His Big Opportunity
Copyright© 2024 by Amy Le Feuvre
Chapter 9: Making His Will
It was long before the cousins met; Roy’s delicate constitution had received such a shock that his condition for some time was a cause of grave anxiety. His leg did not heal, and then the terrible word was whispered through the house “amputation”!
It was a lovely evening in September when after a long talk with the doctor in the library Miss Bertram came out, her usually determined face quivering with emotion.
“I will tell him to-night, Doctor Grant, and we shall be ready for you to-morrow afternoon at three.”
She went upstairs, and Dudley with scared eyes having heard her speech now crept out of the house after the doctor.
“Look here, Doctor Grant,” he said, confronting him with an almost defiant air: “you’re not going to make Roy a cripple!”
“I’m going to save his life, if I can,” said the doctor, half sadly, as he looked down upon the sturdy boy in front of him.
“He won’t live with only one leg, I know he won’t, it will be too much of a disgrace to him; he’ll die of grief, I know he will! Oh, Doctor Grant, you might have pity on him, it isn’t fair!”
“Would you rather see him die in lingering pain?” enquired the doctor, gravely.
“Oh, I think it so awful! Why should he be the one to be smashed up. Look at me! I know everybody thinks it a pity it wasn’t me. It would have made us so much more equal. Why should I be so strong, and he so weak! I tell you what! I’ve heard a story about joining on other men’s legs. Now tell me, could you do it? Could you give him one of mine? I’d let you cut it off this minute—to-night, if you only would. If it would make him walk straight!”
Dudley seized hold of the doctor’s coat excitedly, and Doctor Grant saw his whole soul was in his words.
“I’m afraid that would be an impossible feat, my boy. No—keep your own legs to wait upon him, and cheer him up all you can.”
“Cheer him up!” was the fierce retort; “what could cheer him! I know he won’t be able to live a cripple. He always says he is straight and upright though his chest is weak, and now when he knows it’s no use trying to be strong any more, for he’ll never be able to—when he knows he won’t be able to play cricket, or football, or even climb the wall or run races—oh, it’s awful—it will break his heart, and I wish I was dead!” After which passionate speech Dudley dashed away, and the doctor continued his walk shaking his head and muttering, “It’s a bad lookout for the little fellow!”
Dudley ran across the lawn in his misery, and then nearly tumbled over Rob who was lying on the grass, his face hidden in his arms. He looked up and his eyes were red and swollen.
“Master Dudley, is it true, is he going to lose his legs?”
Dudley stood looking at him for a minute before he spoke, and then he said, “Yes, it’s all that hateful doctor!”
Rob dropped his head on his arms again and a smothered groan escaped him.
Dudley continued his run out into the stableyard, from thence to the road, and he never stopped till he reached old Principle’s little three-cornered shop.
Old Principle was busy serving customers when he came in; he gave him a friendly nod, and went on with his business whilst Dudley crept into the little back parlor, and sitting down in an old horsehair chair tried to recover his breath. It was not long before old Principle came after him.
“Well, my laddie,” he said, laying his hand on the curly head, “there’s sad news going through the village this morning, and I see by your face that ‘tis true!”
Dudley nodded and then seizing hold of the old man’s hand, leaned his head against it and burst into tears.
“Why does God do it!” he sobbed at length, “Roy is so much better than I am, he’s always trying to please God, though he never talks about it, and I’ve prayed so hard that he might be made quite well!”
“Ay, and the good Lord is making him well perhaps though not by the way you planned. He might a been killed outright, and then what a trouble you’d have been in.”
“This is nearly as bad,” muttered Dudley.
“Now, laddie, don’t harden your heart, are you one of the Lord’s own children?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think I love God as much as Roy does.”
“‘Tis an awful bad principle,” the old man continued, “to doubt and complain directly we can’t understand the Almighty’s dealings with us. He loves Master Roy better’n you and me, and the time will come when we’ll thank the Lord with all our hearts for this accident.”
This was utterly incomprehensible to Dudley.
“I feel very badly about it,” old Principle went on, “and so do you, but the one I’m most sorry for is Ben Burkstone. I hear say he’s fit to kill himself with despair!”
“Well,” said Dudley, stopping his sobs for a minute; “I don’t see it was his fault; it was the stupid pony; he funked it, and then fell and broke his knees; mine went over all right. Oh, why didn’t it happen to me! If I had been spilled, I wouldn’t have minded, and one leg wouldn’t have been half so bad to me as to Roy!”
“I reckon you’d have got your leg all right again without having to lose it. ‘Tis the laddie’s delicate constitution that is so in his way. But I think you’ll find Master Roy as plucky over the loss of his leg as he ever was. Now lift your heart up to God and ask Him that he may overrule it all for good. There goes the shop-bell!”
Old Principle disappeared, and Dudley soothed and comforted by his sympathy, retraced his steps to the house.
Meanwhile Miss Bertram had been going through the trying ordeal of breaking the news to the little invalid.
Roy was lying in bed, flushed and restless. His eyes looked unnaturally large and bright, as he met his aunt’s anxious gaze.
“I’m so tired of pain, Aunt Judy, and I can’t get to sleep.”
Miss Bertram sat down and smiled her brightest smile.
Taking his thin little hand in hers she said tenderly,
“Yes, dear, you’ve been a brave little patient, but I hope you won’t have much more to bear. You would like to be free from it, wouldn’t you?”
“Am I going to die?”
“We hope you’re going to get quite well again, if God wills, and if you will be a good boy and let the doctor cure you.”
Roy’s eyes were fixed intently on his aunt now.
“How are they going to cure me?”
Then Miss Bertram nerved herself for the occasion.
“Roy, dear, you have been so patient since you lay here, that I know you will be patient over this. Doctor Grant says that your leg will never heal as it is, but he is sure you will get well and strong again if—if you will make up your mind to do without it.”
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