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diff --git a/21226.txt b/21226.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..cba52e7 --- /dev/null +++ b/21226.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11822 @@ +Project Gutenberg's Christie Redfern's Troubles, by Margaret Robertson + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Christie Redfern's Troubles + +Author: Margaret Robertson + +Illustrator: Edward Barnard Lintott + +Release Date: April 27, 2007 [EBook #21226] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHRISTIE REDFERN'S TROUBLES *** + + + + +Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England + + + + +Christie Redfern's Troubles + +By Margaret Robertson +________________________________________________________________________ +This author's books tend to be a bit religious, and this is no +exception. On the mother's death the Redfern family moved to Canada, +where there was a strong Scottish tradition, with preacher and kirk much +as they had been in Scotland, and with many of the services in Gaelic, +the language which many of these Scottish emigrants had spoken since +their birth. The family settle on a small farm, bringing up the +children, including Christie, in a good Christian manner. + +As with other of Mrs Robertson's books much of the action takes place +in the young girls' minds, and we do not have a lot to do with the four +boys of the family. There are neighbouring families, including the +Nesbitt's, in a similar status. + +The actual copy of the book used was in very good condition, and we +scanned it in at a high resolution, but we discovered that some of the +type-setting and the original proof-reading had not been too good for +some of the punctuation marks were missing. I am referring to full +stops at the ends of paragraphs, and that sort of thing. We have done +our utmost to set this matter right, as well as dealing with places +where the type had become damaged. + +The book makes a nice peaceful slow-moving audiobook. +NH +________________________________________________________________________ + +CHRISTIE REDFERN'S TROUBLES + +BY MARGARET ROBERTSON + + + +PREFACE. + +The requirement of the gospel is that, having first given ourselves to +Christ, we should then devote all we have, be it little or much, to His +service. The largest gifts fall infinitely below what He deserves from +us; the smallest will not be rejected by Him. For it is the motive, not +the gift, which our Lord regards. The poor widow's mite was more +acceptable to Him than the ostentatious and lavish donations of the +wealthy. Yet the smallness, the seeming worthlessness, of our means is +often pleaded as an excuse for withholding them altogether. Because men +can do so little, they do nothing. It was the servant who had received +only one talent that wrapped his lord's money in a napkin, and buried it +in useless, unprofitable obscurity. When the multitudes hungered in the +wilderness, the disciples hesitated to bring the five barley loaves and +two small fishes, asking, "What are they among so many?" They were +taught, however, to produce their little all, utterly inadequate as it +was to the exigencies of the case, and lay it in the hands of Omnipotent +Love, that He might by His blessing increase it to the feeding of the +five thousand. "God hath chosen the foolish things of the world to +confound the wise; and God hath chosen the weak things of the world to +confound the things which are mighty; and base things of the world and +things which are despised hath God chosen, yea, and things that are not, +to bring to nought things that are, that no flesh should glory in His +presence." + +This great truth is admirably illustrated in the following pages. In +the life of Christie Redfern we may see how the simple desire to serve +God, felt and acted upon by a poor, suffering child, may give an almost +heroic strength of character, and may produce results, the magnitude and +grandeur of which are altogether out of proportion to the feebleness of +the means employed. + + + +CHAPTER ONE. + +CHRISTIE'S CHILDHOOD. + +"I've heard folks say it--I've seen it in a book myself--and I heard my +father read something like it, out of the Bible, last Sunday--`Ask, and +ye shall receive,' and in another place, `In everything by prayer and +supplication let your requests be made known unto God.' I might try it, +anyway." + +But the voice that spoke was by no means a hopeful one, and there was +anything but a hopeful look on the face of the little girl who slowly +raised herself up from a mossy seat, where she had been quite hidden by +the branches of a tall birch-tree, that hung so low as to dip themselves +into the waters of the brook at the times when it ran fullest. It was a +very pretty place, and a very strange place for any child to look +anxious or discontented in. But the little girl looked as if she were +both; and there was, besides, a great deal of weariness in her manner, +as she leaned for a moment against a branch, and then stooped to let the +water flow over a spray of crimson maple that she held in her hand. + +"I might try it, anyway," she repeated, as she left the place. + +In some spring or autumn long ago, the swollen waters of the brook had +quite washed away the soil from between the roots of the birch-tree; and +the roots themselves, and the hollow place which the waters had made, +were covered with grass and soft moss now. In this pretty natural seat, +after an eager, half-frightened glance around, the little girl placed +herself, kneeling. She closed her eyes, and folded her hands with a +reverent gesture; but a doubtful, uneasy look passed over her face as +she let her head droop, and murmured: + +"Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name, Thy kingdom come"-- +and so on to the end. + +Then her head was raised; but the doubtful look had not passed away. + +"That's no' just what I'm needing," she continued. "I have my daily +bread. I'm no' sure about the other things; and I canna mind another +prayer. I would make one, if I knew the way. I need so many things!" + +There was a pause, and then she said, softly: + +"O Lord, dinna let Aunt Elsie be vexed with me for biding here so long. +I'm sure I need that. And, O Lord, mind Effie to bring home the book +she promised me. Oh, there are so many things that I need! and I'm no' +sure that I'm asking right. But the Bible says, `Whatsoever ye ask in +My name, believing, ye shall receive.'" + +She slipped from her kneeling posture, and leaned, with her eyes still +closed, against the shining bark of the birch-tree. She lay quiet for +some time, as if she were thinking of many things; then, kneeling again, +with her head bowed down on her clasped hands, she said: + +"O Lord, make me a good child, and take me to heaven when I die, for +Jesus' sake!" + +Then she opened her eyes, and rose up with a sigh. + +"Oh, how long the shadows have grown! I should have been at home a long +while ago. But now I'll see if Aunt Elsie's no' vexed. If she doesna +scold me, I'll ken that there is some use in praying. And if Effie +brings me a book, such a book as I like, I shall be sure, _sure_. Then +I shall know that God hears people when they pray; and that will be +something." + +And, really, the tired, pale little creature looked as though she needed +something to make her look more cheerfully on a world which generally +seems so happy a place to the young--something to banish the look of +discontent which seemed to have settled on her face. + +This was little Christie Redfern--just such a plain, common-looking +child as one might see anywhere without turning to look again. Her eyes +were neither black nor blue, but grey, and dark only when the long +lashes shaded them. Her mouth was too wide to be pretty, and her lips +were pale and thin. She might naturally have had a fair, soft skin; but +it was tanned and freckled by exposure to the air and sun, and looked +neither fair nor soft now. Her brow was high and broad, and would have +been pretty but that she gathered it together in wrinkles when she +looked at anything closely with her short-sighted eyes. She wore a dark +cotton frock and checked pinafore, and her feet, without stockings, were +slipped into shoes that seemed a world too big for them. She would not +have been pretty in any circumstances; but shuffling along in her big +shoes and odd dress, she was a very queer-looking little creature +indeed. + +But there was something about the child more to be deplored than the +wide mouth, or the dim eyes, or the drooping figure. There was a look +of unhappiness upon her face which, as any one might see, was in +consequence of no momentary trouble. It seemed to be habitual. As she +plodded along with her eyes cast down on the rough pathway, it never +changed. Once, when the sun, which she thought had set, flashed out for +a moment through the clouds of purple and crimson, causing her to look +up suddenly, the sad expression passed away; but when her eyes fell it +was there again, and she sighed wearily, as though her thoughts were +always sad. It was a long time before she looked up again. + +Indeed, there was not very much in the scene around her to attract the +attention of the child, even if her short-sighted eyes could have taken +in the view. There were the clouds; but their crimson and purple +glories had faded. There was the little grove of birch and maple by the +side of the brook--the prettiest place on her father's farm, Christie +thought; and that was all. A bird's-eye view of the country for many +miles around showed no variety of scenery, except the alternation of +long, broad fields of grass and wheat, or, rather, fields where grass +and wheat had been, with wide, irregular stretches of low-lying forest. +There was scarcely a hill deserving of the name to break the monotonous +level. It was a very fine country indeed in the estimation of the busy +groups who were here and there gathering in the last sheaves of a +plentiful harvest. The farmers of Laidlaw were wont to boast, and with +reason, too, of their wheat-crops, and their fine roads and fences, +declaring that there was not in all Canada a district that would surpass +or even equal theirs in respect of these things. But beauty of this +sort a child cannot be supposed to appreciate. Christie's home for the +first ten years of her life had been in a lovely Scottish village, +within three miles of the sea on one side and less than three miles from +the hills on the other; and the dull, unvaried level, the featureless +aspect of her present home, might well seem dreary to the child. + +But the contrast between the old life and the new was greater still; and +here lay the secret of the shadow that seldom left the face of the +little girl now. For in the old times, that seemed so long ago, +Christie had been the one delicate child in a large and healthy family, +and therefore her loving mother's constant and peculiar care. And her +mother was dead now. I need not say more to prove how sad and changed +her life had become. + +I think that, meeting her on her homeward way that afternoon, one might +have almost seen the motherless look in her pale face and drooping +figure and in the lingering tread of her weary little feet. It was a +look more painful to see than the look of sadness or neglect which +motherless children sometimes wear. It was of a wayward temper grown +more wayward still for want of a mother's firm and gentle rule. One +could not doubt that peevish words and angry retorts fell very naturally +from those pale lips. She looked like one who needed to be treated with +patience and loving forbearance, and who failed to meet either. And, +indeed, the rule to which Christie was forced to submit was neither firm +nor gentle. Sometimes it was firm, when Christie, as she not +unfrequently did, ventured to resist it; but gentle--never. + +When Christie's mother died, all their friends said the little Redferns +were very fortunate in having an Aunt Elsie to supply her place in the +household; and in some respects they were. If a constant and +conscientious determination to do her duty to her brother's motherless +children would have made up to them for their loss, they would have been +quite happy under Aunt Elsie's care. She made a great sacrifice of her +own ease and comfort when she left her quiet home to devote herself to +their interests; and if they had all been wise and good and thoughtful, +they would not have needed to be reminded so frequently of her +self-denial as Aunt Elsie seemed to think necessary. But few children +are so wise, or good, or thoughtful as they ought to be; and there were +oftentimes secret murmurings, and once or twice during the first year of +her stay there had been open rebellion among them. + +It could hardly have been otherwise. No middle-aged woman unaccustomed +to the care of a family, whose heart had never been softened by the +helpless loveliness of little children of her own, could have filled the +place of a mother, wise, firm, and tender, all at once; and so for a +time their household was not a happy one. Their father left his +children to the care of their aunt, as he had always left them to the +care of their mother; and if an appeal from any decision of hers were +made to him, it very seldom availed anything. + +It was not so bad for the elder ones. They were healthy, good-tempered +girls, who had companions and interests out of the home-circle; and they +soon learned to yield to or evade what was distasteful in their aunt's +rule. With the little children she was always lenient. It was the +sickly, peevish little Christie who suffered most. More than any of the +rest, more than all the rest put together, she missed her mother: she +missed her patient care and sympathy when she was ill, and her firm yet +gentle management amid the wayward fretfulness that illness brought upon +her. Night after night did her weary little head slumber on a pillow +which her tears had wet. Morning after morning did she wake up to the +remembrance of her loss, with a burst of bitter weeping, angry at or +indifferent to all her aunt's attempts to console her or win her love. +No wonder that her aunt lost patience at last, calling the child peevish +and wilful, and altogether unlovable, and declaring that she had more +trouble and unhappiness with her than with all her sisters put together. + +And, indeed, so she had. She rather enjoyed the excitement of keeping a +firm hand over the elder ones, and she soon learned to have patience +with the noise and heedlessness of the little ones. But the peevishness +and wayward fancies of a nervous, excitable child, whom weakness made +irritable, and an over-active imagination made dreams, she could neither +understand nor endure; and so the first year after the mother's death +was a year of great unhappiness to Christie. + +After that, there was a great change in the family life. Losses in +business, and other circumstances, induced Mr Redfern to give up his +home and to remove with his family to Canada. Though this decision was +made contrary to the advice of his sister, she would not forsake him and +his children: so she had come with them to the backwoods. + +A new and changed life opened to them here, and all the changes that +came to them were not for the better. Mr Redfern knew nothing about +practical farming; and so, though he had means to purchase a sufficient +quantity of good land, it was not surprising to his neighbours that his +first attempt should be unsuccessful. His children were of the wrong +sort, too, his neighbours said; for only one of the eight was a lad, and +he was only six when he came to his new home. No pair of hands could +gather, from ever so good a farm, food enough to fill so many mouths; +and more than one of the kind people who took the affairs of the +new-comers into their especial consideration, shook their heads gravely +over their prospects. And for a time they were badly off. + +Soon after their arrival in their new home, Aunt Elsie was seized with +an illness which lingered long, and left her a cripple when it went +away; and her temper was not of the kind which suffering and +helplessness are said sometimes to improve. It was a trying time to +all. + +But winter passed over. Spring came, and with it came a measure of +health to Aunt Elsie. She could move about on a crutch and give +directions in the house, and do many things besides, which a less +energetic person would never have attempted. The elder girls, Effie, +Sarah, and Annie, proved themselves of the right sort, so far as energy, +and strength, and a right good-will were concerned, and worked in the +fields with their father as though they had been accustomed to it all +their lives. So, when two or three years had passed away, the glances +which the neighbours sent into the future of the Redferns revealed by no +means so dreary a prospect as formerly. + +A change for the better had come over Christie, too. She would never be +as hopeful or as healthy as her sisters, her aunt said; but in health +and hopefulness, and in temper too, there was a great change for the +better in Christie at the end of the first three years of her Canadian +life. But Christie was far from being what she ought to be in respect +to the latter item even then, as her aunt often told her; and she had +good cause to be of her aunt's opinion many times before the summer was +over. + +It was, for several reasons, a time of trial to the child. Her eldest +sister Effie, whom she loved best of all, was away from home as +school-mistress in a neighbouring township, only returning home for the +Sunday, and not always able to do that. Her absence made the constant +assistance of Sarah and Annie indispensable to their father. So the +work of the household, and the care of the dairy during the greater part +of the summer, fell to Christie, under the superintendence of Aunt +Elsie; and a great deal more strength and patience was needed than +Christie had at her disposal. She would gladly have changed with her +sisters for their harder places in the fields; but the cold of the +spring and autumn mornings chilled her, and the heat of summer exhausted +her, and there was no alternative but the work of the house. This would +have been wearisome enough under any circumstances to a child not very +strong; and it was sometimes rendered more than wearisome by the +needless chidings of her aunt. + +Not that her aunt meant to be unkind, or that her chidings were always +undeserved or her complaints causeless. Her mother could not have been +more careful than her aunt was, that Christie should not put her hand to +work beyond her strength. But probably her mother would have felt that +a child might become weary, even to disgust, of a never-ending, +never-changing routine of trifling duties, that brought no pleasant +excitement in their train, that could scarcely be named or numbered when +the day was done, yet whose performance required time and strength and +patience beyond her power to give. But if her aunt ever thought about +this, she never told her thoughts to Christie; and to the child the +summer days often passed wearily enough. It is to be doubted whether +the elder sisters, after a long harvest-day, went to bed more tired and +depressed than did Christie, who, in their opinion, had been having an +easy time. Not but that Annie and Sarah understood in some measure the +troubles that might fall to Christie's lot under the immediate +superintendence of Aunt Elsie; and they were sometimes ready enough to +congratulate themselves on their own more free life out of doors. But, +strong and healthy as they were, they could not understand how the work +which would have seemed like play to them could be such a burden to +their little sister; and they sometimes sadly added to her discontent by +making light of her troubles, and ascribing to indolence and peevishness +the complaints which, too often, fell from her lips. + +There had not, during all the summer, been a more uncomfortable day than +the one whose close found Christie sitting so disconsolately under the +birch-tree by the brook. It had begun badly, as too many of those days +did. In looking for something in the garret, Christie had found a book +that had been missing for a long time. It was one of her favourites. +She had read it often before, but not recently; and in those days new +books were rare, and old books proportionably precious. + +Sitting down on the floor, amid the scattered contents of the chest she +had been rummaging, she forgot, in the charm of "The Family Tryst," that +the dough of her batch of bread was fast approaching that stage of +lightness that needed her attention, and that her oven was by no means +in a proper state to receive it when that point should be reached. Page +after page she turned with a vague feeling that each should be the last, +till even this half-consciousness of wrong-doing was lost in the intense +enjoyment of the tale; and then--the charm was broken. + +Aunt Elsie's sharp, quick tones, coming suddenly upon her, must have +startled the nervous child with a shock of pain quite apart from any +thought of the consequences of her fault; and it was with hands that +trembled violently that the book was hidden and the scattered contents +of the chest were gathered together again. Then she thought of her +bread; and her heart failed within her. + +"Oh, I'm so sorry!" she said to herself; but no such word was spoken to +her aunt. Indeed, to her she said nothing; and it was not sorrow for +her fault, but sullenness or indifference, or something that might +easily be mistaken for these, that her aunt saw on her face as she came +down-stairs. It was very provoking. The bread was ready for the oven, +but the oven was by no means ready for the bread. And now for the next +three days, at least, the children and the hungry harvest-people must +content themselves with sour bread, in consequence of Christie's +carelessness. It was Christie's wilful disobedience, her aunt declared; +and, really, the sullen, unrepentant look on the girl's face was almost +enough to excuse her aunt's bitter words and the sudden blow that fell +on her averted cheek. A blow was a very rare thing with Aunt Elsie. It +was not repeated now. Indeed, she would hardly have ventured to strike +again the white, indignant face that was turned towards her. Surprise +and anger kept the girl for one moment silent; then, in a voice she +could hardly make audible for the beating of her heart, she gasped: + +"I hate you, Aunt Elsie! I wish I were dead!" + +"Be quiet, with your wicked words!" cried Aunt Elsie. "You are far from +being in a fit state to die, you disobedient, bad child." + +But Aunt Elsie was vexed with herself for the blow she had given, and +all the more vexed with Christie on that account. Christie was really +sorry for her fault; but, quite forgetting that she had given no sign of +sorrow, she called her aunt unjust and cruel, and bitterly resented both +word and blow. Anger and pride gave her strength to obey the command to +carry the bread to a cool place, and to keep back a rush of tears till +her task was done. But it failed her then; and, throwing herself on the +ground, out of sight, she wept and sobbed, and uttered words as wicked +and passionate as those which her aunt had reproved. + +This was the beginning; and after that nothing could be expected to go +well. Though her head ached and her hands trembled, the work of the +house must be done; and more than her usual share fell to Christie +to-day. For