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His Big Opportunity

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<h2>III</h2> MAKING AN OPPORTUNITY It was two days before Dudley was allowed to see the little invalid. The doctor had been in constant attendance; but all danger was over now, and Roy as usual was rapidly picking up his strength again. "His constitution has wonderful rallying powers," the old doctor said; "he is like a bit of india rubber!" It seemed to Dudley that Roy's face had got wonderfully white and small; and there was a weary worn look in his eyes, as he turned round to greet him. "Now sit down and talk to him, but don't let him do the talking," was nurse's advice as she left the boys together. Dudley sat down by the bed, and squeezed hold of the little hand held out to him. "I'm so sorry, old chap," he said, nervously; "do you feel really better? I've been so miserable." "I'm first-rate now," was the cheerful response; "it's awfully nice getting your breath back again; it's only made me feel a little tired, that's all!" "It was all me!" "Why that has been my comfort," said Roy, with shining eyes; "I felt when I was very bad, that if I died, I might have lived for something. It would have been lovely to die for you, Dudley—at least you know to have got myself ill from that reason; it's so very tame when I get bad from nothing at all; but I'm well again now, so I know God is letting me live to do something else!" "I was the one that ought to have been made ill to punish me," blurted out Dudley, and then he was silent. Roy's eyes rested on his flushed face with some wonder. "It wasn't wicked of you to fall into the river; you couldn't help it." A crimson flush crept over Dudley's face up to the very roots of his hair; he picked the fringe of the counterpane restlessly between his fingers, and kicked his heels against the legs of his chair. Silence again: Roy looked steadily at him; and then an expression of astonishment and bewilderment flitted across his face, followed by one of strange, conviction. "Dudley, look at me." Roy's tone was peremptory, but Dudley never moved, until the command was given in a sharper tone. Then he raised his head, but his blue eyes had a guilty harassed look in them, and he dropped them quickly again. "It's no good; I've found you out. Did you tie up your feet like that yourself?" After a minute, in a sepulchral tone, came the words, "Yes, when you weren't looking!" Roy lay back on his pillows with a sigh. A little disappointment mingled with his feelings which were somewhat mixed. After a pause, he said, "You are a good fellow! To think of doing that for me! What would you have done if I hadn't jumped in to save you?" Then Dudley raised his head: "I knew you wouldn't fail me," he said, triumphantly; "I knew I could trust you!" Roy put out his thin little arm and drew Dudley's bonny face down by the side of his on the pillow. "I don't think," he whispered, "that even I could have been plucky enough to do that—not in sight of that old mill wheel!" Neither spoke for a few minutes; then Dudley said, "I should have been your murderer if you had died. That has been the worst of it. But you did like saving a drowning fellow, didn't you?" "Ye-es, but it wasn't quite real—at least it isn't as if you really had tumbled in by accident." "Well but I only did what you said we must do. I made an opportunity." And after this remark Roy had nothing more to say; but neither he nor Dudley ever enlightened any one as to the true cause of the accident. When Roy had quite recovered, the two boys set out one afternoon to visit their greatest friend in the village. This was the old man every one called "old Principle." He lived by himself in a curious three-cornered house at the extreme end of the village, and kept a little general shop where everything but eatables could be obtained. "I keep every article that man, woman, or child can want for their use, for their homes, their work or their play; but food and drink I will not cater for. It's against my principles to sell perishable goods, and I will not be the one to minister to the very lowest animal wants of my fellow creatures." This was his favorite speech, from which it may be judged he was somewhat of a character. He had several hobbies, and was a well-read man and superior to those around him; and perhaps this was the cause of his holding himself aloof from most of the villagers. They termed him "cranky and cracked," but his goods were always acceptable, and he was thoroughly successful in his business. When his shop was closed he would go out on the hills, and there spend his time studying geology and botany. He knew the name of every plant and insect, and the strata of the earth for many miles round; and it was out of doors that the boys first made his acquaintance. They found him on this afternoon seated behind his counter mending an eight-day clock. "Well, old Principle, how are you?" said Roy, climbing up to the counter and sitting comfortably on it with his legs dangling