The first day he had nothing to show—he had seen nothing!

“What were the clouds doing?” Mr. Wingfold asked. “What were the horses in the fields doing? What were the birds you saw doing? What were the ducks and hens doing? Put down whatever you see any creature about.”

The next evening, he went to him again, and asked him for his paper. Arthur handed him a folded sheet.

“Now,” said Mr. Wingfold, “I am going to lay it in one of my drawers, and you must write another for me tomorrow. Then write another, and another. We shall go on like that for a month, and then we shall see something.”

At the end of the month, Mr. Wingfold took out all the papers. They read them together, and did indeed see something! The growth of Arthur’s observation was remarkable. The number of things and circumstances he was able to see by the end of the month, compared with what he had seen in the beginning, was wonderful, while the manner of his expression had changed from that of a child to that of a man.

Mr. Wingfold next set him, “The task of six o’clock in the evening,” when the things that presented themselves to his notice would be very different.

After two weeks he changed again the hour of observation, and went on changing it. So at length the youth who had, twice every day, walked along Cheapside without seeing that one face differed from another, knew most of the birds and many of the insects, and could in general tell what they were about, while the domestic animals were his familiar friends. He delighted in the grass and the wild flowers, the sky and the clouds and the stars, and knew, in a real, vital way, about the world in which he lived.

He entered into the life that was going on about him, and so in the house of God became one of the family. He had ten times his former consciousness. His life was ten times the size it was before. As was natural, his health had improved marvellously. For there is nothing like interest in life to quicken the body’s vital forces.

Richard rejoiced with the change in Arthur and walked back to Mortgrange with a heart light and thankful. The soul that had seemed rapidly sinking into the dark was now burning clear.

— Fifty-One —

Richard and His Family

As the dinner hour drew near, Richard went to the drawing room, scrupulously dressed. Lady Ann gave him the coldest of polite recognitions. Theodora was full of gladness. Victoria was scornful and as impudent as she dared be in the presence of her father. Miss Malliver was utterly wooden and behaved as if she had never seen him before. Arthur was polite and superior.

Things went pretty well, however. Percy, happily, was at Woolwich pretending to study engineering. Of him Richard had learned too much at Oxford.

Theodora and Richard were at once drawn to each other. She was a plain, good-natured, good-tempered girl with red hair—which only her father and mother disliked—and a modest, freckled face, whose smile was genuine. She was proud of her new, handsome brother. Her mother considered her stupid, accepting the judgment of the varnished governess. Theodora was indeed one of those who continue to be children longer than most, but she was not therefore slow or dull. The aloe takes seven years to blossom, but when it does, its flower may be thirty feet long. Where there is love there is intellect—at what period it may show itself matters little. Richard felt he had in her another sister—one for whom he might do something.