Aunt Elsie's rheumatism was bad again, and much that she +usually did was left to Christie. But her aunt did not say she was ill. +The added tasks were assigned with a voice and in a manner that seemed +to declare them a part of the punishment for the fault of the morning; +and we cannot wonder much that they were sullenly performed. + +"I don't care," repeated Christie to herself, over and over again, that +day. "There is no use in trying to please Aunt Elsie. It makes no +difference. She's cross always. I never do anything right, she says; +and I don't care!" + +But she did care, for all that. She was very wretched. She avoided her +sisters when they came home to dinner, saying she had a headache, and +didn't want any--which, indeed, was true; and her sisters, thinking that +she and Aunt Elsie had had a falling-out which would be made up before +night, left her to herself. So Christie sat on the garret-floor, too +miserable to read, her heart full of angry thoughts against her aunt, +her sisters, and all the world. + +But into the very midst of her vexed and angry murmurs against them +there came the feeling that all the fault was not theirs--that she was +herself to be blamed. And by and by the anger passed away; but the +misery remained, and oftener, and with more power, came the +consciousness that she was a very cross, unamiable child, that she was +not like her older sisters or the little ones, that she was a comfort to +no one, but a vexation to all. If she only could die! she thought. No! +she would be afraid to die! But, oh, if she had never been born! Oh, +if her mother had not died! + +And yet she might have been a trial to her mother, too, as she was to +all the rest. But no! she thought; her mother would have loved her and +had patience with her; and Aunt Elsie never had. Amid a rush of angry +tears, there fell a few very bitter drops to the memory of her mother. + +With a weary pain at her head and heart, she went about the household +work of the afternoon. The dinner-dishes were put away, and the room +was swept and dusted, in silence. The pans were prepared for the +evening milk, and the table was laid for supper; and then she sat down, +with a face so woe-begone and miserable, and an air so weary that, even +in spite of her anger, her aunt could not but pity her. She pitied +herself more, however. She said to herself that she was at her wits' +end with the wilful child. She began to fear that she would never be +other than a cross and a trial to her; and it did seem to Aunt Elsie +that, with her bad health and her hard work among her brother's +children, she had enough to vex her without Christie's untowardness. It +did seem so perverse in her, when she needed her help so much, to be so +heedless and sullen. + +"And yet what a poor, pale, unhappy little creature she seems to be!" +thought she. "Maybe I haven't all the patience with her that I ought to +have. God knows, I need not a little to bear all my own aches and +pains." + +But her relenting thoughts did not take the form of words; and Christie +never fancied, when she was bidden go for the cows at once, and not wait +for the coming of the children from school, that her aunt sent her +because she thought the walk to the pasture would do her good. She +believed it was a part of her punishment, still, that she should be +required to do what had all the summer been the acknowledged work of +Will and her little sisters. So, though she was too weary and miserable +to resist, or even to murmur, she went with a lagging step and a +momentary rising of her old angry and resentful thoughts. + +It was not very far to the pasture through the wheat-field; and she was +soon there. But when the cows had passed through the gate she let them +go or not, just as they pleased, and turned aside, to think over again, +by the side of the brook, the miserable thoughts of the afternoon; and +the end of these was the murmured prayer with which my story began. + +Her thoughts were not very cheerful as she plodded along. She had no +wish to hurry. If she did, she would very likely have to milk Brownie +and Blackie and the rest, besides Fleckie, her own peculiar care. She +said to herself, there was no reason why she should do her sisters' +work, though it was harvest-time and they would come home tired. She +was tired too--though nobody seemed to think she ever did anything to +tire her. She could milk all the cows well enough. She had done it +many a time. But it was one thing to do it of her own free will, and +quite another to do so because her aunt was cross and wanted to punish +her for her morning fault. So she loitered on the road, though the sun +had set and she knew there was danger of the cows passing the gate and +getting in among the wheat, where the fence was insufficient, in the +field below. + +"I don't care," she said to herself. "It winna be my fault. The bairns +should have been at home. It's their work, not mine, to mind the cows. +Oh, I wist Effie was at home! There's nothing quite so bad where she is +here. But I'll see to-night if my prayer is heard; that will be +something; and then I'll begin again, and try to be good, in spite of +Aunt Elsie." + + + +CHAPTER TWO. + +THE COLPORTEUR. + +The cows had not passed the gate. Somebody had opened it for them, and +they were now standing or lying in the yard, in the very perfection of +animal enjoyment. The girls were not at home to milk them, however. +Christie had heard her father's voice calling to them in the lower +field, and she knew it would be full half an hour, and quite dark, +before they could be at home. So, with a sigh, she took the stool and +the milk-pails from a bench near the door, and went to the yard to her +task. + +If her short-sighted eyes had seen the long, low wagon that stood at the +end of the house, curiosity would have tempted her to go back to see who +might be there. If she had known that in that wagon her sister Effie +had ridden home a day sooner than she was expected, she would not have +seated herself so quietly to her milking. + +[Note: In America, any light four-wheeled vehicle is called a wagon.] + +Christie was not lazy, though her aunt sometimes accused her of being +so. When her heart was in her work, she could do it quickly and well; +and her strength failed her always before her patience was exhausted. + +She knew she must finish the milking alone now, and she set to it with a +will. In a surprisingly short time she was standing between two foaming +milk-pails at the gate. To carry them both at once was almost, though +not quite, beyond her strength; and as she stood for a moment hesitating +whether she would try it, or go with one and return for the other, the +matter was decided for her. + +"Christie!" said a voice--not Aunt Elsie's--from the door. + +Turning, Christie saw her sister Effie. Surprise kept her riveted to +the spot till her sister came down the path. + +"Dinna lift them, Christie: you are no more able to do it than a +chicken. I'll carry them." + +But she stooped first to place her hands on her little sister's +shoulders and to kiss her softly. Christie did not speak; but the touch +of her sister's lips unsealed the fountain of her tears, and clinging to +her and hiding her face, she cried and sobbed in a way that, at last, +really frightened her sister. + +"Why, Christie! Why, you foolish lassie! What ails you, child? Has +anything happened?--or is it only that you are so glad to see me home +again? Don't cry in that wild way, child. What is it, Christie?" + +"It's nothing--I dinna ken--I canna help it!" cried Christie, after an +ineffectual effort to control herself. + +Her sister held the trembling little form for a moment without speaking, +and then she said, cheerfully: + +"See, Christie! It's growing dark! We must be quick with the milking." + +"Why didna you come last week, Effie?" said Christie, rousing herself at +last. + +"Oh, partly because of the rain, and partly because I thought I would +put my two holidays together. This is Thursday night, and I can stay +till Monday morning--three whole days." + +Christie gave a sigh, and smiled. + +"Come," said Effie; "I'll help you. I was waiting till you came from +the pasture. I didna see you come." + +"No; I didna go in." + +It seemed to Christie that a very heavy burden had been lifted from her +heart. She smiled without the sigh, as soon as she met her sister's +grave look. + +"Did you walk home, Effie?" she asked. + +"No; I got a chance to ride with the book-man. He was at the corner, +and offered to bring me home, as he was coming this way. How beautiful +your pans look, Christie! Will you need them all?" + +They were in the milk-house now. It was a large, low place, partly made +by digging into the side of the hill. It was a cool, pleasant place in +summer, and well suited to the purpose for which it had been built. It +was dark, however, when the girls entered, and would have been very +gloomy but for Christie's shining milk-pans and the rows of +cream-covered dishes beyond. + +They were all needed, and some new ones had just been brought from the +tinman's. "I like them," said Christie: "they're lighter than the +earthen ones, and no' so easily broken. We've got much more milk since +the cows went into the upper field. You'll see what a pailful Fleckie +gives." + +"Fleckie is your favourite yet," said Effie, smiling, as they left the +dairy together. + +"Oh, yes! she's the best of them all--and so gentle! and I'm sure she +knows me. I don't think she likes any one to milk her half so well as +me." + +"She'll let me milk her to-night, though," said Effie, removing her +cuffs and turning up her sleeves. + +"You'll spoil your pretty frock," said Christie, doubtfully. + +"There's no fear. I'll take care. Give me the stool." + +Christie hesitated. + +"But there's Blackie and Brownie to do yet--unless you would rather milk +Fleckie." + +"I would rather milk them all," said Effie. "I'm sure, child, you look +as though you had had enough of it for one day." + +"Oh, no; I expected to milk them all. I'm not very tired." + +Christie ran for another stool, and seated herself beside her favourite. +She was quite near her sister, too; and they went on talking. + +"I suppose this was churning-day?" said Effie. + +"No; we churned yesterday, and we'll churn again to-morrow. It's +harder, and takes longer, now that the nights have got cooler. But the +butter is beautiful. We have the two tubs full, and we put the last we +made in a jar. I'll show it to you when we go in." + +"I suppose Annie and Sarah have but little time to help you now? No +wonder you are tired," said Effie. + +"No; they cannot help us except on a rainy day. But I never churn +alone. Aunt Elsie helps me. It took us three hours last time." + +"I shouldna wonder if that is the reason that Aunt Elsie's shoulder is +worse," said Effie, with a sigh. + +"Is it worse?" asked Christie. "She has said nothing about it." + +"No; she says there is no use in complaining. But I do hope she is not +going to be ill, as she was before. It would be terrible for us all." + +"I hope not, indeed," said Christie; and in a moment she added, "You +would need to bide at home then, Effie." + +Effie shook her head. + +"No; I should need all the more to be away if that were to happen. What +should we all do for shoes, if it werena for my school-money?" + +Christie's countenance fell; but in a little time she said-- + +"But the harvest is a great deal better this year, Effie." + +"Yes; but there winna be much to sell. If we don't have to buy, it will +be a great thing for us. And the shoes we must have, and new harness, +and other things. I mustna think of staying this winter, I'm sure, +Christie." + +Christie gave a long sigh, as she rose with her full pail. + +"I wish I was old enough and able to keep a school, or do something!" + +"Do something!" echoed Effie. "I'm sure you do a great deal. Think of +the butter! And you've made bread all the summer, and swept, and +ironed, and washed the dishes." + +"But all that comes to very little," said Christie, disconsolately. + +"Indeed it does--to more than my school-keeping, I dare say. And I'm +sure it's far pleasanter work." + +"Pleasanter!" repeated Christie; and there was such a protesting echo in +her voice that Effie could not help laughing; but she said, again-- + +"Yes, pleasanter. Don't you think it must be far nicer to be at home +with all the rest, than to stay among folk that don't care about you, +and have to bear your trouble alone?" + +Christie opened her eyes wide. + +"But, Effie, folk do care about you. And what troubles can you have to +bear?" + +Effie laughed softly; but she looked grave immediately. + +"Well, I havena so many as I might have, I suppose." + +"I'm sure if I were you I should be perfectly happy," said Christie. + +"That's only one of the mistakes you have fallen into," said Effie, +gravely. "Do you remember the story of the burdens, and how every one +was willing to take up his own at last?" + +Nothing in the world would have convinced Christie that her sister's lot +was not much pleasanter than her own; and she said to herself, how +gladly she would change burdens with her! but aloud she only asked-- + +"Has anything new happened? What's troubling you, Effie?" + +"Oh, nothing has happened," said Effie, cheerfully. "I'm getting on +well. The worst of my troubles are those I find at home--Aunt Elsie's +rheumatism, and your pale, tired face, and the wearing out of the +children's clothes. And you have all these too: so I dare say my burden +is the lightest, after all. Now let me see your butter." + +It was well worth seeing. There was one tub made when the weather had +been warm, and, for that reason, was pronounced by Christie not quite so +good. Then there was a large one, with over a hundred and twenty pounds +in it--so hard, and yellow, and fragrant! Christie was not a little +proud of it; and Effie praised it to her heart's content. There was no +better butter in all Glengarry, she was sure. + +"And a hundred and twenty pounds of it! It's worth twenty-five cents a +pound, at least. Think of that, Christie!--thirty dollars in all! That +is something of your doing, I should think." + +"Partly," said Christie. "I only helped." But she was very much +pleased. "If we could only sell it, it would get us shoes, and lots of +things." + +"But I'm afraid we mustna sell it," said Effie. "We shall have so +little meat all the winter--and it is so dear, too; and we shall need +the butter. And how many cheeses are there? Five?" + +"Five uncut. One is nearly done since the harvest. See, these two are +better than the others. But it is getting so dark you canna see them. +I think the cheese will be a great help. We had none last winter, you +know." + +"Yes, indeed!" said Effie, heartily. "We shall have a better winter +than the last was." + +"Except that you winna be at home," said Christie, desponding a little +again. + +"Well, I would like to be at home, if it were best; but we canna have +all we would like, you know. If you have milk to skim, you will need a +candle, Christie." + +"No: I skimmed it before I went away. See, father and the girls have +come home at last. How glad they will be to see you, Effie!" + +Yes, everybody was glad to see Effie--though no one said much about it +that night. Indeed, it was rather a silent party that partook of the +frugal supper. Except that the book-man (as the colporteur was called) +exchanged now and then a remark with Mr Redfern, little was said till +supper was over and the Bible laid on the table for worship. The +Redfern family had the custom of reading verse-about, as it is called, +partly because lights were sometimes scarce, and partly because, after +the work of a long summer day, both great and small were too tired to +enjoy protracted reading; and it must be confessed that, at times, +morning and evening devotions were both brief and formal. They were not +so to-night, however; for they were led by Mr Craig, the book-man, a +cheerful and earnest Christian, to whom, it was easily seen, God's +worship was no mere form, but a most blessed reality. Indeed, so +lengthened was the exercise to-night that the little ones were asleep +before it was done; and so earnest was he, so elevated were his +ascriptions of praise, so appropriate his confessions and petitions, +that the elder members of the family, notwithstanding their weariness, +could not but listen and join with wonder and delight. + +"_He_ believes that it is worth one's while to pray, at any rate," said +Christie to herself; and all at once it flashed upon her that a part of +_her_ prayer had been answered. Aunt Elsie had not spoken one word of +reproof for her long delay by the side of the brook. Not a little +startled, Christie paused to consider the matter further. + +"She could hardly have scolded me while a stranger was here. And, +besides, Effie's here, too, and I wouldna have much cared if she had. +And it's no' too late yet. She'll be sending me to my bed the moment +the dishes are put by." + +But she did not. Long after the little ones, and even Annie and Sarah, +were asleep, Christie was allowed to sit without rebuke, listening to +the pleasant talk of her father and Mr Craig, and now and then saying a +word to Effie, on whose lap her head was laid. The only words that Aunt +Elsie spoke to her that night were kind enough; and some of them were +spoken while Effie was not there. + +"So that it couldna be to please her," thought Christie. "What if God +should hear my prayer, after all?" + +The thought was quite as startling as it was pleasant. Then she +wondered if Effie had brought the book. She did not like to ask her. +She did so want to believe that she might fall back on God's help in all +her troubles; but if Effie had not brought the book she could not be +sure that her prayer had been heard. "Could it be possible?" she said +to herself. It seemed altogether too good, too wonderful, to be true. +And yet there were verses in the Bible very plain, very easy to be +understood--"Ask, and ye shall receive; seek, and ye shall find;" and +many more besides that. + +She repeated the words slowly and earnestly. That must be true, she +thought. Every one believed the Bible. And yet how few live and pray +and trust as though they really do believe it! She had heard +discussions, many and long, between her father and some of their +neighbours, on difficult passages of Scripture and difficult points of +doctrine. She had heard the Scriptures quoted to support doctrines very +different in their nature. She had heard passages commented upon and +explained away to suit the views of the speaker, until she had come to +think, sometimes, that the most obvious meaning of a text could not +possibly be the true one; and she said to herself, what if she had been +taking comfort from these promises too soon? What if they meant +something else, or meant what they seemed to mean only to those to whom +they were spoken? What if, for some unknown, mysterious reason, she +were among those who had no part nor lot in the matter?--among those who +hearing hear not, or who fail to understand? And before she was aware, +the hopefulness of the last half-hour was vanishing away before the +troubled and doubtful thoughts that rushed upon her. + +"I wish there was any one that I could ask about it! I wonder if Effie +would know? I'll see if she has brought me the book; and that will be +something. Maybe the book-man could tell me all about it. Only I don't +like to ask him." + +She turned her eyes towards him, as the thought passed through her mind. +His face was plain and wrinkled and brown; but, for all that, it was a +very pleasant face to look at. It was a grave face, even when he +smiled; but it was never other than a pleasant one. There was something +in it that brought to Christie's mind her favourite verse about "the +peace that passeth all understanding." + +"He has it, I do believe," she said, while she quietly watched him as he +listened or talked. + +"It must be a weary life you live," Aunt Elsie was saying, "going about +from morning till night, in all weathers, with those books of yours; a +weary life and a thankless." + +"Do you think so?" said Mr Craig, with a smile. "I don't think it is a +harder life than most of the people that I see are living. No harder +than the farmers have during this busy harvest-time. No harder than the +pedlars of tin-ware and dry goods have, that go about the country in all +weathers." + +"But it's different with the farmer, who tills his own land. He is +working to some end. Every tree he cuts, every sheaf he reaps and +gathers in, is so much gain to him; and even these pedlars must have a +measure of enjoyment when their sales are good. They are gaining their +living by their travels." + +"Well, so am I, for that matter," said Mr Craig, still smiling. "I am +on equal terms with them there; though I cannot say that the greatest +part of the pleasure I have in my work arises from the gain it is to me. +But why do you say it is a thankless work?" + +Instead of answering directly, Aunt Elsie asked, a moment after: + +"Are you always well received,--you and your books?" + +"Oh, yes; in this part of the country, always,--quite as well as other +pedlars are, and sometimes far better, for my work's sake. I have been +in places where the reception I met with was something worse than cold. +But I now and then met, even in those places, some that welcomed me so +warmly for the work's sake I was doing as to make me little heed the +scoffs of the others." + +"You are sent out by a society, I think?" said Aunt Elsie. "It is +mostly Bibles that you sell?" + +"Yes; it's mostly Bibles that I carry with me." + +There was a pause. The colporteur sat looking into the red embers, with +the smile on his face which Christie had found so attractive. In a +little while Aunt Elsie, not without some hesitation, said: + +"And is all the time and trouble and money spent by this society worth +their while?" + +Aunt Elsie would have been shocked had any one expressed a doubt of her +sincere respect for the Bible. Her respect was hereditary. Not one day +in her childhood or womanhood had passed in which she had not heard or +read some portion of the Holy Book. Nothing could have induced her to +part with one of the several Bibles that had been in her possession for +years. One had been hers when a girl at school, one had lain in her +seat at the kirk for many a year, and a third had lain on her +parlour-table and been used by her at family worship when she kept house +for herself. It would have seemed to her like sacrilege to let them +pass into other hands. That the superiority of the Scottish people over +all other nations (in which superiority she firmly believed) was in some +way owing to the influence of God's Word, read and understood, she did +not doubt. But her ideas of the matter were by no means satisfactory +even to herself. That the Bible, read and understood, should ever +change the mixed multitudes of her new and adopted country into a people +grave and earnest and steadfast for the right, was altogether beyond her +thought. The humble labours of this man, going about from house to +house, to place perhaps in careless or unwilling hands the Bible (God's +Word though she acknowledged it to be), seemed a very small matter--a +means very inadequate to the end desired. So it was a doubtful and +hesitating assent that she yielded to the reply of Mr Craig in the form +of a question. + +"Is not God's Word His appointed instrument for the salvation of men? +And will He not bless