After the cold March winds had disappeared, April came in exceptionally mild. The warm spring weather just suited the baby. In a few weeks he was able to be taken out, to Ethel’s and Jessie’s intense delight. They played nearby, while little Stanley lay for hours in his baby carriage out on the lawn. His nurse said that you could almost see him grow.
“It’s good for him,” the nurse would say, and the pure fresh air from the park was good for the little fellow. “If mothers only knew the value of open-air treatment for their children, there would be far less sickness and death among infants,” said the wise and tenderhearted nurse.
Little Stanley grew sturdy and strong. He soon learned to know Ethel and Jessie. By the time he was six months old he would put out his arms and crow with delight the moment they came in from school. But it was Ethel who monopolized him, and was always ready to play with him. No matter what she was doing, she would most willingly lay it aside to look after baby.
When the long bright days of summer were over, there were fewer outdoor amusements for the girls and their little brother. During the short winter evenings they had fun teaching the tiny boy to stand alone, and to lisp out baby words.
The very first word he said was “Tan.” And following quickly on that came “Tan onts Tel.” It was always the same. “Tel” was his name for Ethel. In childish sorrow or glee Stanley would put out his little arms, calling his sister. Soon no one called their darling “baby” or “Stanley” any longer. He called himself “Tan” and soon everyone else did too.
The kind nurse was gone. Mr. Clarke’s income would not stretch to keeping her as part of the household. Cheerful, obliging Mary, the maid, looked after the house and the meals while Mrs. Clarke devoted her time almost exclusively to her boy. But during the holidays and in the evenings, she was only too glad to relinquish her treasure to Ethel, who easily disposed of her homework after Tan had been put to bed.
No wonder Ethel loved him. She and Jessie took turns undressing him and putting on his pajamas for bed. What fun they had when he wiggled and twisted and laughed with them. When the spring days came round again, he would crawl out of the cozy crib after the girls had tucked him in, saying: “Tan tum up ’gain,” like a jack-in-the-box.
Both Mr. and Mrs. Clarke almost idolized their boy. He was a beautiful child. Indeed no stranger could pass by the little fellow without being struck with the bright, intelligent blue eyes that rosy cheeks set off to so much advantage, the whole encircled with tiny golden curls that covered his head like a cap, giving him a mischievous look, that seemed to say, I’m ready for fun.
Now he needed extra attention, having arrived at the inquisitive age of eighteen months. The autumn evenings were so chilly that playing on the little lawn was out of the question for little Tan. His playtime had to be moved indoors. Mrs. Clarke had reserved one room specially as a playroom, so that Tan could tumble about and shout to his heart’s content. Ethel and Jessie usually spent their evenings together there until half-past six when, tired out with play, Tan would be quite ready for bed. Twice a week the evenings were devoted to music lessons. Then, during the other’s lesson, each girl had their darling all to themselves.
Tan always missed Ethel when it was Jessie’s turn to amuse him alone. Mrs. Clarke well knew that careful, methodical, motherly little Jessie could be trusted to watch Tan by herself. In fact she preferred leaving little Stanley with her younger daughter than with Ethel, who rarely restrained him in his boisterous merriment.
A favorite amusement was running round the nursery table, and one never-to-be-forgotten evening Ethel took her turn alone. Mrs. Clarke had taken Jessie out with her, and her sister prepared to look after Tan. But that day she had acquired a new book titled Water Babies. Though Ethel was over thirteen, children’s books still fascinated her. So engrossed was she with Water Babies that she entirely forgot the little “land baby” who was toddling round and round the room like a train engine, saying, “Tan, puff puff.”
Ethel did not see that, eventually, he must fall, until there came a thud and a scream — then a little white face lay silent on the rug. She sprang up in terror, and, picking up the child, saw that, if not quite unconscious, he was completely stunned, his head having hit the fireplace guard, causing a nasty cut on one side. His fair hair was already stained with blood.
Ethel had the presence of mind to press her handkerchief tightly to the wound, and rush downstairs for Mary or her father. She earnestly hoped her father would be at home, but both were out.
What should she do? Poor Ethel pressed her hands together with her face as pale as the baby she had laid on the couch. Fortunately, a bright thought came to her mind — Ella who lived next door with her aunt could go for the doctor, if she were home. Happily, Ella stood at the garden gate, waiting for a girlfriend who occasionally went for a walk with her. Ethel rushed to her.
“Please, Ella, run as quickly as you can for the doctor. Baby’s cut his head, and no one else is home.”
Almost before she had finished, Ella was off. Ethel ran quickly back to her little brother. Finding he had rallied a little, she started with trembling fingers to undress him. Within ten minutes — minutes which seemed like hours to Ethel — the doctor entered.
