The Old Castle and Other Stories | Page 5

whom he
died--a boy that Christ cares for, and is ever watching over, and in
whose troubles and pleasures, joys and sorrows, Christ is tenderly
concerned--O Georgie, if he be Christ's friend, must not we like to be
kind to and help him, to do him as much good and as little harm as we
can?"
"Yes, yes, I see," he answered softly, and with much feeling. Annie
went on.
"And if he be a boy who does not love God," she said solemnly, "then
must he be one of the wicked with whom God says that he is angry
every day. And oh, Georgie, think what it must be to have God angry
with you every day! to go through the world without God, never to
think of him with love! to have no God to serve, no God to care for you;
never to have your troubles made easy by knowing that the loving God
has sent them, never to have your joys made sweet because they are his
loving gift! O Georgie, how dreary, how desolate! Can you help being
pitiful to any one who is in such a state?"
"No, oh no," was said by Georgie's eyes even more earnestly than by
his tongue. He said no more; for boys cannot speak of what they feel so
readily as girls. But Annie's thought had gone deep into his heart, and
as he went a few minutes after down towards the village on an errand
for his father, his whole thoughts were occupied by it. Much more
soberly than usual did he walk down the avenue, thinking over again all
that Annie had said, and praying earnestly that God would keep it in his
memory, and bring it strongly before him each time he had occasion to
use it.
Such occasion was close at hand. As he came out of the gate into the
road, he saw, a little way before him, a boy who, as he feared--nay,
rather as he knew--was one of those wicked of whom Annie had been
speaking. His name was Alick. Poor fellow, he was a cripple; he had
been a cripple from his very babyhood. He had never been able to put
his feet to the ground, to walk or run about like other boys, but could
only get along slowly and painfully by the help of crutches. He was
besides very delicate, and often suffered violent attacks of pain in his

back and limbs, so that every one must have felt sorry for him, had he
not been such a bad, cruel, selfish boy, that anger often drove pity away
from the softest hearts. But there was this excuse for him, he had never
had any one to teach him better. His mother died when he was a baby.
His father was very rich, but was a coarse, hard man--one who, like the
unjust judge, feared not God, nor regarded man. He was fond of his
poor boy, who was his only child, but he showed his fondness by
indulging his every wish, and suffering him to do in all things exactly
as he pleased. So that Alick grew more and more wicked, cruel, and
selfish every year, until he had come to be disliked and avoided by
every one who knew him. Georgie had a particular dislike to him. For
Alick, knowing that Georgie was far too brave to strike a cripple who
could not help himself, took the greatest pleasure in teasing, and
provoking, and working him up into passions which George could not
vent upon him.
The two boys saw each other a good while before they met, and Alick
had time to prepare a taunting speech which he knew would be
particularly provoking to George. But George also had time to think of
Alick, time to recollect what Annie had said about the utter dreariness
of going through the world without God; and God, answering George's
earnest prayer, caused this recollection to move his heart to the
tenderest pity and concern for poor Alick. So when the mocking,
provoking speech was given forth in the bitterest way, George's only
answer was a look of tender, even of loving compassion.
Alick misunderstood George's feeling. He thought that look was meant
to express pity for his infirmities, and pity on that account he could not
bear. His cheek flushed crimson with anger, and he poured forth a
volley of fearful oaths and curses upon George, who was now passing
him upon the opposite side of the road. Again George only answered
with that look so strangely full of deep, tender pity, that Alick's heart
was stirred by it, he knew not how nor why. He felt half provoked, as if
he were being cheated out of his anger, and