it to that end? I do not doubt it," continued Mr +Craig. "How can I doubt it, in the face of the promise that His word +shall not return unto Him void--that it _shall_ prosper in that +whereunto He sendeth it? I never let a Bible pass from my hands without +asking from God that it may be made the means of a lasting blessing to +at least one soul. And I have faith to believe that my prayer will be +heard and granted." + +Aunt Elsie's motions expressed some surprise. + +"And is not that presumption on your part?" she asked. + +"Which? The prayer, or the expectation?" said Mr Craig. "Not the +prayer, surely, when He says, `Ask, and ye shall receive; seek, and ye +shall find.' `Whatsoever ye shall ask in My name, believing, ye shall +receive.' `Ask, and ye shall receive, that your joy may be full.' Is +it presumption to ask blessings for those whom God so loved that He sent +His only begotten Son into the world to die that they might live? `Will +He not with Him also freely give them all things?' Truly, I think the +presumption would lie in _not_ asking, or in asking and not expecting to +receive." + +In the pause that followed, Christie, with a strange feeling at her +heart, pondered the words. + +"Well," said Aunt Elsie, in a moment, "I dare say it is as well that you +have these thoughts to encourage you. The Bible can do nobody harm, at +any rate; and it may do good to the bairns at the school." + +Mr Craig opened his lips, as though he were going to answer her; but he +did not. By and by he said--quite as much as though he were speaking to +himself as to her: + +"Yes; it is indeed a good thing to have God's promise to fall back upon. +My work would be vain and weary work without that. And so would any +work to which I could put my hand. There _are_ folk in the world who +live with no hope or trust in God's promised blessing. How they do it I +cannot tell." + +"God is good to many a one who thinks little of Him or of His care; or +what would become of the world and the thousands in it?" said Aunt +Elsie, with a sigh. + +Mr Craig gave her a quick look. + +"Yes: He is kind to the evil and the unthankful. But I was thinking of +the blessedness of those who have the daily and hourly sense of God's +presence with them and His fatherly care over them. In time of trouble, +and at all times, indeed, it is sweet to know that we have His word and +promise for all that we possibly need." + +"Yes," said Aunt Elsie, uneasily, and rather coldly. "There is much +truth in what you say." + +Mr Craig continued: "There is no fear of being forgotten. He who sees +the sparrow when it falls, and does not forget to number the hairs of +our heads, may well be trusted. And may we not trust in Him who is not +ashamed to call His people brethren? Our Elder Brother! He who +suffered being tempted--who is touched with the feeling of our +infirmities! It is worth while to have His promise to fall back upon-- +for me in my journeys, for you amid your household cares, and for this +little maiden here amid whatever life may bring to her." + +In the interest with which she listened, Christie had forgotten her +shyness, and had drawn quite near; and now she sat with her eyes +fastened on the good man's face, her own quite expressive of intense +eagerness. + +"Christie," said her aunt, as her eye fell upon her, "it is high time +you were in bed. There will be no getting you up in the morning. Your +sisters are all asleep. Haste away." + +Christie would have given much for courage to ask one question; and +perhaps a glance into the kind face that was looking down upon her might +have given it to her, had her aunt not been there. Perhaps he guessed +her thought; for he said, as he put out his hand and laid it softly on +hers: + +"Yes, my lassie; it is not beyond belief that the kind care and the +loving eye of this Elder Brother should be over you, if you are one of +His little ones. Are you?" + +The last words were spoken after a momentary pause, and the little brown +hand was gently pressed as they were uttered. If Christie could have +found words with which to answer him, she could not have uttered them +through the tears and sobs that had not been far from her all the +evening. Slowly obeying the admonishing touch of her aunt, she withdrew +her hand from the gentle pressure that detained it, and crept away in +the dark to the room where all her sisters, except Effie, were already +asleep. + +And what a tumult of glad, wondering and doubtful thoughts was stirring +her heart as she seated herself on the floor and leaned her weary head +upon her hand! Could it all be true? Did God see and hear and care for +people? And for her too? The Elder Brother! What a sweet name to give +to Jesus! It seemed easier to believe that He would care for her, +calling Him by that name. + +And if it were really true that God heard her prayers and would answer +them, certainly things would not go so badly with her any more. But was +she one of His little ones? Surely there was no one more helpless and +hopeless and troubled--nobody that needed help more! + +"Oh, if I could only be sure!" she whispered. "But I'll see to-night. +Aunt Elsie wasna vexed to-night. And if Effie has brought me the book, +I'll take it for a sign. Oh, I wish she would come!" + +And yet, when Effie came in with a light in her hand, Christie was in no +haste to speak. Effie moved about very quietly, for fear of waking her +sisters; and then she sat down, shading the light from their faces. + +"Haste you, Christie dear," she whispered. "I thought you were in bed. +It is more than time." + +Christie slowly undressed, and after kneeling a little while, laid +herself down on the low bed beside her little sister. But she did not +sleep. She did not even close her eyes, but lay watching sometimes the +motionless figure of Effie and sometimes her shadow on the wall, +wondering all the while what could keep her occupied so silently and so +long. Yet when at last the book was closed and Effie began to move +about the room, she could not find courage to speak to her at once. + +"Effie," she said, by and by, "did you bring me the book you promised?" + +Effie started. + +"Christie, I thought you were asleep! Do you know how late it is?" + +"Did you bring me the book you promised?" repeated the child, eagerly. + +Effie could not resist the beseeching face; and she came and seated +herself on the side of the bed. + +"I wanted it so much," continued Christie. "I thought you would bring +it! Did you forget it? Or were you not up there this week?" + +"I was there, and I didna forget it; but--" + +"Did you bring it?" cried Christie, rising, in her eagerness. "Where is +it?" + +Effie shook her head. + +"I didna bring it, Christie." + +Poor little Christie! She laid herself back on her pillow without a +word. The disappointment was a very bitter one; and she turned her face +away, that her sister might not see the tears that were gushing from her +eyes. She had all the week been looking forward to the pleasure of +having a book--"The Scottish Chiefs"--a stolen glance or two of which +had excited her interest to the highest degree; and the disappointment +was great. But that it should have failed to come on this particular +night was harder still to bear. + +"If God only hears half our prayers, and that the half we care least +about, what is the use of praying at all? Oh, dear! I thought I had +found something at last!" + +"Christie," said her sister, laying her hand on her shoulder, "why are +you crying in that way? Surely you have had tears enough for once? +What ails you, child? Speak to me, Christie." + +"Oh, you _might_ have brought it!" she exclaimed, through her sobs. +"You almost promised." + +"No, Christie, I didna promise. I didna forget it. But I am afraid-- +indeed, I am sure--that the reading of the book would do you no good, +but harm; and so I didna bring it to you. You are wrong to be so vexed +about it." + +"Is it a bad book?" asked Christie. + +"I am not sure that it is a _bad_ book. But I think it might do you +harm to read it. I am afraid your imagination is too full of such +things already." + +This had been said to her in far sharper words many a time before; and +Christie made no answer. + +"You know yourself, Christie, when you get a book that interests you, +you are apt to neglect other things for the pleasure of reading it. +Almost always Aunt Elsie has to find fault with you for it." + +"Aunt Elsie always finds fault with me!" sighed Christie. + +"But you give her reason to find fault with you when you neglect your +duties for such reading, as you must confess you do; even to-day, you +know." + +"I believe it grieves Aunt Elsie's heart to see me taking pleasure in +anything," said Christie, turning round passionately. "She never heeds +when Annie or Sarah takes a book; but if I look the way of one, she's at +me. I believe she would be glad if there was no such thing as a book in +the house." + +"Hush, Christie! You are wrong to speak in that way. It is not true +what you are saying. Aunt Elsie is fond of reading; and if she doesna +object to Annie and Sarah taking a book, it is because they don't very +often do so. They never neglect their work for reading, as you too +often do." + +All this was true, as Christie's conscience told her; but she was by no +means willing to confess as much; so she turned away her face, and said, +pettishly: + +"Oh, well, I hear all that often enough. There's no use in saying +anything more about it." + +Effie rose, and went to the other side of the room. When she returned, +she carried something wrapped in paper in her hand. + +"Look, Christie; I brought you a book--a better book than `The Scottish +Chiefs.' Turn round and look at it." + +Slowly Christie raised herself up and turned round. She was ashamed of +her petulance by this time. Something shone in the light of the candle +which Effie held. + +"What is it?" she asked; and her sister placed it in her hand. + +It was a Bible, a very beautiful one, bound in purple morocco, with +clasps and gilt edges. It was small, but not too small even for +Christie's eyes. + +"Oh, how beautiful!" exclaimed Christie, forgetting everything in her +delight. "It is the very thing I have been wishing for!" + +Effie said nothing, but watched her, well pleased. + +"But, Effie," said Christie, suddenly, "this must have been very dear. +A plainer one would have done just as well. Did it cost much?" + +"Not very much," said Effie, sitting down beside her again. "A Bible is +for one's whole lifetime, and so I got a good one, and a pretty one, +too; you are so fond of pretty things. If I had known that the book-man +was coming here I might have waited and let you choose it for yourself. +We might have changed it now, but see, I have written your name in it." + +She turned to the fly-leaf, and read "Christina Redfern," with the date, +in Effie's pretty handwriting. She gave a sigh of pleasure as she +turned it over. + +"No, I don't believe there is a nicer one there. It's far prettier than +yours, Effie. Wouldna you have liked it? Your old one would have done +for me." + +"Oh, no, indeed! I would far rather have my own old Bible than the +prettiest new one," said Effie, hastily. + +"Yes, I suppose so," said Christie. "Mother gave it to you." + +"Yes; and, besides, I have got used to it. I know just where to find +the places I want, almost without thinking of the chapter." + +"It is a perfect beauty of a Bible; and such clear print! But I am +afraid it cost a great deal--as much as a pair of shoes, perhaps?" she +continued, looking at her sister. + +Effie laughed. + +"But what comparison is there between a Bible and a pair of shoes? You +must read it every day, dear; and then you'll be sure to think of me." + +"I do that many times every day," said Christie, sighing. + +"I'm glad you like it, dear. Mr Craig ask me if it was for myself; and +I told him no, it was for my little sister at home." + +Christie started. This, then, was one of the Bibles that the book-man +had said he asked God to bless for the good of at least one soul. And +he seemed so sure that his prayer would be heard. And, then, had not +her prayer been heard?--not just as she had hoped, but in a better way. +The thought filled her with a strange glad wonder. Could it be +possible? Her eye fell on the open page, and her hand trembled as she +read: + +"Ask, and ye shall receive, that your joy may be full." + +"Effie," she said, softly, "I thank you very much. Lay it in my little +box; and good-night." + +The tears that wet her pillow were very different from the drops that +had fallen on it a little while before. + +"Nothing will be so bad again," she murmured. "Nothing--nothing. +Whatever happens, I can always pray!" + + + +CHAPTER THREE. + +ABOUT THE SERMON. + +The next two days passed pleasantly enough; as the days always did, +Christie thought, when Effie was at home. There was plenty to do, more +than usual; but the elder sister was strong and willing, and, above all, +cheerful, and work seemed play in her hands. Even Aunt Elsie forgot to +scold when any little misfortune happened through neglect or +carelessness, and Effie's cheerful "Never mind. It canna be helped now. +Let us do the best we can," came between her and the culprit. + +Effie was not so merry as she used sometimes to be, Christie thought; +and very grave indeed she looked while discussing ways and means with +Aunt Elsie. There was a good deal to be discussed, for the winter was +approaching, and the little ones were in need of clothes and other +things, and Aunt Elsie did Effie the honour to declare that her judgment +on these matters was better worth having than that of all the rest of +them put together. Certainly, never were old garments examined and +considered with greater attention than was bestowed on the motley pile +brought from "the blue chest" for her inspection. No wonder that she +looked grave over the rents and holes and threadbare places, sure as she +was that, however shabby they had become, they must in some way or other +be made to serve for a long time yet. It looked like a hopeless task, +the attempt to transform by darning and turning, by patching and eking, +the poor remnants of last winter's frocks and petticoats into garments +suitable for home and school wear. + +"Surely no children ever grew so fast as ours!" said Effie, after +turning her little sister Ellen round and round, in the vain hope of +persuading her aunt and herself that the little linsey-woolsey frock was +not much too short and scant for the child. "Katie will need to have +it, after all. But what can we do for Nellie?" And Effie looked sorely +perplexed. + +"It's no' often that folk look on the growing of bairns as a +misfortune," said Aunt Elsie, echoing her sigh. "If it werena that we +want that green tartan for a kilt for wee Willie, we might manage to get +Nellie a frock out of that." + +Effie considered deeply. + +"Oh, Effie," whispered Christie, when her aunt's back was turned, "never +mind that heap of trash just now. You promised to come down to the +burn-side with me; and it will soon be time for the milking." + +"But I must mind," said Effie, gravely. "The bairns will need these +things before I can get two whole days at home again, and my aunt and +the girls have enough to do without this. Duty before pleasure, +Christie. See; you can help me by picking away this skirt. We must +make the best of things." + +Christie applied herself to the task, but not without many a sigh and +many a longing look at the bright sunshine. If Effie once got fairly +engaged in planning and patching, there would be no use in thinking of a +walk before milking-time. + +"Oh, dear!" she said, with a sigh. "I wish there was no such a thing as +old clothes in the world!" + +"Well, if there were plenty of new ones in it, I wouldna object to your +wish being gratified," said Effie, laughing. "But as there are few +likely to come our way for a while, we must do the best we can with the +old. We might be worse off, Christie." + +"Do you like to do it?" asked Christie. + +"I like to see it when it's done, at any rate. There is a great deal of +pleasure in a patch of that kind," she said, holding up the sleeve she +had been mending. "You would hardly know there was a patch there." + +Christie bent her short-sighted eyes to the work. + +"Yes; it's very nice. I wonder you have the patience. Aunt Elsie might +do it, I'm sure." + +Effie looked grave again. + +"I am afraid Aunt Elsie won't do much this winter. Her hands are +getting bad again. I must be busy while I am here. Never mind the +walk. We'll get a long walk together if we go to the kirk." + +"Yes, if it doesna rain, or if something doesna happen to hinder us." + +But she looked as though she thought there was nothing so pleasant in +store for her as a long walk with Effie; and she worked away at the +faded little garment with many a sigh. + +Sunday came, and, in spite of Christie's forebodings, the day rose +bright and beautiful. The kirk which the Redferns attended lay three +long miles from the farm. The distance and the increasing shabbiness of +little garments often kept the children at home, and Christie, too, had +to stay and share their tasks. They had no conveyance of their own, and +though the others might be none the worse for a little exposure to rain +or wind, her aunt would never permit Christie to run the risk of getting +wet or over-tired. So it was with a face almost as bright as Effie's +own that she hailed the bright sunshine and the cloudless sky. For +Sunday was not always a pleasant day for her at home. Indeed, it was +generally a very wearisome day. It was Aunt Elsie's desire and +intention that it should be well kept. But, beyond giving out a certain +number of questions in the catechism, or a psalm or chapter to be +learned by the little ones, she did not help them to keep it. It was +given as a task, and it was learned and repeated as a task. None of +them ever aspired to anything more than to get through the allotted +portion "without missing." There was not much pleasure in it, nor in +the readings that generally followed; for though good and valuable books +in themselves, they were too often quite beyond the comprehension of the +little listeners. A quiet walk in the garden, or in the nearest field, +was the utmost that was permitted in the way of amusement; and though +sometimes the walk might become a run or a romp, and the childish voices +rise higher than the Sunday pitch when there was no one to reprove, it +must be confessed that Sunday was the longest day in all the week for +the little Redferns. + +To none of them all was it longer than to Christie. She did not care to +share the stolen pleasures of the rest. Beading was her only resource. +Idle books were, on Sundays, and on weekdays too, Aunt Elsie's peculiar +aversion; and, unfortunately, all the books that Christie cared about +came under this class, in her estimation. All the enjoyment she could +get in reading must be stolen; and between the fear of detection and the +consciousness of wrong-doing, the pleasure, such as it was, was +generally hardly worth seeking. + +So it was with many self-congratulations that she set out with Effie to +the kirk. They were alone. Their father had gone earlier to attend the +Gaelic service, which he alone of all the family understood, and Annie +and Sarah, after the labours of a harvest-week, declared themselves too +weary to undertake the walk. It was a very lovely morning. Here and +there a yellow birch, or a crimson maple bough, gave token that the +dreary autumn was not far-away; but the air was mild and balmy as June, +and the bright sunlight made even the rough road and the low-lying +stubble-fields look lovely, in Christie's eyes. + +"How quiet and peaceful all things are!" she thought. + +The insects were chirping merrily enough, and now and then the voice of +a bird was heard, and from the woodland pastures far-away the tinkle of +sheep-bells fell pleasantly on the ear. But these sounds in no way +jarred on the Sabbath stillness; and as Christie followed her sister +along the narrow path that led them by a near way across the fields to +the half-mile corner where the road took a sudden turn to the right, a +strange feeling of peace stole over her. The burden of vexing and +discontented thoughts, that too frequently weighed on her heart, seemed +to fall away under the pleasant influence of the sunshine and the quiet, +and she drew a long sigh of relief as she said, softly: + +"Oh, Effie! such a bonny day!" + +"Yes," said Effie, turning round for a moment, and smiling at her +sister's brightening face. "It seems just such a day as one would +choose the Sabbath to be--so bright, yet so peaceful. I am very glad." + +But they could not say much yet; for the path was narrow, and there were +stones and rough places, and now and then a little water to be avoided; +so they went on quietly till they reached the low stone wall that +separated the field from the high-road. The boughs of the old tree that +hung over it were looking bare and autumn-like already, but under the +flickering shadow they sat down for a while to rest. + +"Hark!" said Christie, as the sound of wheels reached them. "That must +be the Nesbitts. They never go to the Gaelic service. I dare say they +will ask us to ride." There was an echo of disappointment in her tone; +and in a moment she added: + +"It is such a bonny day, and the walk would be so pleasant by and by in +the cool shade!" + +"Yes," said Effie. "But if they ask us we'll ride; for six miles is a +long walk for you. And it will be nice to ride, too." + +And so it was. The long wagon was drawn by two stout horses. No one +was in it but John Nesbitt and his mother; and they were both delighted +to offer a seat to the young girls. Christie sat on the front seat with +John, who was quite silent, thinking his own thoughts or listening to +the quiet talk going on between Effie and his mother; and Christie +enjoyed her drive in silence too. + +How very pleasant it seemed! They went slowly, for they had plenty of +time; and Christie's eyes wandered over the scene--the sky, the changing +trees, the brown fields and the green pastures--with an interest and +enjoyment that surprised herself. There was not much to see; but any +change was pleasant to the eyes that had rested for weeks on the same +familiar objects. Then the unaccustomed and agreeable motion +exhilarated without wearying her. And when at last they came in sight +of the kirk, Christie could not help wishing that they had farther to +go. + +The kirk, of itself, was rather an unsightly object than otherwise. +Except for the two rows of small windows on each side, it differed +little in appearance from the large wooden barns so common in that part +of the country. The woods were close behind it; and in the summer-time +they were a pleasant sight. On one side lay the graveyard. On days +when the sun did not shine, or in the autumn before the snow had come to +cover up the long, rank grass, the graveyard was a very dreary place to +Christie, and instead of lingering in it she usually went into the kirk, +even though the Gaelic service was not over. But to-day she sat down +near the door, at Effie's side, and waited till the people should come +out. Mrs Nesbitt had gone into a neighbour's house, and the two girls +were quite alone. + +"Effie," said Christie, "I think the minister must preach better in +Gaelic than he does in English. Just look in. Nobody will see you. +The folk are no' thinking about things outside." + +Effie raised herself a little, and bent