“Oh, I’m so thankful you have come,” cried out Ethel, and bursting into tears, she could say no more.
“Never mind! Never mind! We will soon see what’s the matter, and put things right,” said the doctor, cheerfully. But as he bent over little Tan, his face became grave.
“If you will finish undressing him, I will attend to the wound,” said the doctor.
Ethel, as quickly as her trembling hands would allow, finished removing the clothes of the little sufferer.
When he was in his crib, the doctor went on to cleanse the cut, before stitching it up. The poor baby screamed so that Ethel rushed out of the room. The doctor immediately called her back.
“This will never do, you must be brave. I need your help. Please get me some clean water.”
Ethel obeyed, and as she did, she heard the hall door open. A moment later Mrs. Clarke rushed into the room with pale face and quivering lips.
“Oh, what is the matter?” she cried.
Poor Ethel attempted to speak, but again burst out sobbing.
“It is all right, Mrs. Clarke. A nasty accident, but with care he’ll be OK.”
Little Tan’s piercing shrieks had somewhat quieted. The doctor calmly took out his needle and stitched up the ugly wound, which was far less painful than his probing had been. As he carefully bandaged up the little head, Mrs. Clarke and Ethel looked on sorrowfully.
“Now, my little chap, you’re more comfortable,” said the doctor, cheerfully. Turning to Mrs. Clarke, he said, “You must keep him very quiet. There is always danger of a concussion in anything like this. I will come tomorrow to check on him.” Taking up his hat and with a polite, “Good day,” he followed Mrs. Clarke from the room.
Ethel wearily sat down by the crib and gazed on those closed eyes and the little white face, crowned with golden hair. She sadly thought of the change from an hour ago, when he had been so full of life and happiness.
“It’s all my fault. I did not watch him. I was not thinking of him; I was reading,” she, weeping bitterly, told her mother a few minutes later as she entered the room, very grave and sad. Mrs. Clarke understood from Ethel’s few remarks, brokenly uttered, how it had happened. She did not scold her daughter. She knew Ethel’s pain in seeing her darling brother suffer would be more than sufficient to teach her the danger of thoughtlessness, and trusted that this might be a lesson to her to be more careful in the future.
Much sorrow and weary years might have been saved had Ethel learned that first lesson, which later on had to be repeated, and far, far harder was the second lesson than the first. For the time being, Ethel promised her mother always to be careful, and in prayer that night she prayed as she had never done before, that if God would make little Tan well again, she would be so different. But, though she cried to the Lord for her little brother, she did not yet understand her own need of the sustaining power of Christ.
Weary days followed. Ethel and Jessie found schoolwork almost more than they could manage, so occupied were their thoughts about their little brother, whose life for a day or two hung, as it were, on a thread. Mrs. Clarke was worn out nursing him. For hours she would take the little fellow from his crib and rest the aching head in her motherly arms. Those days, he seemed, if anything, dearer to her than before.
Bitterly Ethel reproached herself over and over for her thoughtlessness. Jessie, in her love for her sister, suffered almost as much as she did herself. It seemed so strange to her to see Ethel go about each day so subdued.
All the school knew that something was the matter when Ethel was so quiet. They questioned Jessie, and for once she had to do the talking, but so sad was the topic that she would willingly have said nothing. There was much sympathy shown, and Miss Bland herself excused many a lesson, knowing the heartache of the two girls whose lives were bound up in their baby brother.
At last the day came when the doctor said all danger was over and little Tan might be dressed and go downstairs. The fair baby face was somewhat thinner, but the blue eyes had lost nothing of their bright, intelligent expression. Mr. and Mrs. Clarke were filled with intense thankfulness. It was a happy little family that gathered in the dining room the day Tan came downstairs again.
“Tan pay, if Tel now ount tumble down,” he lisped out, and Ethel whispered to him, “Yes, darling, you shall play with Tel, and she won’t let you hurt yourself again.”
Ethel really meant it, but she had not sought the Lord’s help.
In a week or two she was her old, talkative, impetuous self again. In spite of that, the memory of those days often came to her mind. She often thought, If Tan had died, it would have been my fault, and then I could never have been happy again.
Time, which heals so many grieved hearts, would have quickly proven to a girl of fourteen how mistaken she was. To the mother it would have been different. For Mrs. Clarke to have lost her one boy would have been irreparable, and she dared not think what she should feel if she were to lose him now. Her heart rejoiced in the fact that he was restored to their hearts, and with the exception of a scar, which the golden curls could not quite hide, Tan was himself, as bright, healthy and happy as ever.