and lord. He did it at first out of pure kindness, to save the earl
from the well-meant intrusion of neighbors, but afterward from sheer
pleasure in seeing the boy so happy. To him, mounted in Malcolm's arms
and brought for the first time into contact with the outer world, every
thing was a novelty and delight. And his quick perception let nothing
escape him. He seemed to watch lovingly all nature, from the grand
lights and shadows which moved over the mountains, to the little
moorland flowers which he made Malcolm stop to gather. All living
things too, from the young rabbit that scudded across their path, to the
lark that rose singing up into the wide blue air--he saw and noticed
every thing.

But he never once said, what Helen, who, as often as her house duties
allowed, delighted to accompany them on these expeditions, was always
expecting he would say, Why had God given these soulless creatures legs
to run and wings to fly, strength, health, and activity to enjoy
existence, and denied all these things to him? Denied them, not for a
week, a month, a year, but for his whole lifetime--a lifetime so
short at best;--"few of days, and full of trouble." Why could He not
have made it a little more happy?

Thousands have asked themselves, in some form or other, the same
unanswered, unanswerable question. Helen had done so already, young as
she was; when her mother died, and her father seemed slowly breaking
down, and the whole world appeared to her full of darkness and woe. How
then must it have appeared to this poor boy? But, strange to say, that
bitter doubt, which so often came into Helen's heart, never fell from
child's lips at all. Either he was still a mere child, accepting life
just as he saw it, and seeking no solution of its mysteries, or else,
though so young, he was still strong enough to keep his doubts to