forward to see. It was a very +odd-looking place. The pulpit was placed, not at the end of the house, +as is usual in places of worship, but at one side. There was no aisle. +The door opened directly into the body of the house, and from the place +where they stood could be seen not only the minister, but the many +earnest faces that were turned towards him. The lower part of the place +was crowded to the threshold, and tier above tier of earnest faces +looked down from the gallery. No sound save the voice of the preacher +was heard, and on him every eye was fastened. A few of the little ones +had gone to sleep, leaning on the shoulders of their elders; but all the +rest were listening as though life and death depended on the words he +uttered. The minister was speaking rapidly, and, as Effie knew, +solemnly, though she could only here and there catch the meaning of his +words. Indeed, it must have been easy to speak earnestly when +addressing such a multitude of eager listeners, who were hungry for the +bread of life. + +"I dare say the difference is in the hearers rather than in the +preaching," said Effie, turning away softly. + +"But, Effie, many of them are the very same people. I wish I knew what +he was saying!" + +"I dare say it is easier to speak in Gaelic, for one thing. The folk, +at least most of them, like it better, even when they understand +English. And it must make a great difference to a minister when he sees +people listening like that. I dare say he says the very same things to +us in English." + +Christie still stood looking in at the open door. + +"It ay minds me of the Day of Judgment," she said, "when I see the +people sitting like that, and when they come thronging out into the +kirk-yard and stand about among the graves." + +She shuddered slightly, and came and sat down beside Effie, and did not +speak again till the service was over. What a crowd there was then! +How the people came pouring out--with faces grave and composed, indeed, +but not half so solemn, Christie thought, as they ought to have been! +The voices rose to quite a loud hum as they passed from the door. +Greetings were interchanged, and arrangements were made for going home. +Invitations were given and accepted, and the larger part of the crowd +moved slowly away. + +The English congregation was comparatively small. The English sermon +immediately followed; but, whatever might be the reason, Christie said +many times to herself that there was a great difference in the +minister's manner of preaching now. He looked tired. And no wonder. +Two long services immediately succeeding each other were enough to tire +him. Christie strove to listen and to understand. She did not succeed +very well. She enjoyed the singing always, and especially to-day +singing out of the Psalms at the end of her own new Bible. But though +she tried very hard to make herself think that she enjoyed the sermon +too, she failed; and she was not sorry when it was over and she found +herself among the crowd in the kirk-yard again. She had still the going +home before her. + +To her great delight, Effie refused a ride in the Nesbitts' wagon, in +order that some who had walked in the morning might enjoy it. She hoped +to have her sister all to herself for a little while. She did not, +however. They were joined by several who were going their way; and more +than one lengthened their walk and went home the longest way, for the +sake of their company. It was not until they found themselves again at +the half-mile corner that they were quite alone. Christie sighed as she +leaned for a moment on the wall. + +"You are tired, dear," said Effie. "It is well we didna have to walk +both ways. Sit and rest a while." + +"I am not _very_ tired," said Christie; but she sighed again as she sat +down. + +"Effie, I wish I liked better to go to the kirk." + +"Why, Christie?" said her sister, in surprise. "I thought you liked it +very much. You said so in the morning." + +"Yes, I know; I like the walk, and the getting away from home; and I +like the singing, and to see the people. But the preaching--others seem +to like it so much; but I don't. I don't understand half that is said. +Do you?" + +"I don't understand always," said Effie, a little doubtfully. + +"And sometimes I canna help thinking about other things--the foolishest +things!--stories, and bits of songs; and sometimes I get _so_ sleepy." + +"It's wrong to think about other things in the kirk," said Effie, +scarcely knowing what to say. + +"But I canna help it! Now, to-day I meant to try; and I did. Some +things I seemed to understand at the time; but most that he said I didna +understand, and I have forgotten it all now. I don't believe I could +tell even the text." + +"Oh, yes, you could," said Effie. "`Therefore, being justified by +faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ.' Don't you +mind?" + +"Yes; I mind now," said Christie, turning to the verse in her new Bible, +and reading it, with several that followed. "Do you mind what he said, +Effie?" + +"Some things. He said a great many very important things." She paused, +and tried to recollect. "He told us what justification meant. Don't +you mind?" + +"Yes; but I knew that before, from the catechism." And she repeated the +words. + +She paused a moment, considering, as if the words had a meaning she had +not thought of before. + +"Yes," said Effie; "and he went on to explain all about it. I canna +repeat much of it; but I understood the most of it, I think." + +"I was always waiting to hear something about the peace," said Christie; +"but he didna get to that." + +"No. He told us he had kept us too long on the first part of the +subject. He'll give us the rest next Sabbath." + +Christie sighed. The chances were very much against her hearing what +was to be said next Sabbath. In a moment she repeated, musingly: + +"`Pardoneth all our sins; accepteth us as righteous.' I never thought +about that before. `The righteousness of Christ imputed to us.' What +is `imputed,' Effie?" + +"It means put to our credit, as if it were our own," said Effie. "I +have read that somewhere." + +"Do you understand all the catechism, Effie?" asked Christie, looking +wonderingly into her face. Effie laughed a little, and shook her head. + +"I don't understand it all, as the minister does, but I think I know +something about every question. There is so much in the catechism." + +"Yes, I suppose so," assented Christie. "But it's a pity that all good +books are so dull and so hard to understand." + +"Why, I don't suppose they _are_ all dull. I am sure they are not," +said Effie, gravely. + +"Well, _I_ find them so," said Christie. "Do you mind the book that +Andrew Graham brought to my father--the one, you know, that he said his +mother was never weary of reading? And my father liked it too--and my +aunt; though I don't really think she liked it so much. Well, I tried, +on two different Sabbaths, to read it. I thought I would try and find +out what was wonderful about it. But I couldna. It seemed to me just +like all the rest of the books. Did _you_ like it, Effie?" + +"I didna read it. It was sent home too soon. But, Christie, you are +but a little girl. It's no' to be supposed that you could understand +all father can, or that you should like all that he likes. And +besides," she added, after a pause, "I suppose God's people are +different from other people. They have something that others have not-- +a power to understand and enjoy what is hidden from the rest of the +world." + +Christie looked at her sister with undisguised astonishment. + +"What _do_ you mean, Effie?" she asked. + +"I don't know that I can make it quite clear to you. But don't you mind +how we smiled at wee Willie for wanting to give his bonny picture-book +to Mrs Grey's blind Allie? It was a treasure to him; but to the poor +wee blind lassie it was no better than an old copybook would have been. +And don't you mind that David prays: `Open Thou mine eyes, that I may +behold wondrous things out of Thy law'? That must mean something. I am +afraid most of those who read God's Word fail to see `wondrous things' +in it." + +Effie's eyes grew moist and wistful as they followed the quivering +shadows of the leaves overhead; and Christie watched her silently for a +while. + +"But, Effie," she said, at last, "there are parts of the Bible that +everybody likes to read. And, besides, all the people that go to the +kirk and listen as though they took pleasure in it are not God's +people--nor all those who read dull books, either." + +Effie shook her head. + +"I suppose they take delight in listening to what the preacher says, +just as they would take pleasure in hearing a good address on any +subject. But the Word is not food and medicine and comfort to the like +of them, as old Mrs Grey says it is to her. And we don't see them +taking God's Word as their guide and their law in all things, as God's +people do. It is not because they love it that they read and listen to +it. There is a great difference." + +"Yes," said Christie; "I suppose there is." + +But her thoughts had flown far-away before Effie had done speaking. A +vague impression, that had come to her mind many times before, was fast +taking form: she was asking herself whether Effie was not among those +whose eyes had been opened. She was different from what she used to be. +Not that she was kinder, or more mindful of the comfort of others, than +she remembered her always to have been. But she was different, for all +that. Could it be that Effie had become a child of God? Were her sins +pardoned? Was she accepted? Had old things passed away, and all things +become new to her? Christie could not ask her. She could hardly look +at her, in the midst of the new, shy wonder that was rising within her. +Yes, there were wonder and pleasure, but there was pain too--more of the +latter than of the former. Had a barrier suddenly sprung up between her +and the sister she loved best? A sense of being forsaken, left alone, +came over her--something like the feeling that had nearly broken her +heart when, long ago, they told her that her mother had gone to heaven. +A great wave of bitterness passed over her sinking heart. She turned +away, that her sister might not see her face. + +"Christie," said Effie, in a minute or two, "I think we ought to go +home. There will be some things to do; and if Annie and Sarah went to +the Sabbath-class, we should be needed to help." + +It was in Christie's heart to say that she did not care to go home--she +did not care to help--she did not care for anything. But she had no +voice to utter such wrong and foolish words. So, still keeping her face +turned away, she took her Bible and began to roll it in her +handkerchief--when a thought struck her. + +"Effie," she asked, quickly, "do you believe that God hears us when we +pray?" + +In the face now turned towards her, Effie saw tokens that there was +something wrong with her little sister. But, accustomed to her changing +moods and frequent petulance, she answered, quietly: + +"Surely, Christie, I believe it. The Bible says so." + +"Yes; I ken that," said Christie, with some impatience in her tone. +"The Bible says so, and people believe it in a general way. But is it +true? Do _you_ believe it?" + +"Surely I believe it," said Effie, slowly. + +She was considering whether it would be best to say anything more to her +sister, vexed and unhappy as her voice and manner plainly showed her to +be; and while she hesitated, Christie said again, more quietly: + +"If God hears prayer, why are most people so miserable?" + +"I don't think most people _are_ miserable," said Effie, gravely. "I +don't think anybody that trusts in God can be very miserable." + +Christie leaned back again on the stone, from which she had half risen. + +"Those who have been pardoned and accepted," she _thought_; but aloud +she _said_, "Well, I don't know: there are some good people that have +trouble enough. There's old Mrs Grey. Wave after wave of trouble has +passed over her. I heard the minister say those very words to father +about her." + +"But, Christie," said her sister, gravely, "you should ask Mrs Grey, +some time, if she would be willing to lose her trust in God for the sake +of having all her trouble taken away. I am quite sure she would not +hesitate for a moment. She would smile at the thought of even pausing +to choose." + +"But, Effie, that's not what we are speaking about. I'm sure that Mrs +Grey prayed many and many a time that her son John might be spared to +his family. Just think of them, so helpless--and their mother dead, and +little Allie blind! And the minister prayed for him too, in the kirk, +and all the folk, that so useful a life might be spared. But, for all +that, he died, Effie." + +"Yes; but, Christie, Mrs Grey never prayed for her son's life except in +submission to God's will. If his death would be for the glory of God, +she prayed to be made submissive to His will, and committed herself and +her son's helpless little ones to God's keeping." + +Christie looked at her sister with eyes filled with astonishment. + +"You don't mean to say that if Mrs Grey had had her choice she wouldna +have had her son spared to her?" + +"I mean that if she could have had her choice she would have preferred +to leave the matter in God's hands. She would never have chosen for +herself." + +"Christie," she added, after a pause, "do you mind the time when our +Willie wanted father's knife, and how, rather than vex him, Annie gave +it to him? Do you mind all the mischief he did to himself and others? +I suppose some of our prayers are as blind and foolish as Willie's wish +was, and that God shows His loving kindness to us rather by denying than +by granting our requests." + +"Then what was the use of praying for Mrs Grey's son, since it was +God's will that he should die? What is the use of anybody's praying +about anything?" + +Effie hesitated. There was something in Christie's manner indicating +that it was not alone the mere petulance of the moment that dictated the +question. + +"I am not wise about these things, Christie," she said. "I only know +this: God has graciously permitted us to bring our troubles to Him. He +has said, `Ask, and ye shall receive; seek, and ye shall find.' He has +said, `He that asketh receiveth, and he that seeketh findeth.' And in +the Psalms, `Call upon Me in the day of trouble, and I will deliver +thee, and thou shalt glorify Me.' We need not vex ourselves, surely, +about _how_ it is all to happen. God's word is enough." + +"But then, Effie, there are prayers that God doesna hear." + +"There are many things that God does not give us when we ask Him; but, +Christie, God does hear the prayers of His people. Yes, and He answers +them too--though not always in the way that they wish or expect, yet +_always_ in the _best_ way for them. Of this they may be sure. If He +does not give them just what they ask for, He will give them something +better, and make them willing to be without the desired good. There is +nothing in the whole Bible more clearly told than that God hears the +prayers of His people. We need never, _never_ doubt that." + +But Christie did not look satisfied. + +"`His people,'" she murmured, "but no others." + +Effie looked perplexed. + +"I am not wise in these matters, as I have just told you," she said, +gravely. "Until lately I havena thought much about them. But I think +that people sometimes vex themselves in vain. It is to the thirsty who +are seeking water that God promises to open fountains. It is to the +weary and heavy-laden that Christ has promised rest. I am sure that +those who feel their need of God's help need not fear that they will be +refused anything--I mean, anything that is good for them." + +"There is a difference, I suppose," she added, after a pause. "We may +ask for many a temporal blessing that might be our ruin if God were to +grant it to us; and in love He withholds such, often. But when we ask +for spiritual blessing, for the grace of strength to do or of patience +to bear His will, if we ask for guidance, for wisdom to direct us, we +need not fear that we shall be denied. And, having these, other things +don't matter so much, to God's people." + +"`To God's people,'" repeated Christie to herself again. "Well, I am +not one of them. It's nothing that can do me any good." + +She did not answer her sister, but rose up slowly, saying it was time to +go. So she climbed over the low stone wall, and walked on in silence. +Effie followed quietly. Not a word was spoken till they reached the +bend of the brook over which hung the birch-tree. Past this, her +favourite resting-place, Christie rarely went without lingering. She +would not have paused to-night, however, had not Effie, who had fallen a +little behind by this time, called her. + +"Oh, Christie! look at the clouds! Did you ever see anything so +beautiful? How beautiful!" she repeated, as she came and stood beside +her. "It was a long time before I could become used to the sun's +sinking down in that low, far-away place. I missed the hills that used +to hide him from us at home. How well I remember the sunsets then, and +the long, quiet gloamings!" + +"Home" was over the sea, and "then" was the time when a mother's voice +and smile mingled with all other pleasant things; and no wonder that +Effie sighed, as she stood watching the changing hues near the low +horizon. The "home" and "then" were the last drops added to Christie's +cup of sad memories; and the overflow could no longer be stayed. She +kept her face turned away from her sister, but could not hide the +struggle within, and at Effie's very first word her sobs broke forth. + +"What is the matter, Christie? There must be something you have not +told me about. You are weary: that is it. Sit down here again, and +rest. We need not hurry home, after all." + +Christie sank down, struggling with her tears. + +"It's nothing, Effie," she said, at last. "I'm sure I didna mean to vex +you with my crying; but I canna help it. There is nothing the matter +with me more than usual. Never mind me, Effie." + +"Well, sit still a little," said Effie, soothingly. "You are tired, I +do believe." + +"Yes," said Christie, recovering herself with a great effort. "It's +partly that, I dare say; and--" She stopped, not being further sure of +her voice. + +Effie said nothing, but gently stroked her hair with her hand. The +gentle touch was more than Christie could bear, at the moment. + +"Effie, don't!" she cried, vainly struggling to repress another gush of +tears. In a little while she grew quiet, and said, "I know I'm very +foolish, Effie; but I canna help it." + +"Never mind," said Effie, cheerfully; for she knew by the sound of her +voice that her tears were over for this time. "A little shower +sometimes clears the sky; and now the sun will shine again." + +She stooped down, and dipping her own handkerchief in the brook, gave it +to her sister to bathe her hot cheeks; and soon she asked, gravely: + +"What is it, Christie?" + +"It's nothing," said Christie, eagerly. "Nothing more than usual. I'm +tired, that's all,--and you are going away,--and it will be just the +same thing every day till you come back,--going to bed tired, and +getting up tired, and doing the same thing over and over again to very +little purpose. I'm sure I canna see the good of it all." + +Effie could not but smile at her words and manner. + +"Well, I suppose that will be the way with every one, mostly. I'm sure +it will be the way with me. Except the getting up tired," she added, +laughing. "I'm glad to say I don't very often do that. I'm afraid my +life is not to much purpose either, though I do wish it to be useful," +she continued, more gravely. + +"Oh, well, it's very different with you!" said Christie, in a tone that +her sister never liked to hear. + +She did not reply for a moment. Then she said: + +"It will be easier for you now that the harvest is over. Annie and +Sarah will be in the house, and you will have less to do. And, besides, +they will make it more cheerful." + +Christie made a movement of impatience. + +"You are like Aunt Elsie. You think that I like to be idle and don't +wish to do my share. At any rate, the girls being in the house will +make little difference to me. I shall have to be doing something all +the time--little things that don't come to anything. Well, I suppose +there is no help for it. It will be all the same in the end." + +Poor Christie! She had a feeling all the time that she was very cross +and unreasonable, and she was as vexed as possible with herself for +spoiling this last precious half-hour with Effie by her murmurs and +complaints. She had not meant it. She was sorry they had waited by the +brook. She knew it was for her sake that Effie had proposed to sit down +in her favourite resting-place; but before she had well uttered the last +words she was wishing with all her heart that they had hurried on. + +Effie looked troubled. Christie felt rather than saw it; for her face +was turned quite away, and she was gathering up and casting from her +broken bits of branches and withered leaves, and watching them as they +were borne away by the waters of the brook. Christie would have given +much to know whether she was thinking of her foolish words, or of +something else. + +"I suppose she thinks it's of no use to heed what I say. And now I have +spoiled all the pleasure of thinking about to-day." + +Soon she asked, in a voice which had quite lost the tone of peevishness: + +"When will you come home again, Effie?" + +Effie turned towards her immediately. + +"I don't know. I'm not quite sure, yet. But, Christie, I canna bear to +hear you speak in that way--as though you saw no good in anything. Did +you ever think how much worse it might be with you and with us all?" + +In her heart, Christie was saying she did not think things _could_ be +much worse, as far as _she_ was concerned; but she only looked at her +sister, without speaking. + +"For, after all," continued Effie, "we are very well off with food and +shelter, and are all at home together. You are not very strong, it is +true, and you have much to do and Aunt Elsie is not always considerate; +or, rather, she has not always a pleasant way of showing her +considerateness. She's a little sharp sometimes, I know. But she +suffers more than she acknowledges, and we all ought to bear with her. +You have the most to bear, perhaps; but--" + +"It's no' that, Effie," interrupted Christie. "I don't mind having much +to do. And I'm sure it never enters into Aunt Elsie's head that I have +anything to bear from her. She thinks she has plenty to bear, from me +and from us all. I wouldna care if it came to anything. I could bear +great trials, I know, and do great things; but this continual worry and +vexation about nothing--it never ends. Every day it is just to begin +over again. And what does it all amount to when the year's over?" + +"Hush, Christie," said her sister. "The time may come when the +remembrance of these words will be painful to you. The only way we can +prove that we would bear great trials well is by bearing little trials +well. We don't know how soon great trials may come upon us. Every +night that I come home, I am thankful to find things just as I left +them. We need be in no hurry to have any change." + +Christie was startled. + +"What _do_ you mean, Effie? Are you afraid of anything happening?" + +"Oh, no," she said, cheerfully, "I hope not. I dare say we shall do +very well. But we must be thankful for the blessings we have, Christie, +and hopeful for the