Amos Huntingdon | Page 5

Sutterby in his presence, while the very name of the poor boy Amos
was scarcely ever spoken by him except in a tone of bitterness; and
even his mother looked forward to his holidays with more of
apprehension than rejoicing.
There was one, however, who felt for that desolate-hearted child, and
loved him with a mother's tenderness. This was his aunt, Miss
Huntingdon, his father's unmarried and only sister. Half his holidays
would be spent at her house; and oh, what happy days they were for
him! Happy, too, at last in the brightest and fullest sense; for that
loving friend was privileged to lead her nephew gently to Him who
says to the shy schoolboy, as much as to the mature man, in his sorrows,
"Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy-laden, and I will give
you rest."
In the meanwhile, when Amos was five years old, another son was born
at Flixworth Manor. The baby was christened Walter, and nearly all the
love that was the share of the elder brother was poured by both father
and mother on the younger son. Years rolled on, and when our story
opens Amos was twenty-two years of age. He had passed creditably

through the university course at Oxford, but had not settled down to
any profession. Walter was seventeen; his father's delight and constant
companion in his holidays; full of life, energy, and fun, with an
unlimited good opinion of himself, and a very limited good opinion of
his brother; while all around who knew him only a little were loud in
his praises, which were not, however, echoed by those who knew him
more thoroughly. At present he was remaining at home, after
completing his school education, neither his father nor himself being
able to make up their minds as to the sphere in which his abilities
would shine the best.
And where was his sister, the eldest of the three, who was now twenty-
five years of age? Alas! she had grievously disappointed the hopes of
both father and mother, having clandestinely married, when not yet
arrived at womanhood, a man altogether beneath her in position. From
the day of that marriage Mr Huntingdon's heart and house were closed
against her. Not so the heart of her mother; but that mother pleaded
with her husband in vain for a reconciliation, for permission even to
have a single meeting with her erring child. And so the poor mother's
mind came under partial eclipse, and herself had been some years away
from home under private superintendence, when the accident above
recorded occurred to her husband and his sister.
CHAPTER THREE.
A TALK AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE.
The morning after the accident, Miss Huntingdon, who was now
keeping her brother's house, and had been returning with him the night
before after a visit to a friend, appeared as usual at the breakfast-table,
rather to Mr Huntingdon's surprise.
"My dear Kate," he said, "I hardly expected to see you at breakfast,
after your fright, and shaking, and bruising. Most ladies would have
spent the morning in bed; but I am delighted to see you, and take it for
granted that you are not seriously the worse for the mishap."
"Thank you, dear Walter," was her reply; "I cannot say that I feel very

brilliant this morning, but I thought it would be kinder in me to show
myself, and so relieve you from all anxiety, as I have been mercifully
preserved from anything worse than a severe shaking, the effects of
which will wear off in a day or two, I have no doubt."
"Well, Kate, I must say it's just like yourself, never thinking of your
own feelings when you can save other people's. Why, you are almost as
brave as our hero Walter, who risked his own neck to get us out of our
trouble last night.--Ah! here he comes, and Amos after him. Well, that's
perhaps as it should be--honour to whom honour is due."
A cloud rested on Miss Huntingdon's face as she heard these last words,
and it was deepened as she observed a smile of evident exultation on
the countenance of her younger nephew, as he glanced at the flushed
face of his elder brother. But now all seated themselves at the table, and
the previous evening's disaster was the all-absorbing topic of
conversation.
"Well," said the squire, "things might have been worse, no doubt,
though it may be some time before the horses will get over their fright,
and the carriage must go to the coachmaker's at once.--By-the-by,
Harry," speaking to the butler, who was waiting at table, "just tell
James, when you have cleared away breakfast, to see to that fence at
once. It must be made a good substantial job of, or we