in mid air; "we haven't seen you for ages." "Are you going out this evening?" enquired Dudley, as he proceeded to follow Roy's example. "To be sure, when my work is done," responded the old man pushing up his spectacles and regarding the boys with kindly eyes; "these light evenings are my delight, as you know. If you sit still till I have finished this clock, I will show you a treasure I found yesterday." "Can you mend everything?" asked Roy, curiously; "I never knew you understood about clocks." "I've learned to mend most things," was the answer; "it isn't given to every one to make, and I'm one of the menders in the world not the makers. There's one thing I can't mend—and that is broken hearts." There was silence: Roy broke it at last by saying with knitted brow, "I'd rather be a maker than a mender, but lots of people aren't either." "Quite right," nodded the old man; "most folk are breakers." "I wish I was as clever as you," said Dudley; "you mend umbrellas, and kettles, and plates, and windows, and gates, and all sorts. How did you learn?" "Well, I ain't ashamed of owning that my father was just a travelling tinker, and when I was a little fellow I used to go round with him and see him do most things. It was from travelling through the country I learned to love it so. And my father, he was a thoughtful man, and when I used to ask where the tin came from, and where the iron and where the lead, he took to learning of it up so that he could answer me; and then I came to find that most of our comforts come from underground, and so I fell to digging. Ah, youngsters, earth is a wonderful treasure house!" The clock was done. Old Principle put it carefully by and then mounted on some wooden steps, and took down a tin saucepan. The boys knew the shelf well; as though apparently it was just a row of tinware for sale, many a pot and pan held treasures that geologists would have given a great deal to possess. Now when old Principle held out a peculiar shaped stone with loving pride, Roy and Dudley pressed forward to look at it. "I know, it's a Roman hammer," shouted out Dudley. "It's a Saxon jug," suggested Roy. "It's part of a jaw of a mammoth many thousands of years old, and there are two teeth in perfect preservation," old Principle said solemnly. "Where did you find it?" "Ah, you must come and see! In a cave that I have only just discovered, and which must originally have been by the side of a river. I'll take you there to-night if you can get permission to come." Nothing delighted the boys more than an expedition with old Principle. They promised to be down at his shop punctually at half-past seven that evening, and then the conversation drifted into other channels. "Old Principle, do you think we ought to make opportunities?" questioned Dudley, presently; "Roy thinks we ought, and I did make one the other day, but it didn't turn out well." "Ay, Master Roy is always for making," said the old man with a smile; "he will try and cram his life with what will come fast enough naturally, if he only waits." "But will it?" questioned Roy, flushing up with eagerness; "do you think it will? I'm longing to do something big and grand and good; I mayn't live to grow up you know, and I'm sure we're meant to do something when we're boys." "We're trying to do good to all men as we have opportunity," said Dudley, gravely. "Ay, stick to that, boys, and you'll succeed. There's none too small to be true philanthropists." "What is a philanthropist?" asked Roy. "A man who benefits his fellow creatures. 'Tis a good principle to keep in mind." "But it's difficult for boys to do grown-up people good. They always do boys good." "Now look here, Master Roy. I've lived and learned where you haven't, and I try and pass my principles on to you. That's how I do you good. You come to me and take what I give you and seeing you act out the advice I offers you does me good. You do me good too, every time you comes to see me; it's cheery to hear and see you." "But that's very tame for us," said Roy, a little scornfully. "Oh, well, if your own likes must come into the question, it's a different story! I didn't know it mattered about our feelings as long as the good is done! 'Tis a bad principle to try to please others only when it pleases ourselves." Roy looked a little ashamed of himself. He said no more on the subject, and shortly after he and Dudley ran home to tea. They were very disappointed when their aunt refused to let them go out again that evening. "It is too damp a night for Jonathan to be wandering through wet grass and bog. You can go, David, if you like, but he must wait for another opportunity." "I shan't go without Roy," said Dudley, sturdily. "We'll come and make a cave in the attic," suggested Roy, trying to be cheerful. And for the rest of that evening they were absorbed in making a great dust and racket amongst lumber boxes far away from their grandmother's hearing. <hr style="width: 65%;"> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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