future." + +"Folk say father is not a very good farmer. Is that it, Effie?" +Christie spoke with hesitation, as though she was not quite sure how her +sister would receive her remark. "But we are getting on better now." + +Effie only answered the last part of what she said. + +"Yes, we are getting on better. Father says we have raised enough to +take us through the year, with something to spare. It's all we have to +depend on--so much has been laid out on the farm; and it must come in +slowly. But things _will_ wear out; and the bairns--I wish I could bide +at home this winter." + +"Oh, if you only could!" cried Christie, eagerly. + +Effie shook her head. "I can do more good to all by being away. And my +wages have been raised. I couldna leave just now. Oh, I dare say we +shall do very well. But, Christie, you must not fret and be +discontented, and think what you do is not worth while. It is the +motive that makes the work of any one's life great or small. It is +little matter, in one sense, whether it be teaching children, or washing +dishes, or ruling a kingdom, if it is done in the right way and from +right principles. I have read, somewhere, that the daily life of a poor +unknown child, who, striving against sin, does meekly and cheerfully +what is given him to do, may be more acceptable in the sight of God than +the suffering of some whom their fellow-men crown as martyrs. If we +could only forget ourselves and live for others!" She sighed as she +rose to go. "But come, child: we must hurry home now." + +Christie had no words with which to answer her. She rose and followed +in silence. "If we could forget ourselves and live for others!" she +murmured. That was not _her_ way, surely. Every day, and every hour of +the day, it was herself she thought of. Either she was murmuring over +her grievances, or pitying herself for them, or she was dreaming vain +dreams of a future that should have nothing to vex or annoy. Her life's +work was worth little, indeed, judging it by Effie's standard. She did +all that she did, merely because she could not help it. As to +forgetting herself and thinking of others-- + +But who did so? No one that she knew, unless, perhaps, Effie herself. +And Effie had a great many things to make her life pleasant, she +thought. Perhaps her father? But then, her father did what he did for +his children. All fathers did the same, she supposed. No; she doubted +whether any one came near Effie's idea of what life should be. It would +be a very different world indeed if all did so. + +They were quite close to the house before Christie got thus far; and a +glimpse of her father's careworn face filled her with something like +self-reproach. + +"I wish I could do him some good! But what can I do? He has never been +the same since mother died. Nobody has been the same since that--except +Effie; and she is better and kinder every day. Oh, I wish I could be +like her! but it's of no use wishing;--I can never be like her. Oh, how +tired I am!" + +She started at the sound of Aunt Elsie's voice asking, rather sharply, +what had kept them so long. She turned away, impatient of the question, +and impatient of the cheerful answer with which Effie sought to turn +aside her aunt's displeasure. She was impatient of Annie's regrets that +their long delay had spoiled their supper, and of Sarah's questions as +to who had been at the kirk, and answered them both shortly. She was +impatient of the suppressed noise of the little ones, and vexed at her +own impatience more than all. + +"I dinna think your going to the kirk has done you much good. What ails +you, Christie? One would think you had the sins of a nation to answer +for, by your face." + +"Whisht, Annie," interposed Effie. "Christie's tired, and her head +aches, I'm sure. Dinna vex her--poor thing!" + +"Well, if she would only say that, and no' look so glum!" said Annie, +laughing, as she set aside the bowl of milk intended for Christie's +supper. In a moment she returned with a cup of tea, and placed it where +the bowl had stood. "There!" she said; "that will do your head good, +and your temper too, I hope. I'm sure you look as though you needed +it." + +Christie would fain have resented both her sister's kindness and her +thoughtless words, by taking no notice of the tea; but Effie interposed +again: + +"You are very kind, Annie. What a pity you should spoil all by those +needless words!" + +Annie laughed. + +"Nonsense!" she said. "I didna mean to say anything unkind. Christie +mustna be so testy. Don't tell me that you like milk better than tea. +Christie will enjoy hers all the better if you take one too." And she +placed it before her. + +"Thank you. It's very nice," said Effie. "But the milk would have done +very well." + +The quick tap of Aunt Elsie's cane was heard approaching. + +"I doubt you are getting away from Sabbath subjects," said Aunt Elsie. +"Haste you with your supper, bairns--your father's waiting to have +worship. Christie, if you are tired, you should go to bed at once." + +For once, Christie did not wait for a second bidding. She was very +tired; and long before the usual Sabbath evening's examination was over, +she had forgotten her doubts and fears and vexing thoughts in sleep. + + + +CHAPTER FOUR. + +ORPHANHOOD. + +When Christie was complaining of the small vexations and unvaried +sameness of her daily life, she little dreamed how near at hand was the +time when Effie's words were to prove true. Before the frost came to +hush the pleasant murmur of the brook, or the snow had hidden alike the +turf seat and the sear leaves of the birch-tree beside it, Christie was +looking back over the stolen moments passed there on summer afternoons, +with feelings with which were mingled wonder and pain and self-reproach. +For the shadow of a coming sorrow was over their household. Day by day +they seemed to be drawing nearer to a change which all saw, but which +none had courage to name. The neighbours came and went, and spoke +hopefully to the awed and anxious children; but they were grave, and +said to one another that the poor young Redferns would soon be +fatherless. + +The harvest was quite over, and the assistance of the girls was no +longer necessary out-of-doors, when one day Mr Redfern went alone to +bring home the last load of turnips from a distant field; and when his +children saw his face again it was like the face of the dead. Whether +he had been thrown from the cart he had been driving, or whether he had +fallen in some sort of fit, they could not tell. Even the doctor, who +had been sent for from the next town, could not account for the state of +stupor in which he found him. Two days of painful suspense passed; and +then, contrary to the expectation of all, Mr Redfern opened his eyes +and spoke. For a few days he seemed to revive so rapidly that the +doctor had hopes of his entire recovery. It would be a work of time, he +said. His back had been much injured by the fall. He could never +expect to be so strong as he had been before; but he did not doubt that +a few weeks would restore him to a good degree of health and strength +again. And so they all took courage. + +Effie, who had been summoned home, would fain have remained for the +winter; but this did not seem best. The surplus of the harvest, over +which she and Christie had so lately rejoiced, would be required to pay +the wages of the man who must for the winter take their father's place; +and Effie's increased salary would be of more value than ever to the +family. With a face which she strove to make cheerful for the sake of +those she left behind, she went away; but her heart was heavy, and when +she kissed Christie a good-bye and bade her keep her courage up for the +sake of all, she could hardly restrain her tears till the words were +spoken. + +Those who were left at home needed all the cheerfulness they could +gather from each other; for it was a very dreary winter that lay before +them. The passing weeks did not bring to Mr Redfern the health and +strength so confidently promised by the doctor and so earnestly hoped +for by his children. In her brief visits, Effie could see little change +in him from week to week--certainly none for the better. He gradually +came to suffer less, and was always cheerful and patient; but the times +when he could be relieved from the weariness of his bed by changing his +position to the arm-chair were briefer and at longer intervals. + +And, in the meantime, another cloud was gathering over them. Aunt +Elsie's rheumatism, which during the autumn had given her much trouble +from time to time, was growing daily worse. Painful days and sleepless +nights were no longer the exception, but the rule; and not long after +the coming in of the New Year, the help which for a long time she had +positively and even sternly refused, became a necessity to her. She +could neither rise nor lie down without assistance, and she was fast +losing the use of her limbs. She was patient, or at least she strove to +be, towards her nieces; but she murmured audibly against God, who had so +heavily afflicted them. + +The firm health and cheerful spirits of the girls, Annie and Sarah, +stood them in good stead during those long months of suffering. Sarah +was the housekeeper, and she fulfilled the many and complicated duties +of her office with an alacrity and success that might well surprise them +all. She planned and arranged with the skill of a woman of experience, +and carried out her plans with an energy and patience that seldom +flagged. Indeed, she seemed to find positive pleasure in the little +make-shifts which their straitened means made every day more necessary, +and boasted of her wonderful powers in a way so merry and triumphant +that she cheered the rest when they needed it most. + +Annie's task was harder than her sister's. The constant attendance upon +the sick-beds of her father and her aunt was very trying to a girl +accustomed to daily exercise in the open air; and there were days when +her voice was not so cheerful nor so often heard among them as it might +have been. But she was strong and patient, and grew daily more +efficient as a nurse; and though she did not know it, she was getting +just the discipline that she needed to check some faults and to +strengthen her character at the points where it needed strengthening +most. + +As for Christie, she was neither nurse nor housekeeper; or rather, I +ought to say, she was both by turns. It was still her duty to attend to +little items here and there, which seem little when done, but the +neglect of which would soon throw a household into confusion. It was +"Christie, come here," and "Christie, go there," and "Christie, do this +and that," from morning till night, till she was too weary even to sleep +when night came. Her sisters did not mean to be exacting. Indeed, they +meant to be very kind and forbearing, and praised and petted her till +she was ready to forget her weariness, as well as their unmindfulness of +it. She did try very hard to be gentle, and patient, and useful, and +almost always she succeeded; and the homecoming of Effie on Saturday +night was the one event to which all her thoughts turned through the +week, whether she was successful or not. + +And, indeed, Christie was not the only one of them whose chief pleasure +was a glimpse of Effie's cheerful face. It did them all good to have +her among them for a day or two every week. All looked to her for help +and counsel; and she seldom failed or disappointed any one. Whatever +sad thoughts of the present or misgivings for the future she might have, +she kept them, during her visits at home, quite to herself. So they who +needed it so much enjoyed the good of her cheerfulness, and she suffered +the doubts and suspense and painful anxiety of an elder sister in +silence. + +The winter passed slowly and sadly away to the two invalids, in spite of +the hopes that spring might do for them what those long winter months +failed to do. March came and passed, and April brought new cares and +duties. The coming of the young lambs first, and afterwards the care of +the calves and the dairy, gave Annie and Sarah full employment for a +time. Annie's cheeks, that had grown thin and pale during the winter's +confinement, began to get back their bright colour again. + +From this time the care of her father devolved almost entirely on +Christie. Her aunt was, in one respect, better than she used to be. +She rarely suffered such intense pain as during the first part of the +winter; but every day was making it more apparent that she could never +hope to have full use of her limbs again. To an affliction like this, +Aunt Elsie could not look forward submissively. She came at last to +acknowledge, in words, that her trouble was sent by God, and that she +ought to submit, believing that out of the present trial He could bring +blessing. But in her heart she murmured bitterly. She could not bear +to think that her helplessness added greatly to the burden of care that +their father's illness had brought on these young girls. Yet her +murmuring and repining spirit added to their troubles more than her +helplessness did. Those days were very dreary to Aunt Elsie. + +And on none of the family did the burden of her great unhappiness rest +so heavily as upon Christie. Not that she had very much to do for her. +After she was dressed by Annie and settled in her low chair for the day, +she asked and needed little further care. Indeed, in the first misery +of her helplessness she rather shrank from all assistance that was not +absolutely indispensable, and almost resented all attempts to add to her +comfort or relieve her pain. Christie was never quite sure that her +aunt was satisfied with anything that was done for her. She never +complained; but her acceptance of service seemed always under protest, +as though she would fain have refused it if she had had the power. Her +very sympathy with the child in her weariness was so expressed as to +seem like a reproach. + +In her attendance upon her father it was very different. All that was +done for him was right; and his gentle thanks for her constant +ministrations made the service sweet to his weary little daughter. No +doubt he passed many a sorrowful day during that long and painful +winter; but he suffered no murmur of his to add to the distress of those +dear to him. In the silence of many a long and wakeful night, he could +not but look in the face the possibility that his children might be left +orphans, and the thought could not be otherwise than one of great pain. +But he suffered no expression of doubt or fear to discourage them. He +wished to live for their sakes; and for a long time he believed that he +should live. But the hope passed away with the winter. As the days +began to grow long, and the time approached when his children hoped he +would be well again, the conviction gradually dawned upon him that the +summer air would bring no healing. He felt that he had taken his last +look of the snows of winter, that the willow buds and the pale spring +blossoms that his little ones brought to him so lovingly were the last +he should ever see. For himself it would be well; but for his +children--! None but He who knoweth all things knew the pang that rent +his heart at the thought of them! Orphans and strangers in a strange +land, what was to become of his young daughters? Some of those bright +May days were dark enough, as he groped amid the gloom of his great fear +for them. + +But the faith of the Christian triumphed. Before the time came to speak +the words which were to chase all hope from their hearts, he could speak +them calmly and even hopefully. The voice that never speaks in vain had +said to the ear of faith, "Leave thy fatherless children with _Me_;" and +he was thenceforth at peace. He sometimes sighed when he noticed the +look of care that could not always be chased from the brow of his elder +girls; but almost always he was at peace about them and their future. + +As for them, they were altogether hopeful. They never saw the cloud +that was growing darker and drawing nearer during those bright spring +days. In after days, they wondered at their strange unconcern, and said +to one another, "How could we have been so blind?" They were grave and +anxious many a time, but never with the fear of death. They held long +consultations together when Effie was at home; but it was always how +they might arrange their affairs so that they need not vex nor annoy +their father while he was not strong. They did not apprehend how near +was the time when no earthly care should have power to vex him. Even +Effie, more thoughtful and anxious than the rest, cheated herself with +the hope that time alone was needed to restore him. Whatever Aunt Elsie +saw in her brother's changing face, she said nothing of her fears till +the time for self-deception was past with them all. + +When the time of his departure drew very near, they even thought him +better, because he suffered less, and because a far greater part of his +time was spent in his arm-chair, or in moving about the room. More than +once, too, he was able, by the help of his staff and of a daughter's +willing arm, to go into the garden, or to the turf seat at the end of +the house; and his enjoyment of the pleasant spring air and the pleasant +spring sights and sounds beguiled them into the belief that he was +becoming himself again. But, alas! it was not so. When the suffering +passed away, there came in its place a feeling of restlessness that +could not be controlled. There was rest for him nowhere. He grew weary +of the bed, weary of the arm-chair, weary of his aimless wanderings up +and down. At such times, Christie's voice, singing or reading, had, now +and then, a power to soothe, sometimes to quiet, sometimes even to put +him to sleep. And, indeed, she grew very skilful in her efforts to +soothe and amuse him; and at any hour of the night or day a movement of +his would bring her to his side. A softly-spoken word, or the loving +touch of his hand upon her head, was enough to make her forget all her +weakness and weariness; and during her whole life, or, at least, since +her mother's death, Christie had passed no happier days than in that +last month of her father's life. + +"Your voice is like your mother's, Christie, my lassie," he said one +night, when all but themselves were sleeping. + +Christie gave a quick look into his face. He smiled. + +"Yes, and you have reminded me of her in various ways during the last +few weeks. I hope you will be as good a woman as your mother was, +Christie." + +She was not a demonstrative child, usually; but now she dropped her face +upon her fathers hand, and he felt the fall of her warm tears. It was +gently withdrawn, and laid upon her head, and in words that Christie +never forgot, he prayed God to bless her. But even with the joy that +thrilled her there came upon her a shudder of awe--a fearful certainty +that she was listening to the words of a dying man. For a time she lay +quite motionless, and her father slumbered with his hand still upon her +head. He breathed quite softly and regularly, and in a little time +Christie found courage to raise herself and to look into his face. +There was no change on it, such as she had heard comes always to the +face of the dying, and gradually the quick beating of her heart ceased. +As she stood gazing, he opened his eyes and met her look. + +"You are weary and wan, poor child," he said. "You should have let +Annie or Sarah be with me to-night. Lie down and rest." + +"Are you worse, father? Would you like to have me call Annie or Sarah?" + +He looked surprised. + +"No; I am very comfortable. I think I shall sleep. Lie down and rest, +my poor, weary lamb." + +She moved the light so that his face might be in the shadow, and then +laid herself down on the low bed near him. She did not mean to sleep; +she thought she could not, but weariness overcame her, and she did not +waken till Annie lifted the window-curtain and let the light stream in +on her face. She woke with a start and a cry; but a glance at her +sister's serene face reassured her. + +"You frightened little creature! What makes you jump out of your sleep +in that way? I doubt if you have slept much, and yet father says he has +had a good night." + +"Oh, yes, I have," said she, with a sigh of relief. "I think I have +been dreaming." + +Looking into her father's face for confirmation of Annie's assurance +that he was better, he met her look with a smile which quite banished +her fears, saying he was very comfortable and had slept well. Once or +twice during the day her fears came back; but she strove to chase them +away, calling herself foolish and unthankful. And she could easily do +so; for he did seem really better. He conversed more than usual with +Aunt Elsie--though Christie did not understand all they said. She only +knew that they spoke earnestly, and that her father spoke cheerfully. +Aunt Elsie looked grave and doubtful enough. "But she always does," +thought Christie. "I can judge nothing by that." + +He went farther down the garden-walk than he had ever gone yet; and he +looked so cheerful, sitting in the sunshine, that Christie smiled at her +unreasonable fears. Alas! that day was to be ever memorable to the +Redfern children, as the last on which the sunshine ever rested on their +father's face. He never trod the garden path again. + +That night Effie came home, and did not go away again till all was over. +Christie never knew very well how those days passed. She remembered +running down the lane to meet her sister in the twilight, and the +irresistible impulse that came over her to tell of the terrible fear +that had come upon her as she sat that night with her father's hand on +her head. She called herself foolish and weak, and hastened to tell her +sister how much better he had been through the day, how he had walked +down the garden and enjoyed the sunshine, and how easy and peaceful he +had been since then. But the shadow that had fallen on Effie's face at +her first words did not pass away as she continued to speak; and it was +with eyes opened to see "the beginning of the end" that she came into +her father's chamber. + +She did not leave him again. Christie slept on the couch near him; but +all night long Effie sat with her eyes fixed on her father's changing +face. He did not bid her lie down, as he was wont to do. He always +smiled when he met her look, and once he said, "I have much to say to +you, Effie;" but, while she listened for more, he slumbered again. And +so the night passed. + +The light of the morning made the change more visible. Sarah saw it +when she came in. They did not need to tell each other what they +feared. When Christie awoke, it was to see the anxious faces of the +three sisters bending over their father. She rose mechanically, and +stood beside them. + +"Is he worse?" she asked. "He seems sleeping quietly." + +She did not need to say more. + +"Annie," said Effie, in a little time, beckoning her sister away from +the bed, "Aunt Elsie must have her breakfast before she is told this; +and the bairns--" Effie's voice failed her for a moment. "We must try +and keep them quiet." + +Annie said something in a low voice about the doctor; Effie shook her +head. + +"It's of no use," said Effie. "Still, we might send. I'll tell James." +And she went out. + +A little after daybreak he seemed to rouse himself for a moment; but he +soon slumbered again. By and by their neighbours, who had heard from +the messenger sent for the doctor that Mr Redfern was worse, came +dropping in. They looked in for a moment upon the group of girls +gathered round their father's bed, and then, for the most part, seated +themselves in the outer room with Aunt Elsie. Mrs Nesbitt and her son +John lingered in the room, and whispered together. In a little while +the mother beckoned to Effie. + +"My poor bairn," she said, "if you have anything to say to your father, +or anything to ask of him, it had better be now." + +Effie gave a quick, startled look. + +"Now?" she said. "So soon?" + +"Effie, my bairn, for the sake of the rest," whispered her friend. + +In a minute or two she was able to take her old place by the pillow. As +she bent over her father, the doctor came in. He stood for a moment +looking down on him. + +"Speak to him," he said. + +"Father," said Effie, stooping, with her face close to his. "Father." + +He stirred a little at the sound of her voice, and his fingers wandered +aimlessly over the coverlet. + +"Is it morning?" he asked. + +"Father," repeated Effie, "Dr Grey is here." + +He opened his eyes at that, and met the look of the doctor fixed on him. + +"Oh, is the end come?" he asked. "I didna think it would be so soon. +Did I hear Effie's voice? I have so much to say to her! My poor +bairns!" + +Effie bent her face again close to his. Her voice was low, but firm and +clear. + +"Father, don't let any thought of us disturb you now. God is good. I +am not afraid." + +"And your aunt, she has suffered much, sacrificed much for us. Consider +her first in all things. Be guided by her." + +"Yes, father." + +"There are other things. I didna think this was to be so soon; and now +it is too late. But you have some kind friends. Did I hear John +Nesbitt's voice?" + +"Yes, father; he is here." And she beckoned to John to come nearer. +But he seemed to have forgotten him John stooped towards him, and said, +in a low voice: + +"Is there anything I can say that would make it easier for you to leave +them?" + +The eyes of the dying man turned towards him, slowly. + +"John, you are a good man, and true. They will be very solitary. You +will be their friend?" + +"Always. So help me God!" + +The words were spoken like the words of a vow. + +The dying man's mind seemed to wander a little after that; for he asked +again if it was morning, and what was to be done in the field to-day. +But Effie's pale face bending over him seemed to recall all. + +"Effie," he said, "I leave them all with you--just as I would have left +them with your mother. Be to them what she would have been to you all. +You will ay be mindful of the little ones, Effie?" + +"Father, with God's help, I will," she answered, firmly. + +"Poor little ones! Poor wee Christie!" he murmured. + +They brought them to him, guiding his hand till it rested on each head, +one after the other. + +"Fear God, and love one another." It was all he had strength to say, +now. John Nesbitt read from the Bible a verse or two now and then, +speaking slowly, that the dying man might hear. Then an old man, one of +the elders of the kirk, prayed by the bedside. The uneasy movement of +his head upon the pillow, and the aimless efforts of his hands to grasp +something, were the only signs of suffering that he gave; and when Effie +took his hand in hers, these ceased. + +"If Christie would sing, I think I could sleep," he said. "Her voice is +like her mother's." + +Effie beckoned to her sister. + +"Try, Christie; try," she said. + +But Christie's lips could utter no sound. John Nesbitt began, "The +Lord's my Shepherd;" and in a little time several trembling voices +joined. When they came to the verse: + + "Yea, though I walk through Death's dark vale, + Yet will I fear no ill; + For Thou art with me, and Thy rod + And staff me comfort still,--" + +they rose full, clear, and triumphant. They were the last sounds he +heard on earth. When they ended, Mrs Nesbitt's hand was gently laid on +their father's eyelids, and at the sight of that the children knew they +were orphans. + + + +CHAPTER FIVE. + +CLOUDS AND SUNSHINE. + +When a great sorrow has just fallen upon us, we find it impossible to +feel that all things about us are not changed. We cannot imagine +ourselves falling into the old daily routine again. The death of one +dear to us gives us a shock which seems to unsettle the very foundation +of things. A sense of insecurity and unreality pervades all that +concerns us. We shrink from the thought that the old pleasures will +charm us again, that daily cares will occupy our minds to the exclusion +of to-day's sadness, that time will heal the wounds that smart so +bitterly now. + +But it does; and as it passes, we find ourselves going the old rounds, +enjoying the old pleasures, doing the duties which the day brings; and +the great healer does his kindly office, to the soothing of our pain. +It is not that our bereavement is no longer felt, or that we have +forgotten the friend we loved. But the human heart is a harp with many +strings. Though one be broken, there are others which answer to the +touch of the wandering breezes; and though the music may be marred in +some of its measures, it is still sweet. + +The young cannot long sit under the shadow of a great sorrow, if there +be any chance rays of sunshine gleaming. Besides, the poor have no time +to sit down and nurse their grief. When little more than a week had +passed after Mr Redfern's death, Effie was obliged to return to the +ruling and guiding of her noisy little kingdom. She went sadly enough; +and many an anxious thought went back to the household at home. But she +could not choose but go. They had agreed among themselves that there +should be no change till after the harvest should be gathered in, and in +the meantime, all the help that she could give was needed. Her monthly +wages were growing doubly precious in her estimation. They were the +chief dependence at home. + +The sowing and planting had been on a limited scale this spring, and all +outdoor matters, except what pertained to the dairy, could very well be +attended to by James Cairns, their hired man, who was strong and +willing. So Annie and Sarah were in the house, and the little ones went +to school as soon as the summer weather came. + +As for Christie, little was expected from her besides attending to Aunt +Elsie, and reading to her now and then. These were easy enough duties, +one would think, considering how little attention Aunt Elsie was willing +to accept from any one. But light as they were, Christie could not +hide, and did not always _try_ to hide, the truth that they were irksome +to her. + +Poor little Christie! How miserable she was, often! How mortified and +ashamed of herself! This was all so different from what she had meant +to be when Effie went away--a help and a comfort to all. There were +times when she strove bravely with herself: she strove to be less +peevish, and to join the rest in their efforts to be useful and +cheerful; but she almost always failed, and every new failure left her +less able and less willing to try again. + +But Christie was not so much to blame for these shortcomings as she had +sometimes been. The great reaction from the efforts and anxieties +before her father's death, as well as the shock of that event, left her +neither strength nor power to exert herself or to interest herself in +what was passing. Her sisters meant kindly in claiming no help about +the household work from her, but they made a mistake in so doing. +Active work, that would have really tired her, and left her no time for +melancholy musings, would have been far better for her. As it was, she +could apply herself to no employment, not even her favourite reading. +Her time, when not immediately under her aunt's eye, was passed in +listless wanderings to and fro, or in sitting with folded hands, +thinking thoughts that were unprofitable always, and sometimes wrong. +Fits of silence alternated with sudden and violent bursts of weeping, +which her sisters could neither soothe nor understand. Indeed, she did +not understand them herself. She struggled with them, ashamed of her +folly and weakness; but she grew no better, but rather worse. + +She might well rejoice when, at the end of a fortnight, Effie came home. +The wise and loving elder sister was not long in discovering that the +peevishness and listlessness of her young sister sprang from a cause +beyond her control. She was ill from over-exertion, and nervous from +over-excitement and grief. Nothing could be worse for her than this +confinement to Aunt Elsie's sick-room, added to the querulousness of +Aunt Elsie herself. + +"You should let Christie help with the milking, as she used to do," she +said to Sarah. "It would be far better for her than sitting so much in +Aunt Elsie's room. She seems ill and out of sorts." + +"Yes, she's out of sorts," said Sarah, with less of sympathy in her tone +than Effie had shown. "There's no telling what to do with her +sometimes. She can scarcely bear a word, but bursts out crying if the +least thing is said to her. I dare say she is not very well, poor +child!" + +"She seems far from well, indeed," said Effie, gravely. "And I'm sure +you, or I either, would find our spirits sink if we were to spend day +after day in Aunt Elsie's room. You don't know what it is till you try +it." + +Sarah shrugged her shoulders. + +"I dare say we should. But Christie doesna seem to mind much what Aunt +Elsie says. I'm sure I thought she liked better to be there than to be +working hard in the kitchen or dairy." + +"She may like it better, but it's no' so good for her, for all that. +You should send her out, and try and cheer her up, poor lassie! She's +no' so strong as the rest of us; and she suffers much from the shock." + +That night, when the time for bringing home the cows came, Effie took +her sun-bonnet from the nail, saying carelessly: + +"I'm going to the pasture. Are you coming, Christie?" + +"For the cows?" said Christie, tartly. "The bairns go for them." + +"Oh, but I'm going for the pleasure of the walk. We'll go through the +wheat, and down by the brook. Come." + +Christie would far rather have stayed quietly at home, but she did not +like to refuse Effie; and so she went, and was better for it. At first +Effie spoke of various things which interested them as a family; and +Christie found herself listening with pleasure to all her plans. At the +side of the brook, where they sat down for a while, as they usually did, +they spoke of their father and mother; and though Christie wept, it was +not that nervous weeping which sometimes so exhausted her. She wept +gently; and when Effie spoke of the love that should bind them all +closely together, now that they were orphans, she prayed inwardly that +God would make her more patient and loving than she had lately been. +Her heart was lighter than it had been for days, when they rose to go. + +They went to the kirk together the next day too. They did not walk; so +there was no lingering in the kirk-yard or at the half-mile corner. But +the day was fine and the air pleasant; and the motion of the great wagon +in which they drove, though not very easy, was agreeable for a change, +and Christie enjoyed it all. I am afraid she did not enjoy the sermon +better than usual. She had a great many wandering thoughts, and she had +to struggle against overpowering drowsiness, which she did not quite +succeed in casting off. But she enjoyed the kind greetings and looks of +sympathy that awaited them in the kirk-yard, though they brought many +tears to Effie's eyes, and sent them gushing over her own pale cheeks. +She was glad of old Mrs Grey's sweet, cheerful words, and of the light +pressure of blind Allie's little hand. She was glad when she heard Mrs +Nesbitt ask Effie to bring her sister over to pass a week with her, and +more glad still when Effie made the promise, saying the change would do +her good. Altogether, the day was a pleasant one, and Christie went +home better and more cheerful than she had been since her father's +death. + +But before the week was over she had fallen back into the old way again; +and when Effie came home on Saturday, she found her as wan and listless +and peevish as ever. Something must be done without delay, thought the +elder sister. So, that night, as she sat with Annie and Sarah in her +aunt's room, when all the little ones had gone to bed, she said: + +"Aunt Elsie, I am going to take Christie back with me, to stay a week +with Mrs Nesbitt." + +Aunt Elsie looked astonished and somewhat displeased. + +"Why should you do the like of that?" she asked. + +"Oh, just for a change. She's not very well, I think, and a little +change will do her good." + +"Folk canna ay get changes when they would like them," said Aunt Elsie, +coldly. "I see nothing more than usual the matter with her. If she's +no' well, home's the best place for her. I see no cause why Mrs +Nesbitt should be troubled with the likes of her." + +"Oh, Mrs Nesbitt winna think it a trouble. Christie will be no trouble +to her. I know she canna well be spared. You'll miss her; but she'll +be all the better a nurse when she comes home strong and cheerful." + +"I beg you winna think about me in making your plans for pleasuring," +said her aunt, in a tone which always made those who heard it +uncomfortable. "I'll try and do without her services for a while. She +thinks much of herself; and so do you, it seems." + +There was an unpleasant pause, during which Effie congratulated herself +on the forethought that had sent Christie safely to bed before the +matter was discussed. Annie, as she generally did in similar +circumstances, started another subject, hoping to avert anything more +unpleasant. But Effie wanted the matter decided, and Aunt Elsie had +something more to say. + +"It's my belief you mean to spoil the lassie, if she's no spoiled +already, petting and making a work with her as though she were really +ill. Ill! It's little any of you ken what it is to be ill." + +"I don't think she's very ill," said Effie, gently; "but she's nervous +and weary and out of sorts, and I think maybe a change--" + +"Nervous!" repeated Aunt Elsie, contemptuously. "It was better days +when there was less said about nerves than I am in the way of hearing +now. Let a bairn be cross, or sulky, and, oh! it's nervous she is, poor +thing! Let her have a change. I know not, for my part, what the world +is coming to. Nervous, indeed!" + +"I didna mean to excuse Christie's peevishness--far from it," said +Effie. "I know you have not a cheerful companion in her. But I do +think she is not well; and as Mrs Nesbitt asked her, I thought perhaps +you wouldna mind letting her go for a while." + +"It matters little what I may think on that or any other subject," said +Aunt Elsie, in a tone which betrayed that anger was giving place to +sadness. "Helpless as I am, and burdensome, I should take what +consideration I can get, and be thankful. I needna expect that my +wishes will govern any of you." + +This was very unjust, and the best way to make her feel that it was so +was to keep silence; and not a word was said in reply. In a little time +she said, again-- + +"I dinna see how you can think of taking the child away anywhere, and a +printed calico all that she has in the way of mourning, and her father +not buried a month yet." + +"It would matter very little at Mrs Nesbitt's," said Effie, +congratulating herself on her aunt's softening tone, but not seeming to +notice it. + +"Times are sorely changed with us, when the price of a gown more or less +is felt as it is," said Aunt Elsie, with a sigh. "I have seen the +day--" And she wandered off to other matters. Effie chose to consider +the affair of Christie's going settled. And so it was. No further +objection was made; and they went together the next afternoon. + +If Effie could have chosen among all the pleasant homes of Glengarry, +she could have found no better place for her young sister than Mrs +Nesbitt's. It was quiet and cheerful at the same time. Christie could +pursue her own occupations, and go her own way, no one interfering with +her, so long as her way was the right way and her occupation such as +would do her no injury. But there were no listless wanderings to and +fro, no idle musings, permitted here. No foolish reading was possible. +If a shadow began to gather on the child's brow, her attention was +claimed immediately, either by Jean, the merry maid-of-all-work, or by +Mrs Nesbitt herself. There were chickens to feed, or vegetables to be +gathered, or the lambs were to be counted, or some other good reason was +found why she should betake herself to the fresh air and the pleasant +fields or the garden. + +The evenings were always bright. There was no danger of being dull +where Mrs Nesbitt's merry boys were. Her family consisted of four +sons. John, the eldest, was just twenty-three--though, for some reason +or other, the young Redferns were in the habit of thinking him quite a +middle-aged man. Perhaps it was because he was usually so grave and +quiet; perhaps because of a rumour they had heard that John meant, some +day, to be a minister. He taught a Sabbath-class too, and took part in +meetings, like a much older man than he was. + +The other lads were considerably younger. Lewis, the second son, was +not yet eighteen; Charles was twelve, and little Dan not more than nine. +They were neither grave nor quiet. The house was transformed into a +very different place when they crossed the threshold from the field or +the school. In a fashion of her own, Christie enjoyed their fun and +frolic very much. She told Effie, when she came to see her, that she +had heard more laughter that week than she had heard in Canada in all +her life before. As for them, they wondered a little at her shyness and +her quiet ways; but they were tolerant, for boys, of her fancies and +failings, and beguiled her into sharing many a ramble and frolic with +them. + +Once she went to her sister's school, which was three miles from the +Nesbitt farm, and once she spent a day with Mrs Nesbitt at old Mrs +Grey's, and they brought little Allie home with them. The little blind +girl was a constant wonder and delight. She was as cheerful and happy +as were any of the merry Nesbitt boys; and if there was less noise among +them when she was one of the circle, there was no less mirth. To say +that she was patient under her affliction would not be saying enough; +she did not seem to feel her blindness as an affliction, so readily and +sweetly did she accept the means of happiness yet within her reach. To +Christie, the gentle, merry little creature was a constant rebuke, and +all the more that she knew the little one was unconscious of the lesson +she was teaching. + +There was no service in the kirk the next Sabbath, so, instead of going +home as usual, Effie, for Christie's sake, accepted Mrs Nesbitt's +invitation to spend it at her house. She saw with delight the returning +colour on her little sister's cheek, and noticed the change for the +better that had taken place in her health and spirits, and inwardly she +rejoiced over the success of her plan. "She shall have another week at +this pleasant place, if possible--and more than that." And she sighed +to think how much the poor girl might have to try both health and +spirits when these pleasant weeks should be passed. But she did not let +Christie hear her sigh. She had only smiles and happy words for her. + +It was a very pleasant Sabbath for Christie--the very pleasantest she +could remember to have passed. She could not agree with Charlie Nesbitt +that it was "a little too long." She enjoyed every moment of it. She +enjoyed the early walk, the reading, the singing, and the walk to John +Nesbitt's Sabbath-class in the afternoon. It was rather far--three +miles, nearly--and the walk tired her a little. But all the more for +that did she enjoy her rest on the low sofa after tea. + +It was a very pleasant place, that parlour of Mrs Nesbitt's--so neat, +so cool, so quiet. There was not much to distinguish it from other +parlours in Laidlaw; and, in general, they were prim and plain enough. +There was a small figured carpet, crimson and black, upon the floor. It +did not quite reach the wall on one side, for Mrs Nesbitt's Scottish +parlour had been smaller than this one; and the deficiency was supplied +by a breadth of drugget, of a different shade of colour, which might +have marred the effect somewhat to one more fastidious than Christie. +For the rest, the chairs were of some common wood and painted brown, the +sofa was covered with chintz to match the window-curtains, and there was +a pale blue paper on the walls. For ornaments, there were two or three +pictures on the walls, and on the mantel-piece a great many curious +shells and a quaint old vase or two. There was a bookcase of some dark +wood in the corner, which was well filled with books, whose bindings +were plain and dark, not to say dingy. There were few of Christie's +favourites among them; so that the charm of the room did not lie there. +There was another small cabinet, with a glass door--a perfect treasury +of beautiful things, in Christie's estimation, old china and glass, and +an old-fashioned piece or two of plate; but the key was safely kept in +Mrs Nesbitt's pocket. + +Perhaps it was the charm of association that made the place so pleasant +to Christie. Here, every day, she had been made to rest on the chintz +sofa, and every day she had wakened to find a kind face beaming upon her +and to hear a kind voice calling her by name. I think almost any place +would have been pleasant with Mrs Nesbitt going about so gently and +lovingly in it. Some thought of this came into Christie's mind, as she +lay musing there that Sabbath afternoon. The fading light fell on the +soft grey hair that showed beneath the widow's snowy cap, and on the +placid face beneath, with a strangely beautifying power. The sweet +gravity that was on her silent lips was better worth seeing, Christie +thought, than other people's smiles. Her eyes had no beauty, in the +common acceptation of the term. They seemed like eyes that had been +washed with many tears. But the sadness which must have looked from +them once had given place to patience and gentle kindness now. + +"How nice and quiet it is here!" whispered Christie to her sister, who +sat beside her, leaning her head upon her hand. + +Effie quite started, as she spoke. + +"Yes; it is a very peaceful place. I get rid of all vexing thoughts +when I come in here." And she turned her eyes to Mrs Nesbitt's placid +face. + +"Vexing thoughts!" repeated Christie. "I dare say Effie has many a +one." And she sighed too; but almost before she had time to ask herself +what Effie's vexing thoughts might be, she was asleep. A voice, not +Effie's nor Mrs Nesbitt's, soon awoke her. The twilight had deepened, +and up and down the darkening room John Nesbitt was walking, with a step +quicker than was usual. Christie fancied there was something like +impatience in his step. He soon came and leaned on the window, close to +the place where Effie sat, and Christie heard him say, in a voice which +was not quite steady: + +"Is it all over, then, Effie?" + +Effie made a sudden movement of some kind, Christie could not tell what, +and after a moment she said: + +"It would be better for you, John." + +He did not wait to hear more. Soon, however, he came back again. + +"And will it be better for you, Effie?" he asked, gravely and gently, +yet with strong feeling. + +"I must think of many a one before myself in this matter," she said; and +soon after added, "Don't make this trouble harder to