An Elder Brother by Eglanton Thorne

WHEN Michael rose the next day, he found to his satisfaction that the wind had changed. It no longer blew from the north-east. There was a soft, spring-like feeling in the air. It was time for Spring to herald her approach. The winter had been long and hard. No one felt more pleasure at the thought of its departure than did Michael Betts.

He opened his shop betimes on this fair morning, and then set to work to put things in order there. He felt very weak as he did so. More than once he dropped the heavy volumes he tried to lift. It was clear he was not the man he had been. No, he was beginning to fail. And then he thought with a smile and a sigh of the little fair-haired maiden who had thought him "so very old. " He was very anxious to know how this morning found her. He kept hoping that the girl whose acquaintance he had made in so strange a manner would come in to tell him how the little sufferer was; but she did not come, and at last, unable to wait longer, he sent Mrs. Wiggins round to the house to make inquiries.

The news she brought cheered him greatly. She had been told that the little girl had taken a turn for the better, and there now seemed hope of her recovery.

"Thank God! " ejaculated old Michael.

He could not trust himself to say more. He felt so glad that he could have cried like a child for very gladness. As it was he had to take off his spectacles and wipe them very carefully more than once before he could go on with his work.

"Thank God," he said to himself over and over again. God had heard his prayer-their prayer. How he wished his new friend would come in, that they might rejoice together! He had known her but for a day; he did not even know her name; but the sorrow and anxiety they had shared, the prayer they had joined in breathing forth as from one heart, had united them by a close bond of sympathy which years of ordinary acquaintance could not have wrought.

But the girl did not appear all that day, nor the second day, nor the third. Michael began to feel a vague uneasiness concerning her.

"Surely she might have come round just to say how pleased she was," he thought. "Can it be that she wants to drop my acquaintance, or is her father worse? If only I knew where she lived, I'd go and see."

Meanwhile each day Margery was reported to be a little better. Her throat grew clearer, her voice more distinct, and signs of returning strength gladdened the heart of her anxious mother, till at length the little one's recovery no longer seemed doubtful.

How thankful Michael was, no words can tell. He felt that if the little one had died, he could never have forgiven himself for what he had done. As it was, the burden of his past weighed heavily on his mind. He fell into the habit of walking round to Mrs. Lavers' house every evening when his shop was closed. He would carry with him some little gift of flowers or fruit for the child. And Mrs. Lavers never refused these, never showed by word or look the least consciousness of the wrong he had done her.

Once when he spoke of it, she said: "Dear friend, let us forget all about that. Our Lord taught us that if we did not forgive the brother who wronged us, we could have no blessed sense of God's forgiving love. I forgive you from my heart, and God will forgive you too if you ask Him."

But old Michael went home with a heavy heart. He remembered how he had treated his own brother, and it seemed to him that he had no right to expect that God would forgive him his sins.

One evening Michael was in his shop, setting things in order at the close of the day. He had not yet put up his shutters; but he scarcely expected to have any more customers that day, when suddenly the door opened, the bell tinkled, and he looked up to see the worn, weary-looking preacher entering the shop. It was some time since this gentleman had been there, and Michael was pleased to see him again.

"Just in time, sir," he said; "in another ten minutes my shutters would have been up."

"Ah, well, I am very glad to find you here," replied the gentleman; "though I do not come as a purchaser. But what is the matter with you, Betts? You are not looking at all well."

"I have not been well, sir; but I'm better now. I've had a sharp attack of rheumatic fever, and it has left me as you see. I shall never be again the man I was."

"Dear me! I am sorry to hear that. Rheumatism is a terrible thing. You do look as if it had pulled you down. And unhappily I bring you news that will distress you. Do you know I am visiting a poor man in the district where my mission-hall is who tells me he is your brother."

Michael started and changed colour.

"It's true, sir," he said, after a moment's pause; "he is my brother."

"I thought so. I could not doubt his story as he told it. It is a sad story, Mr. Betts. He is now on his death-bed. I have come to entreat you to go with me to him."