MIDSUMMER HOLIDAYS AMONG THE MOUNTAINS

The summer holidays were coming very near, and most of the boys at Mr. Carey’s school were looking forward to them with great joy; for they had pleasant homes, where they knew that their fathers and mothers would welcome them, and their young sisters and brothers would be glad to see them again. Arthur Vivyan, too, was expecting to enjoy his time; for Mrs. Estcourt generally spent some of the summer weeks in the Swiss mountains, and this year it was a pleasure to her to think of showing the places, that she knew so well, to her nephew; and the thought of his wonder and surprise, when he should see the snowy mountains, and the deep blue lakes, that the sun would glow with a deeper colour, gave her more pleasure than she had known for a long time. Arthur had been very busy with his examination, and other things had hindered another walk with his new friend; but they both expected, when the holidays were over, and they should meet again, that there would be more time for walks and talks.

It was the last day of school. Arthur was hurrying in to his class, which was in a different room from the one in which Edgar studied, when in the corridor they met. Arthur was passing him quickly, with a nod and smile, when Edgar stopped him, and said breathlessly

“Oh, Arthur, I have been looking everywhere for you! I must speak to you.”

“I can’t stop one minute,” said Arthur. “I’m late as it is.”

“Yes; but I must!” said Edgar eagerly. “You don’t know, I am going away to stay.”

“Well!” and Arthur thought. “Let me see. I will try and be ready, five minutes beforehand; and I dare say, the other boys will be longer going to-day.”

“Oh, yes!” said Edgar. “I forgot; there will be plenty of time, of course, this last day.”

So Arthur hurried in to his class, forgetting, after he had given it a moment’s thought, what Edgar had said.

He thought of it again, when he was waiting under the trees; where groups of boys were standing, talking eagerly, with bright, busy faces. Edgar’s was very different, and his pale, earnest face was even deeper than usual.

“Well,” said Arthur, “what have you to tell me?”

Edgar had a letter in his hand.

“Why, look here,” he said. “I told you, I had to go and live at my uncle’s in London. I did not mind that; it did not make much difference; but see here, what he says in this letter I had to-day. He is my guardian now, you know, and he says he thinks it will be better for me on every account, to give up school.”

“And what are you to do? Not going to have any more lessons?”

“He says, I am to study with his boys. They have a tutor, and he hopes we shall all find it very pleasant.”

Edgar’s face did not look as if he expected to do so.

“Well,” said Arthur.

“Do you think it is well, Arthur?” said Edgar, a little reproachfully. “I hate it, and I hate him, and I hate them all. I thought it was bad enough before.”

“Oh, Edgar, that’s wicked!”

“Well, I can’t help it. Wait until you get bothered, and perhaps you will be wicked too. And, of course, they will hate me, all of them. He has a wife and a lot of daughters, as well as sons.”

“They would be your cousins, would they not?”

“I suppose so,” said Edgar hopelessly.

“Well, do you know, I think it need not be so very bad. You know, Edgar, they would be next best to brothers and sisters. And there might be a little one,” said Arthur, with a soft, tender feeling; as he thought of the little sunny sister, that still lived in his heart. “Why do you hate it so very much?”

“Every reason,” said Edgar bitterly. “And, Arthur, you know I love you, more than any one else in the world; and I wanted to talk to you sometimes.”

“And I am sorry, Edgar,” said Arthur; “only then, you know, you are coming to stay with us at Ashton Grange, when my father and mother come back.”

“Ah, but that is such a very long time; and, you know, I may die before that. Perhaps I shall; and if I were certain of going to heaven, I should like to die.”

“I thought you would be certain by this time, Edgar; you know you ought to be certain. Why can’t you stop bothering about yourself? Oh, Edgar, I wish you would!”

“I do get so frightened,” said Edgar, his lip trembling.

“But mamma says, that is all the more reason, why you should let the Lord Jesus take care of you. That’s all, you know, Edgar. But I have told you so often, I think the best thing I can do, is to pray for you.”

“Will you, Arthur? Will you really?” said Edgar, turning round a very anxious, eager face; and he said it again. “Oh, do please, every day, Arthur! I don’t believe any one else does. Father used to pray for me; oh, I know he did!” and Edgar’s words ended in smothered sobs.

Arthur’s arms were round his neck now. “Dear Edgar, don’t cry. You know I do love you just as if you were my brother; and I will pray for you every day. I do sometimes already. And then we can write to each other, you know, can’t we?” Looking through the trees they could see that the other boys were fast dispersing, and that only one or two of the day boys were left; so Arthur knew that he must go, and that it must be a very long good-bye to Edgar.

They walked together to the gate, and then they stopped. Edgar seemed to be searching in his pocket for something. Presently he found it, and placed it in Arthur’s hand.

“What is this?” said Arthur.

“Well, it is a present for you. I have nothing else to give you, and I did want to give you something.”

“But what is it?” said Arthur; for he seemed puzzled by the appearance of Edgar’s gift, although it was open in his hand.

“Well, I’ll tell you,” said Edgar. “I have two medals that my grandfather got at college, and father gave them to me when he went away; and, you know, if you were my brother you would have one; so I want you to take it. I have one just like it.”

“Very well,” said Arthur; “thank you, Edgar, and I don’t like saying good-bye at all, you know; but we must; and, Edgar, won’t you do it, what we talked about?”

“And you remember what you promised about praying. Mind you do, Arthur. Good-bye.”

Then Arthur went away; and as he was walking homewards, there was more than one tear brushed away by his little hot, ink-stained hand, though it was not a heart-grief to him, and he did not know what a lonely, desolate feeling was in Edgar’s heart, as he watched him walking slowly away until the distance hid him from his eyes; for Arthur was the chief object in his heart just then.

The next day the play-ground at Mr. Carey’s school was quiet and empty, and the broad shadows fell softly on the silent grass. The sheep in the fields must have wondered at the stillness. And Mr. Carey was enjoying the half-yearly silence that reigned there.

Arthur had been looking forward to the holiday journey on the Continent with glowing expectation; he could hardly believe at first that he was really going to see the towns and countries of which he had learnt in his geography lessons. He tried to imagine the journey, and to see pictures of the places where they were going; but that was not very easy, as he had never been so far before as this last journey he had taken, and he knew nothing at all of travelling by sea; this he found out to be a very unpleasant reality; and he wished very much that, while he remained abroad with his aunt, the tunnel under the sea would be finished between Dover and Calais.

They had a very pleasant time in Switzerland. Then Arthur saw the deep blue lake with its solemn projecting mountains that swelled in great mounds around, and far down where the gleaming peaks of white made the blue look deeper; and in the evening, when the sun was hiding behind, and was throwing a flame-coloured glow on the grandeur around, he would stand on the terrace and feel the solemn hush that told the night was coming.

Several weeks were passed among the mountains, and it was not until just before the opening of the school that he found himself back at Myrtle Hill.