bear, John." + +There was a long silence; but John did not resume his walk, and by and +by Effie spoke again. + +"Do you never think of your old wish to finish your studies?" + +"My father's death put an end to that," he answered, sadly. + +"I don't know why," said Effie. "Of course at the time it must have +done so; but you are young, and your brothers are growing up to take +your place with your mother and on the farm, and I think it would be +like putting your hand to the plough and looking back, to give up all +thought of entering the ministry. You have your life before you, John." + +He did not answer. + +"If it were for no other reason than that," continued Effie, "I could +not consent to burden you in the way you propose; and besides--your +mother--" + +She turned, and caught the astonished eyes of Christie peering out of +the darkness, and paused. + +"Effie," said Christie, when they were in their own room, and the candle +was out, "what were you saying to John Nesbitt to-night?" + +"Saying?" repeated Effie. + +"Yes--in the parlour. Does he want us to come and live here? I thought +he did by what he said." + +"Some of us," said Effie, after a pause. "John is very kind, and so is +his mother. But of course it is not to be thought of." + +"Must we leave the farm, Effie?" asked Christie, anxiously. + +"I hardly know; I cannot tell. Aunt Elsie must decide." + +"Is it not ours, Effie? Was my father in debt?" + +"Not for the farm; but it was paid for, or partly paid for, with money +that belonged to Aunt Elsie. I canna explain it. She sold her annuity, +or gave up her income, in some way, when we came here. And in the +letter that father wrote, he said that he wished that in some way, as +soon as possible, she should get it back." + +"But how?" asked Christie, wondering. + +"I hardly know. But you know, Christie, Aunt Elsie is not like other +people--mean; it would make her more unhappy to feel that she was +dependent than it would make most people. And we must, in some way, +manage to do as father wished. If he had lived, it would have been +different. She doesna think that I know about it. She didna see +father's letter." + +"Then the farm will be Aunt Elsie's?" said Christie. + +"Yes; and if we could manage it well, we might live on as we have been +living; but I am afraid we canna." + +Christie had her own thoughts about all living on Aunt Elsie's farm; but +she said nothing. + +"I suppose we shall have to let the farm, or sell it, and get the money +invested, in some way, for Aunt Elsie." + +"And what then?" asked Christie, in a suppressed tone. + +"I am sure I canna tell," said Effie; and the tone of her voice betrayed +more anxiety than her words did. "Not that there is any great cause for +anxiety," she added. "There is always work to do for those who are +willing; and we'll try and keep together till the bairns are grown up." + +"Will Aunt Elsie go home to Scotland, do you think, Effie?" asked +Christie. + +"Oh, no! I don't think she will. She doesna like this country +altogether, I know; but now that she has grown so helpless, she will not +care to go back. She has no very near friends there now." + +"Do you think Aunt Elsie would take the money if the farm was sold?" +asked Christie, again. + +"As to that, it has been partly hers all along. When the farm was +bought, my father gave Aunt Elsie a mortgage, or something--I don't +understand exactly what--but it was as a security that her money was to +be safe to her. If we had been able to carry on the farm, there would +have been little difference; though there are some other debts too." + +"And if we leave the farm, where can we go?" asked Christie. + +"I don't know; I lose myself thinking about it. But God will provide. +I am not _really_ afraid, when I have time to consider. The bairns must +be kept together in some way. We must trust till the way is opened +before us." + +But there was something very unlike Effie's usual cheerfulness in her +way of speaking. Christie could plainly see that. But she mistook the +cause. + +"Effie," she said, after a little pause, "it winna be very pleasant to +think that we are depending on Aunt Elsie. I dinna wonder that you +sigh." + +"Whisht, Christie! It's not that, child. I don't think you are quite +just to Aunt Elsie. She has done much, and given up much, for us since +mother died. Her way is not ay pleasant; but I think she would be +easier to deal with as the giver than as the receiver. I mean, I shall +be very glad if it can be arranged that she shall have her income again. +But we won't speak more of these things to-night, dear. We only vex +ourselves; and that can do no good." + +But Effie did not cease to vex herself when she ceased to speak, if +Christie might judge from the sighs that frequently escaped her. Just +as she was dropping to sleep, her sister's voice aroused her. + +"Christie," she said, "you are not to say anything to any one about-- +about John Nesbitt's wanting me to come here. Of course it's +impossible; and it mustna be spoken about." + +"I couldna help hearing, Effie." + +"No; I know, dear. But it's not to be spoken about. You must forget +it." + +"Did Mrs Nesbitt want it too?" asked Christie. + +"I don't know. Mrs Nesbitt is very kind; but you mustna say anything +to her about this matter--or to any one. Promise me, Christie." + +Christie promised, wondering very much at her sister's eagerness, and +thinking all the time that it would be very nice to live with Mrs +Nesbitt and her sons, far pleasanter than to live on the farm, if it was +to be Aunt Elsie's. Christie felt very unsubmissive to this part of +their trouble. She thought it would be far easier to depend for a home +and food and clothes on their kind neighbours, who were friends indeed, +than on the unwilling bounty of her aunt. But, as Effie said, Christie +by no means did justice to the many good qualities of her aunt, and was +far from properly appreciating her self-denying efforts in behalf of +them all. + +After that night, Effie did not often allude to their future plans when +with Christie. It was best not to vex themselves with troubles that +might never come, she said. They must wait patiently till the harvest +was over, and then all would be settled. + +The summer passed on, with little to mark its course. Christie had more +to do about the house and in the garden than in the spring, and was +better and more contented for it. But she and her sisters sent many an +anxious glance forward to the harvest-time. + +They did not have to wait so long, however. Before the harvest-time +their affairs were settled. An opportunity, which those capable of +judging thought very favourable, occurred for selling it; and it was +sold. They might have occupied the house for the winter; but this would +only have been to delay that which delay would make no easier. It was +wiser and better in every way to look out for a home at once. + +About six miles from the farm, in the neighbourhood where Effie's school +was, there stood on the edge of a partially-cleared field a small +log-house, which had been for several months uninhabited. Towards this +the eyes of the elder sister had often turned during the last few weeks. +Once, on her way home from school, she went into it. She was alone; +and though she would have been very unwilling to confess it, the +half-hour she passed there was as sorrowful a half-hour as she had ever +passed in her life. For Effie was by no means so wise and courageous as +Christie, in her sisterly admiration, was inclined to consider her. +Looking on the bare walls and defective floors and broken windows, her +heart failed her at the thought of ever making that a home for her +brother and sisters. + +Behind the house lay a low, rocky field, encumbered with logs and +charred stumps, between which bushes and a second growth of young trees +were springing. A low, irregular fence of logs and branches, with a +stone foundation, had once separated the field from the road; but it was +mostly broken-down now, and only a few traces of what had been a garden +remained. It was not the main road that passed the house, but a +cross-road running between the main roads; and the place had a lonely +and deserted look, which might well add to the depression which anxiety +and uncertainty as to their future had brought on Effie. No wonder that +very troubled and sad was the half-hour which she passed in the dreary +place. + +"I wish I hadna spoken to Aunt Elsie about this place," she said to +herself. "She seemed quite pleased with the thought of coming here; but +we could never live in this miserable hovel. What could I be thinking +about? How dreary and broken-down it is!" + +There were but two rooms and a closet or two on the ground-floor. +Above, there might be another made--perhaps two; but that part of the +house was quite unfinished, showing the daylight through the chinks +between the logs. Floor there was none. + +"It could never be made comfortable, I am afraid," she said, as she made +her way down the creaking ladder. "I could never think of bringing the +bairns here." And it was with a heavy heart that she took her way home. + +But her courage rose again. Before many days had passed she had decided +to try what could be done with the place. The house, such as it was, +with a little square of garden-ground, could be got for a rent merely +nominal. It was near her school. She could live at home, and the +little ones could go to school with her. Thus they could be kept +together, and their education not be neglected. With what she and her +sisters could earn they could live comfortably for some years in this +quiet place. She could not fulfil her promise to her father to keep the +little ones together, elsewhere; for she must not give up her school. +Her salary was not large, but it was sure; and here they would be under +her own eye. The price of the farm had been well invested in her aunt's +name, though Aunt Elsie herself was not yet aware of the fact. Effie +was not sure whether she would remain with them or return home. But +whatever she did, her income must be quite at her own disposal. The +sisters must work for themselves and the little ones. If their aunt +stayed with them, well; but they must henceforth depend on their own +exertions. + +When Effie had once decided that the little log-house on the cross-road +was thenceforward to be their home, her naturally happy temper, and her +earnest desire to make the best of all things for the sake of the +others, made it easy for her to look for hopeful signs for the future, +and to make light of difficulties which she could not fail to see. +Under her direction, and by her assistance, the little log-house +underwent an entire transformation before six weeks were over. Nothing +was done by other hands which her own or Sarah's and Annie's could do. +The carpenters laid new floors and mended broken windows; the plasterers +filled the chinks and covered the walls of what was to be their chamber; +but the girls themselves scrubbed and whitewashed, papered and painted, +cleaned away rubbish from without and from within, and settled their +various affairs with an energy and good-will which left them neither +time nor inclination for repining. In a little while it would have been +impossible to recognise in the bright and cheerful little cottage the +dismal place in which, at her first visit, Effie had shed some very +bitter tears. + +Aunt Elsie did not leave them. She quite resented the idea of such a +thing being possible. She had little faith in the likelihood of the +children being kept together and clothed and fed by the unassisted +efforts of the sisters, and assumed the direction of affairs in the new +home, as she had always done in the old. Effie's words with regard to +her proved true. She was far easier to do with when she found herself +in a position to give rather than to receive assistance. Her income was +not large. Indeed, it was so small that those who have never been +driven to bitter straits might smile at her idea of a competence. It +would have barely kept her from want, in any circumstances; but joined +to Effie's earnings it gave promise of many comforts in their humble +home. So ample did their means seem to them at first, that they would +fain have persuaded each other that there need be no separation--that +all might linger under the shelter of the lowly roof. But it could not +be. Annie and Sarah both refused to eat bread of their sister's +winning, when there was not work enough to occupy them at home; and +before they had been settled many weeks, they began to think of looking +for situations elsewhere. + +At first they both proposed to leave; but this Effie could not be +prevailed upon to consider right. Helpless as Aunt Elsie was and seemed +likely to continue, there was far more to do in their little household, +limited as their means were, than it was possible for Christie to do +well. The winter was coming, already the mornings were growing short. +She herself could do little at home without neglecting her school; and +her school must not be neglected. And besides, though Effie did not say +much about it, she felt that almost any other discipline would be better +for her nervous, excitable sister, than that she would be likely to +experience with none to stand between her and the peculiar rigour of +Aunt Elsie's system of training. So she would not hear of both Annie +and Sarah leaving them. Indeed, she constantly entreated, whenever the +matter was discussed, that neither of them should go till winter was +over. There was no fear but that the way would be opened before them. +In the meantime, they might wait patiently at home. + +And the way was opened far sooner than they had hoped or than Effie +desired. A lady who had been passing the summer in the neighbourhood +had been requested by a friend in town to secure for her the services of +a young woman as nurse. Good health and a cheerful temper, with +respectability of character, were all that was required. Then Annie and +Sarah began seriously to discuss which of them should go and which +should stay at home. Strange to say, Aunt Elsie was the only one of +them all who shrank from the idea of the girls "going to service" or +"taking a place." It was a very hard thing for her brother's daughters, +she said, who had been brought up with expectations and prospects so +different. She would far rather that Sarah who was skilful with the +needle, and had a decided taste for millinery and dressmaking, should +have offered herself to the dressmaker of the neighbouring village, or +even have gone to the city to look for such a situation there. But this +plan was too indefinite to suit the girls. Besides, there was no +prospect of present remuneration should it succeed. So the situation of +nurse was applied for and obtained by Annie. Sarah's needle could be +kept busy at home, and perhaps she could earn a little besides by making +caps and bonnets for their neighbours. While they awaited the lady's +final answer, the preparations for Annie's departure went busily on. + +The answer came, and with it a request that another nurse might be +engaged. A smaller girl would do. She would be expected to amuse, and +perhaps teach reading to two little girls. If such a one could be +found, permission was given to Annie to delay her departure from home +for a week, till they should come together. + +There was a dead silence when the letter was read. Annie and Sarah +looked at each other, and then at Effie. Christie, through all the +reading, had never taken her eyes from her elder sister's face. But +Effie looked at no one. The same thought had come into the minds of +all; and Effie feared to have the thought put into words. But Aunt +Elsie had no such fear, it seemed; for after examining the letter, she +said, in a voice that did not betray very much interest in the subject: + +"How would you like to go, Christie?" Christie said nothing, but still +looked at Effie. + +"What do you think, Effie?" continued her aunt. + +"Oh, it's of no use to think about it at all! There's no need of +Christie's going. She is not strong enough. She is but a child." + +Effie spoke hastily, as though she wished the subject dropped. But Aunt +Elsie did not seem inclined to drop it. + +"Well, it's but a little girl that is wanted," she said. "And as for +her not being strong enough, I am sure there canna be any great strength +required to amuse two or three bairns. I dare say it might be the very +place for her." + +"Yes; I dare say, if it was needful for Christie to go. There will be +many glad to get the place. You must speak to the Cairns' girls, +Annie." + +"Would you like to go, Christie?" asked her aunt, with a pertinacity +which seemed, to Effie at least, uncalled for. + +But Christie made no answer, and looked still at Effie. + +"There is no use in discussing the question," said Effie, more hastily +than she meant to speak. "Christie is far better off at home. There is +no need of her going. Don't speak of it, Aunt Elsie." + +Now Aunt Elsie did not like to have any one differ from her--"to be +dictated to," as she called it. Effie very rarely expressed a different +opinion from Aunt Elsie. But her usual forbearance made her doing so on +the present occasion the more disagreeable to her aunt; and she did not +fail to take her to task severely for what she called her disrespect. + +"I didna mean to say anything disrespectful, Aunt Elsie," said she, +soothingly, and earnestly hoping that the cause of her reproof might be +discussed no further. But she was disappointed. + +"Wherefore should I no' speak about this thing for Christie? If it's no +disgrace for Annie to go to service, I see no season why it should not +be spoken of for Christie." + +"Disgrace, aunt!" repeated Effie. "What an idea! Of course it is +nothing of the sort. But why should we speak of Christie's going when +there is no need?" + +"For that matter, you may say there is no need for Annie's going. They +both need food and clothes as well as the rest." + +Effie took refuge in silence. In a little while her aunt went on: + +"And as for her being a child, how much younger, pray, is she than +Annie? Not above two years, at most. And as for health, she's well +enough, for all that I can see. She's not very strong, and she wouldna +have hard work; and the change might do her good. You spoil her by +making a baby of her. I see no reason why the bread of dependence +should be sweeter to her than to the rest." + +"It would be bitter enough, eaten at your expense," were the words that +rose to Christie's lips in reply, Effie must have seen them there, for +she gave her no time to utter them, but hastily--almost sharply--bade +her run and see what had become of the girls and little Willie. +Christie rose without speaking, and went out. + +"Aunt," said Effie, quietly, when she was gone, "I don't think it is +quite kind in you to speak in that way to Christie about dependence. +She is no more dependent than the rest of the children. Of course, when +she's older and stronger she'll do her part. But she is very sensitive; +and she must not be made unhappy by any foolish talk about her being a +burden." + +Effie meant to soothe her aunt; but she failed, for she was really angry +now, and she said a great many words in her anger that I shall not +write--words that Effie always tried to forget. But the result of it +all was that Annie's departure was delayed for a week, till Christie +should be ready to go with her. + +But I should be wrong in saying that this decision was the result of +this discussion alone. There were other things that helped Effie to +prevail upon herself to let her go. It would be better and pleasanter +for Annie to have her sister near her; and Christie was very desirous to +go. And, after all, the change might be good for her, as Aunt Elsie +said. It might improve her health, and it might make her more firm and +self-reliant. Going away among strangers could hardly be worse for her +than a winter under the discipline of her aunt. Partly on account of +these considerations, and partly because of Christie's importunities, +Effie was induced to consent to her going away; but it was with the +express understanding that her absence was to be brief. + +As the time of their departure drew near, she did not grow more +reconciled to the thought of her sister's going. She felt that she had +been over-persuaded; and in her heart there was a doubt as to whether +she had done quite right in consenting. + +The last night, when all the others had gone to bed, and Effie was doing +some household work below, Christie slipped down-stairs again. + +"Effie," she said, eagerly, "do not take my going away so much to heart. +I am sure it is _for the best_, and I shall grieve if you grieve. Do +think that it's right." + +"You foolish lassie! Did you come down-stairs with bare feet to tell me +that? How cold your hands are! Come and sit down by the fire. I want +to speak to you." + +Christie sat down, as she was bidden, but it was a long time before +Effie spoke--so long that Christie said at last: + +"What is it, Effie?" + +Her sister started. "I have nothing to say but what I have said before, +Christie. You are not to stay if you don't like. You are not to let +any thought of any one or anything at home keep you, unless you are +quite content and quite strong and well. And, at any rate, you are to +come home in the spring." + +Effie had said all this before; and Christie could only repeat her +promise. + +"I am afraid you think I am wrong to go away, Effie?" + +"No, dear; I don't think you are wrong. I am sure your motives are +good. I wish you were not going; but there is no use in saying so now. +I hope it will turn out for the best to you and to us all. I will try +and not be anxious about you. God will keep you safe, I do not doubt." + +"Effie," said Christie, "do you remember what you said to me once about +God's hearing prayer, and how He always hears the prayers of His people +in the best way, though not always in the way they wish and expect?" + +"Yes, I mind something about it. And how all things work together for +good to His people and for His glory at the same time. Yes, I mind." + +"Well," said Christie, softly, "if folk really believe this, it will be +easy for them to leave their friends in God's hands. They can ask Him +for what they need, being sure that they will get what is best for them, +and that He canna make a mistake." + +There was a few minutes' silence; and then Effie said: + +"Christie, if I were sure that you are one of God's people--one of the +little lambs of His flock--I would not fear to let you go. Do you think +you are?" + +"I don't know, Effie. I am afraid not. I am not like what the Bible +says God's people ought to be. But I am sure I wish to be." + +"Christie," said her sister, earnestly, "you must never let anything +hinder you from reading your Bible every day. You must not rest till +you are sure about yourself." + +"Effie," she said, in a low voice, and very seriously, "I think God did +once hear a prayer of mine. It was a good while ago--before father +died. It was one of my bad days; I was worse than usual; and when I +came back from the pasture I sat down by the brook--under the +birch-tree, you mind--and I went from one thing to another, till I said +to myself, `I'll see if there's any good in praying.' And so I prayed +Aunt Elsie might not scold me when I went home; and she didna. But I +didna care for that, because you were at home that night. But I prayed, +too, that you might bring me a book. I meant `The Scottish