathers did,” said Philip. “They were friends once, as we are, Davie, but their paths divided, as ours must, I fear.”

“It need not be so.”

“It is curious to think of it,” went on Philip. “If my father were to die to-night, he would leave his children as poor as your father left his when he died. Not that it would matter; but then my father has lost his whole life, too. No, Davie, I fear the end will be that we must go different ways.”

“Dear Philip,” said David, standing before him, and speaking with much earnestness, “there is only one thing that can separate us your serving one master and I another; and that need not be. Your work may be as much for Him as mine. Philip, dear friend is He your Lord and Master, as He is mine?”

Philip shook his head.

“I do not know. I fear not, Davie. What am I saying? I know He is not. I have never done a stroke of work for Him, or for any one at His bidding, or for His sake, and that is the whole truth, Davie.”

“But that is not to be the end! His soldier and servant! There is nothing in all the world to be compared with that! Have you offered yourself to Him? Will you not offer yourself to Him? Oh, Philip! there is nothing else.”

“Davie,” said Philip, hoarsely, “you don’t begin to know what a bad fellow I have been.”

“No; nor do you. But He knows, and the worse you are the more you need to come to Him. Have you never asked Him to forgive you and take you for His own? It is for Him to do it. Ask Him now!”

David threw his arms round the neck of his friend. It was a sudden act, boyish and impulsive not at all like David. Philip was much moved.

“Ask Him, Davie,” said he, huskily.

Kneeling beside him on the stone, David did ask Him, using simple words and few such words as Philip never forgot words that he uttered in his own heart many a time afterwards, and not in vain.

They lingered a good while, but there was not much said between them after that, and when David went into the house, where his mother and Violet were waiting for him, he told them that Philip had gone home. By and by he said:

“The story Jem heard was true, mamma. Mr Caldwell wants Philip to become his partner in a new business. It seems he has saved something, and he is willing to put his capital against Philip’s youth and energy and business talents. It will be very good for Philip and for Mr Caldwell too.”

“It shows great confidence on Mr Caldwell’s part,” said Mrs Inglis.

“Yes; but, mamma, you said it as if you were surprised, as if his confidence might be misplaced.”

“I am surprised, dear, but the other idea I did not mean to convey. My surprise was because of Mr Caldwell’s well-known deliberation and caution.”

“Yes; the offer, even if it go no further, is a feather in Phil’s cap,” said Jem. “But Mr Caldwell is a shrewd old gentleman, though he be a little slow. He knows what he is about.”

“You look as though you expected to be contradicted, Jem,” said Violet, laughing.

“Is Philip pleased with the prospect? Will the thing go on?” asked Mrs Inglis.

“I think so. I hope so. It will be decided when Mr Oswald returns. Philip would have liked me to go with them into their service, I mean, with the prospect of something better by and by.”

“And what did you say to him?” asked his mother.

“Of course you refused?” said Violet.

“I don’t know about that,” said Jem. “Davie had better think twice before he refuses such an offer. But Davie never did appreciate Philip.”

David laughed at Jem, and answered his mother.

“I told him all about it, mamma. He was disappointed, but he understood, I think.”

There was no more said that night. Jem would gladly have entered into a discussion of the subject, but David did not stay to listen, and Violet would not respond, and what he had to say would not have been the best thing to say to his mother, so he kept his opinion for the hearing of Philip against the time he should see him again.

When Philip came, which was not for a day or two, the first words he said to Mrs Inglis were

“I think you ought to be a very happy woman, Aunt Mary.”

“I think so too. But what has given you new light on the subject?” asked Mrs Inglis, smiling.

“And you ought all to be very happy children,” said Philip, lifting little Mary, who was not so very little now, to his knee.

“And so we are,” said Violet.

“And you ought to be very good, too.”

“And so we are,” said Jem.

“Well, then, no more need be said on the subject at present, except that I wish that I were one of you.”

“Tell us about the new partnership,” said Jem.

“It is not to be spoken of yet. It is a secret.”

“Davie told us,” said Violet.

“Oh, I don’t mean it is to be a secret here! But it is not to be decided till my father comes home. Though I suppose he will let me do as I like.”

“If you are quite sure that you know what you would like.”

“I am quite sure I know what I would like, but I am not to have that, it seems.”

“Is it Davie?” said Violet. “But you don’t mean that you would like him to change his mind and his plans, I hope?”

“It would be selfish, wouldn’t it, and wrong? No, upon the whole I wouldn’t like Davie to be different, or to do differently. But I should like to be more like him.”

“But you are pretty good now, aren’t you,” said Mary. “Davie is very fond of you and mamma and all of us. I suppose you are not quite so good as our Davie.”

They all laughed.

“I will try to be good, indeed I will, Polly,” said Philip.

“Well that is right,” said Mary. “You should speak to mamma. She would help you.”

“Yes, I think she would. I mean to speak to her.”

And so they chatted on till David came in. Philip had made good a place among them. It was quite clear that they all liked him, as little Polly had said. They had always liked him from the very first, but he was more worthy of their liking now.

Mr Oswald and Frank came home in due time. There was nothing in Mr Oswald’s plans for his son to prevent the carrying out of the plan for the new partnership, as proposed by Mr Caldwell. He was greatly pleased with the compliment to his son, which Mr Caldwell’s proposal implied, and entered into the discussion of preliminaries with great, interest. As for himself he had returned home with no design of engaging immediately in business, except the business of an Insurance Company of which he had been made the agent. He was to wait for a year or two at least.

Frank, whose health and eyesight were quite restored, was offered the place in the new business, which Philip would so gladly have given to David. Of course he was as yet not so well qualified to perform the duties of the position as David would have been, but he possessed some qualities likely to insure success that David did not have, and he had that which was the source and secret of David’s goodness, so firmly believed in by little Mary and them all. He was learning to live, not to himself, but to his Master to do His will and make known His name, and in all things to honour Him in the eyes of the world, and so he had also David’s secret of peace. But for a time he had little to do, as the new firm was not publicly announced till later in the year, and in the meantime he accepted Mrs Inglis’s invitation, and made himself one of the children of the bridge house, to his great pleasure and theirs.