My childish instinct told me that there was a difference in their smiles when they looked at me and looked at her; that the kisses given to Caroline were warmer than the kisses given to me; that the hands which dried her tears in our childish griefs, touched her more gently than the hands which dried mine.But these, and other small signs of preference like them, were such as no parents could be expected to control.I noticed them at the time rather with wonder than with repining.I recall them now without a harsh thought either toward my father or my mother.Both loved me, and both did their duty by me.If I seem to speak constrainedly of them here, it is not on my own account.I can honestly say that, with all my heart and soul.
Even Uncle George, fond as he was of me, was fonder of my beautiful child-sister.
When I used mischievously to pull at his lank, scanty hair, he would gently and laughingly take it out of my hands, but he would let Caroline tug at it till his dim, wandering gray eyes winked and watered again with pain.He used to plunge perilously about the garden, in awkward imitation of the cantering of a horse, while I sat on his shoulders; but he would never proceed at any pace beyond a slow and safe walk when Caroline had a ride in her turn.When he took us out walking, Caroline was always on the side next the wall.When we interrupted him over his dirty work in the surgery, he used to tell me to go and play until he was ready for me; but he would put down his bottles, and clean his clumsy fingers on his coarse apron, and lead Caroline out again, as if she had been the greatest lady in the land.Ah! how he loved her! and, let me be honest and grateful, and add, how he loved me, too!
When I was eight years old and Caroline was twelve, I was separated from home for some time.I had been ailing for many months previously; had got ben efit from being taken to the sea-side, and had shown symptoms of relapsing on being brought home again to the midland county in which we resided.After much consultation, it was at last resolved that I should be sent to live, until my constitution got stronger, with a maiden sister of my mother's, who had a house at a watering-place on the south coast.
I left home, I remember, loaded with presents, rejoicing over the prospect of looking at the sea again, as careless of the future and as happy in the present as any boy could be.Uncle George petitioned for a holiday to take me to the seaside, but he could not be spared from the surgery.He consoled himself and me by promising to make me a magnificent model of a ship.
I have that model before my eyes now while I write.It is dusty with age; the paint on it is cracked; the ropes are tangled; the sails are moth-eaten and yellow.The hull is all out of proportion, and the rig has been smiled at by every nautical friend of mine who has ever looked at it.Yet, worn-out and faulty as it is--inferior to the cheapest miniature vessel nowadays in any toy-shop window--I hardly know a possession of mine in this world that I would not sooner part with than Uncle George's ship.
My life at the sea-side was a very happy one.I remained with my aunt more than a year.My mother often came to see how I was going on, and at first always brought my sister with her; but during the last eight months of my stay Caroline never once appeared.I noticed also, at the same period, a change in my mother's manner.She looked paler and more anxious at each succeeding visit, and always had long conferences in private with my aunt.At last she ceased to come and see us altogether, and only wrote to know how my health was getting on.My father, too, who had at the earlier periods of my absence from home traveled to the sea-side to watch the progress of my recovery as often as his professional engagements would permit, now kept away like my mother.Even Uncle George, who had never been allowed a holiday to come and see me, but who had hitherto often written and begged me to write to him, broke off our correspondence.
