The Old Castle and Other Stories | Page 4

only stared at me, with the biggest,
wildest eyes, you ever saw. 'Dud,' said I, 'dear fellow, what is the
matter, don't you know me?' Then all of a sudden he burst out crying. O
girls! you never cried like that, and I hope you never will,--great big
sobs, and I helped him. Then he flung his arms tight around my neck,
and kissed me for the first time in his life--kissed me over and over, my
cheeks and my hair and my hands, and then he laughed, and right in the
midst cried as if his heart would break, and I began to understand that
poor 'Dud' thought he had killed me. No one knows how long we
laughed and cried, and kissed each other, but when we grew a little
calmer we went back into the old castle, and on the very steps where
we had our quarrel, we knelt down, holding each other's hands, and
promised always to love each other, and try to keep down our wicked
tempers."
"And we asked some one to help us to keep the resolution," said
Dudley, gently.
"Well, how is it!" said little Prue with a bewildered air; "was it you and

'Dud' that went and knelt on the steps to pray?"
"Yes, 'Dud' and I."
"Well then, what became of that other wicked boy that wasn't Dudley
Wylde at all?"
Another shout covered poor Prue with confusion, as Bernard
answered,--
"Would you believe it, you dear little Prue, we have never seen
anything of him from that day to this?"

GEORGE AND ALICK.
"Well, you know, Annie, it is all very well to try to be kind to and help
nice people--people whom you like. It is the nicest thing in the world to
help you, Annie, because you are always so good, and kind, and gentle.
But there are people to whom I never could be kind, let me try ever so
much."
"But Georgie," his sister began.
He interrupted her with some impatience.
"Oh, I know what you are going to say. You always say that we ought
to like everybody. But that is nonsense. Everybody is not likable, and I
don't like people who are not likable, and I never shall, and never can."
"I did not mean to say that. I don't always say it; I don't think I ever
said it," she answered quietly. "I know that one cannot like people who
are not likable. But Georgie," (with much earnestness,) "I know, and
you know, that it is God's will, that it is God's command, that we
should be kind, and tender, and gentle, and pitiful to every one, whether
we like them or not."
Yes, Georgie did know that. Often had he been reminded of it. But as

this was a command he often broke, he did not like to think of it. He
moved restlessly and impatiently on his chair, and said, with some
fretfulness:--
"Well, but how can one; at least how can a rough boy like me? You can,
Annie, I know. You do. Although you are often confined to this stupid
bed for weeks at a time, you do more good, and make more people
happy and comfortable, than any one in all the house. You are so good.
It is easy for you."
"No, Georgie, it is not easy for me," she answered, her sweet, pale face,
flushing at his praise. "I am not always kind. But a thought came into
my mind about a year ago that has always helped me a great deal. I
think God must have put it into my mind. Indeed I am sure he did, it
has helped me so much."
"And what was the thought?" George asked eagerly.
"I was thinking how difficult it was to feel kindly, to feel rightly
towards those whom we don't care for, who are not pleasant; and then it
came all in a minute into my head, that we should find it much easier if
we could only remember ever and always that everybody we meet must
be either God's friend or God's enemy."
"But how could that help?" George asked, knitting his brows, as if
greatly puzzled.
Annie tried to explain.
"You know," she said, "that there are no two ways about it,--that we
must either be God's friend or his enemy."
"Yes," he answered thoughtfully; "papa made me see that long ago."
"And every boy you meet is either the one or the other, whatever else
he may be, nice or not, pleasant and likable, or unpleasant and
unlikable. If he be God's friend--if he be a boy who loves our dear Lord
Jesus Christ," she went on, with an earnestness of feeling which

brought tears to her eyes,--"a boy whom Christ loves, and for