Chiefs,' or +something; but you brought my Bible. I have thought, sometimes, that +was one of the prayers answered in a better way than we ask or expect." + +The last few words were spoken in a very husky voice; and as she ceased, +her head was laid on Effie's lap. There were tears in Effie's eyes +too--she scarcely knew why. Certainly they were not for sorrow. Gently +stroking her sisters drooping head, she said: + +"Perhaps it was so, Christie. I believe it was; and you are right. We +need not fear for one another. We will trust in Him." + + + +CHAPTER SIX. + +CHRISTIE'S NEW HOME. + +So Annie and Christie went away; and the days that followed their +departure were long and lonely at the cottage. They had never been long +separated, and the absence of two of their number made a great blank in +their circle. All missed them, but none so much as Effie; for mingled +with regret for their absence was a feeling very like self-reproach that +she had permitted Christie to go. It was in vain that she reasoned with +herself about this matter, saying it was the child's own wish, and that +against her aunt's expressed approbation she could have said nothing to +detain her. + +She knew that Christie was by no means strong, that she was sensitive +(not to say irritable), and she dreaded for her the trials she must +endure and the unkindness she might experience among strangers. She was +haunted by a vision of her sister's pale face, home-sick and miserable, +with no one to comfort or sympathise with her; and she waited with +inexpressible longing for the first tidings from the wanderers. The +thought of her was always present. It came with a pang sometimes when +she was busiest. She returned from school night by night with a deeper +depression on her spirits, till Aunt Elsie, who had all along resented +in secret her evident anxiety, could no longer restrain the expression +of her vexation. + +"What ails you, Effie?" said she, as the weary girl seated herself, +without entering the house. "You sit down there as if you had the cares +and vexations of a generation weighing you down. Have matters gone +contrary at the school?" + +"No. Oh, no," said Effie, making an effort to seem cheerful. +"Everything has gone on as usual. I had two new scholars to-day. +They'll be coming in, now that the autumn work is mostly over. Have not +the bairns come in?" + +"I hear their voices in the field beyond," said her aunt. "But you +havena told me what ails you. Indeed, there's no need. I know very +well. It would have been more wise-like to have kept your sisters at +home than to fret so unreasonably for them now they are away." + +Effie made no answer. + +"What's to happen to them more than to twenty others that have gone from +these parts? It's a sad thing, indeed, that your father's daughters +should need to go to service, considering all that is past. But it +can't be mended now. And one thing is certain: it's no disgrace." + +"No, indeed," said Effie. "I don't look on it in that light; but--" + +"Yes; I ken what you would say. It's ay Christie you're thinking about. +But she'll be none the worse for a little discipline. She would soon +have been an utter vexation, if she had been kept at home. You spoiled +your sister with your petting and coaxing, till there was no doing with +her. I'm sure I dinna see why she's to be pitied more than Annie." + +Effie had no reply to make. If she was foolish and unreasonable in her +fears for Christie, her aunt's manner of pointing out her fault was not +likely to prove it to her. She did not wish to hear more. Perhaps she +was foolish, she thought. Good Mrs Nesbitt, who was not likely to be +unjust to Christie, and who was ready to sympathise with the elder +sister in what seemed almost like the breaking-up of the family, said +something of the same kind to her once, as they were walking together +from the Sabbath-school. + +"My dear," she said, "you are wrong to vex yourself with such thoughts. +Your aunt is partly right. Christie will be none the worse for the +discipline she may have to undergo. There are some traits in her +character that haven a fairly shown themselves yet. She will grow firm +and patient and self-reliant, I do not doubt. I only hope she will grow +stronger in body too." + +Effie sighed. + +"She was never very strong." + +"If she shouldna be well, she must come home; and, Effie, though I would +never say to an elder sister that she could be too patient and tender to +one of the little ones--and that one sometimes wilful and peevish, and +no' very strong--yet Christie may be none the worse, for a wee while, +no' to have you between her and all trouble. My dear, I know what you +would say. I know you have something like a mother's feeling for the +child. But even a mother canna bear every burden or drink every bitter +drop for her child. And it is as well she canna do it. If Christie's +battle with life and what it brings begins a year or two earlier than +you thought necessary, she may be all the better able to conquer. Dinna +fear for her. God will have her in His keeping." + +Effie strove to find a voice to reply; but she could only say: + +"Perhaps I am foolish. I will try." + +"My dear," continued her friend, kindly, "I dinna wonder that you are +careful and troubled, and a wee faithless, sometimes. You have passed +through much sorrow of late, and your daily labour is of a kind that is +trying to both health and spirits. And I doubt not you have troubles +that are of a nature not to be spoken of. But take courage. There's +nothing can happen to you but what is among the `all things' that are to +work together for your good. For I do believe you are among those to +whom has been given a right to claim that promise. You are down among +the mist now; I am farther up the brae, and get a glimpse, through the +cloud, of the sunshine beyond. Dinna fret about Christie, or about +other things. I believe you are God-guided; and what more can you +desire? As the day wears on, the clouds may disperse; and even if they +shouldna, my bairn, the sun still shines in the lift above them." + +They had reached the cross-road down which Effie was to take her +solitary way; for the bairns had gone on before. She stood for a moment +trying to make sure of her voice, and while she lingered Mrs Nesbitt +dropped a kiss, as tender as a mother's, on her brow, and said, +"Good-night!" A rush of ready tears was the only answer Effie had for +her then. But she was comforted. The tears that spring at kind words +or a gentle touch bring healing with them; and when Effie wiped them +away at last, it was with a thankful sense of a lightened burden, and +she went on her way with the pain that had ached at her heart so many +days a little softened. + +Yes; Effie had trials that would not bear speaking about, and least of +all with John Nesbitt's mother. But they were trials that need not be +discussed in my little tale. Indeed, I must not linger longer at the +cottage by the wayside. I may not tell of the daily life of its +occupants, except that it grew more cheerful as the winter passed away. +The monthly letter brought them good tidings from the absent ones; and +with duties, some pleasant, some quite otherwise, their days were +filled, so that no time was left for repining or for distrustful +thoughts. + +I must now follow the path taken by Christie's weary little feet. +Sometimes the way was dusty and uneven enough, but there were green +spots and wayside flowers now and then. There were mists and clouds +about her, too, but she got glimpses of sunshine. And by and by she +grew content to abide in the shadow, knowing, as it was given her to +know, that clouds are sent to cool and shelter and refresh us. Before +content, however, there came many less welcome visitors to the heart of +the poor child. + +Can anything be more bewildering to unaccustomed eyes than the motley +crowd which business or pleasure daily collects at some of our +much-frequented railway stations? To the two girls, whose ideas of a +crowd were for the most part associated with the quiet, orderly +gatherings in the kirk-yard on the Sabbath-day, the scene that presented +itself to them on reaching Point Saint Charles was more than +bewildering; it was, for a minute or two, actually alarming. There was +something so strange in the quick, indifferent manner of the people who +jostled one another on the crowded platform, in the cries of the cabmen +and porters, and in the general hurrying to and fro, that even Annie was +in some danger of losing her presence of mind; and it was with something +like a feeling of danger escaped that they found themselves, at last, +safe on their way to the house of Mrs McIntyre, a connection of some +friends of that name at home. + +The sun had set long before, and it was quite dark as they passed +rapidly through the narrow streets in the lower part of the town. Here +and there lights were twinkling, and out from the gathering darkness +came a strange, dull sound, the mingling of many voices, the noise of +carriage-wheels and the cries of their drivers, and through all the +heavy boom of church-bells. How unlike it all was to anything the girls +had seen or heard before! And a feeling of wonder, not unmingled with +dread, came upon them. + +There was no time for their thoughts to grow painful, however, before +they found themselves at their journey's end. They were expected by +Mrs McIntyre, and were very kindly received by her. She was a widow, +and the keeper of a small shop in a street which looked at the first +glimpse dismal enough. It was only a glimpse they had of it, however; +for they soon found themselves in a small and neat parlour with their +hostess, who kindly strove to make them feel at home. She would not +hear of their trying to find out their places that night, but promised +to go with them the next day, or as soon as they were rested. Indeed, +she wished them to remain a few days with her. But to this Annie would +by no means agree. The delay caused by Christie's coming had made her a +week later than her appointed time, and she feared greatly lest she +should lose her place; so she could not be induced to linger longer. +Her place was still secure for her; but a great disappointment awaited +Christie. The lady who had desired the service of a young girl to amuse +her children had either changed her mind or was not satisfied with +Christie's appearance; for after asking her many questions about her +long delay, as she called the three days beyond the specified week, she +told her she was afraid she could not engage her. She added to the pain +of Christie's disappointment by telling her that she did not look either +strong enough or cheerful enough to have the care of children; she had +better apply for some other situation. + +"She's weary with her journey--poor thing!" suggested Mrs McIntyre, +kindly. "And she's a stranger here, besides--poor child!" + +"A stranger!" Yes, Christie had just parted from Annie at the door of a +large house in the next street, bravely enough; but it was all the poor +girl could do now to restrain an outburst of tears. + +"How old are you?" asked the lady, again. + +Christie had just courage enough to tell her; but it was Mrs McIntyre +who answered the next question. + +"Are your parents living?" + +"No--poor thing! She is an orphan. There is a large family of them. +She came down with her sister, hoping to get a place. The elder sister +is trying to keep the little ones together." + +Christie made a movement as if to silence the speaker. The lady looked +at a gentleman who sat at a distant window seeming to read. + +"What do you think?" she asked. + +He rose, and walked in a leisurely manner down the room, nodding to Mrs +McIntyre as he passed. As he returned, he paused, and said something in +an undertone to the lady. Christie caught the words. + +"If anything was to happen to her, she would be on your hands. She +seems quite without friends." + +Christie was on her feet in a moment. Her chair was pushed back with a +motion so sudden that the gentleman turned to look at her. She was +anything but pale now. Her cheeks were crimson, and there was a light +in her eyes that bade fair to be very soon quenched in tears. + +"I am very sorry that I--" She could utter no more. Laying her hand on +Mrs McIntyre's arm, she said, huskily, "Come." Her friend rose. + +"Perhaps if you were to try her for a month--" she suggested. + +But Christie shook her head. + +"But where can you go? What can you do?" said Mrs McIntyre, in a low +voice. + +Where, indeed? Not to the house she had just seen Annie enter; she had +no claim there. Not home again, that was not to be thought of. She +turned a helpless glance to the persons who seemed to hold her destiny +in their hands. The lady looked annoyed; the gentleman, who had +observed the girl's excitement, asked: + +"Were you ever at service before?" + +"Oh, no!" said Mrs McIntyre, intending to serve Christie's cause. "The +family looked forward to something very different; but misfortunes and +the death--" + +She stopped, intending that her pause should be more impressive than +words. + +Other questions followed--Could she read and write? Could she sew? Had +she ever been in the city before?--till Christie's courage quite rose +again. It ended in nothing, however, but a promise to let her know in a +day or two what was decided. + +In the silence that followed the closing of the streetdoor after them, +Christie felt that Mrs McIntyre was not well pleased with the +termination of the interview: and her first words proved it. + +"You needna have been so sensitive," she said. "It will be a long time +before you get a place where everything will be to your mind. You +needna expect every lady to speak to you as your own sisters would. I +doubt you'll hear no more from these people." + +But she was a good-natured and kind-hearted woman; and a glance at +Christie's miserable face stopped her. + +"Never mind," she added; "there are plenty of folk in the town will be +glad to get a well-brought-up girl like you to attend to their children. +But you must look cheerful, and no' take umbrage at trifles." + +Christie could not answer her. So she walked along by her side, +struggling, with a power which she felt was giving way rapidly, with the +sobs that were scarcely suppressed. She struggled no longer than till +she reached the little chamber where she and Annie had passed the night. +The hours that she was suffered to remain there alone were passed in +such an agony of grief and home-sickness as the poor child never +suffered from before. She quite exhausted herself at last; and when +Mrs McIntyre came to call her to dinner, she found her in a troubled +sleep. + +"Poor child!" she said, as she stood looking at her, "I fear we must +send her home again. She is not like to do or to get much good here." + +But she darkened the room, and closed the door softly, and left her. +When Christie awoke the afternoon was nearly gone. Her first feeling +was one of utter wretchedness; but her sleep had rested and refreshed +her, and her courage revived after she had risen and washed her face and +put her dress in order. When she was ready to go down, she paused for a +moment, her hand resting on the knob of the door. + +"I might try it," she murmured; and she fell on her knees by the +bedside. It was only a word or two she uttered: + +"O God, give me courage and patience, and help me to do right." + +Her tears fell fast for a moment; but her heart was lightened, and it +was with a comparatively cheerful face that she presented herself in the +little back parlour, where she found Mrs McIntyre taking tea with a +friend. + +"Oh, you are up, are you?" she said, kindly. "You looked so weary, I +couldna bear to call you at dinnertime; but I kept your dinner for you. +Here, Barbara; bring in the covered dish." And she placed a seat for +the girl between her and her friend. + +Christie thanked her, and sat down, with an uncomfortable feeling that +the friends had been discussing her before she had come in. And so it +soon appeared. The conversation, which her entrance had interrupted, +was soon resumed. + +"You see, I don't well know what his business is," said the visitor. +"But, at any rate, he doesn't seem to have much to spend--at least in +his family. His wife--poor lady!--has her own troubles. He's seldom at +home; and she has been the most of the time, till this illness, without +more than one servant. When she's better, I dare say she'll do the same +again. In the meantime, I have promised to look for one that might +suit. The one she has leaves to-morrow. My month's out too, then, and +she's to let me go; though how she's to battle through, with that infant +and all the other children, is more than I can tell." + +Mrs McIntyre shook her head. + +"She would never do for the place. She doesna look strong; and the +house is large, you say?" + +"Far larger than they need. I said that to her, one day. But she said +something about keeping up a certain appearance. She's not one that a +person can speak freely to, unless she likes. How old are you, my +girl?" she suddenly asked, turning round to Christie. + +"I was fourteen in June," she replied; and turning to Mrs McIntyre, she +asked, "Is it a place for me?" + +Mrs McIntyre looked doubtful. + +"It's a place for some one; but I doubt it's too hard a place for you." + +Christie sent a questioning look to the visitor, who said: + +"Well, in some respects it's a hard place. There is plenty to do; but +Mrs Lee is a real gentlewoman, mindful of others, and kind and +pleasant-spoken. I should know; for I have sick-nursed her twice, +besides being there, now and again, when the children have been ill." + +"But think upon it. The only nurse, where there's an infant and four +other children as near each other as they can well be. She's not fit +for the like of that," said Mrs McIntyre. + +"The eldest is but seven," said Mrs Greenly. "But, for that matter, +Mrs Lee is nurse herself; and Nelly, the housemaid, is a kind-hearted +girl. She might make a trial of it, anyway." + +"We'll see what your sister says," said Mrs McIntyre to Christie. +"She'll be round on the Sabbath. Or maybe you might go there and see +her before that time." + +Mrs Greenly shook her head. + +"But I doubt if I can wait for that. I must see the other girl this +afternoon; and if she should suit the place there would be no more to be +said. What do you think yourself, my girl?" + +Christie had been too little accustomed to decide any matter for +herself, to wish to decide this without first seeing her sister. So she +only asked if Mrs Greenly passed near the street where Annie lived. +Not very near, Mrs McIntyre said; but that need not interfere. Barbara +should go with her there, if Mrs Greenly would consent to put off +seeing the other girl till the next morning. Mrs McIntyre could not +take the responsibility of advising Christie to accept the situation. +It was better that her sister should decide. But Christie had decided +in her own mind already. Any place would be better than none. But she +needed Annie's sanction that Effie might be satisfied--and, indeed, that +she might be satisfied herself; for she had little self-reliance. + +She saw Annie, who shrank from the thought of Christie's having to +trespass long on Mrs McIntyre's hospitality; and Christie dwelt more on +Mrs Greenly's high praise of Mrs Lee than on the difficulties she +might expect among so many children with insufficient help. So the next +afternoon Christie and her little trunk were set down before the door of +a high stone house in Saint --- Street. She had to wait a while; for +Mrs Greenly, the nurse, for whom she asked, was engaged for the time; +but by and by she was taken up-stairs, and into a room where a lady was +sitting in the dress of an invalid, with an infant on her lap. She +greeted Christie very kindly; but there was a look of disappointment on +her face, the girl was sure. + +"She seems very young, nurse, and not very strong," she said. + +"She is not far from fifteen, and she says she has good health. She has +been very well brought up," said Mrs Greenly, quickly, giving Christie +a look she did not understand. + +"How old are you?" asked Mrs Lee, seeming not to have heard the nurse. + +"I was fourteen in June. I am very well now, and much stronger than I +look. I will try and do my best." + +There was something in the lady's face and voice that made Christie very +anxious to stay. + +"Have you ever been in a place before?" the lady asked again. + +Christie shook her head; but Mrs Greenly took upon herself in reply. + +"Dear, no! It's only lately that her father died. There is a large +family of them. The oldest sister is trying to keep the little ones +together, Mrs McIntyre tells me; and two of the sisters have come to +the city to take places. The elder one is at Mrs Vinton's, in Beaver +Hall." + +Remembering the consequences of such a communication on a former +occasion, Christie trembled; but she was soon relieved. + +"Poor child!" said the lady. "So you have never been from home before?" + +"No, ma'am," said Christie, eagerly. "But I was very glad to come. I +was sorry to leave them all; but I wished to do my part. I will do my +best for you and the children." + +"You needn't fear that the children will learn anything wrong from her, +ma'am," she heard Mrs Greenly say. "She has been well brought up." + +But she heard no more; for the pattering of little feet on the stairs +told of the approach of children. The door opened, and a little girl, +six or seven years old, entered, followed by two little boys, who were +younger. The girl went directly to her mother, and began stroking the +baby's face. The boys, looking defiantly at Mrs Greenly, as though to +assure her that they would not submit to be sent away, took their stand +behind their mother's chair. The mother's hand was gently laid on the +little girl's head. + +"Where is Harry?" she asked. + +"He's asleep in Nelly's clothes-basket. She said we were not to make a +noise to wake him, so we came up here. Bridget has gone away." + +"Yes, I know. And has Letty been trying to amuse her brothers, to help +mother?" + +The child shook her head. + +"Harry played with the clothes-pins, and then he fell asleep. And Tom +and Neddie are both bad boys. They wouldn't obey me. Won't you let me +take the baby now?" + +"Baby's asleep, and you mustn't make a noise to wake her," said the +nurse, in an ominous whisper. "And your mother's very tired, and must +lie down and sleep too. And you are going, like a nice young lady, into +the nursery, to see how quiet you can keep them." + +She laid her hand on the child's arm as she spoke; but it was shaken off +abruptly, and the pretty face gathered itself into a frown. Her +mother's hand was laid on her lips. + +"Mother," entreated the child, "I will be so good if you will let me +stay. There's nothing to do in the nursery, and I'm so tired of staying +there!" + +"But your brothers," said Mrs Greenly. "They won't stay without you, +and your mother will be worse if she don't get rest. Indeed, ma'am, you +are quite flushed already," said she, looking at Mrs Lee; "quite +feverish. You are no more fit to be left than you were a fortnight ago. +You must have rest. The children must go." + +"Let us go to the yard, then," pleaded one of them. + +"It has been raining. Neddie must not go out," said the weary mother. +"Is not my little daughter going to be good?" she pleaded. + +"Oh, do let me stay. I will be so good. Send the boys away to Nelly in +the kitchen, and let me stay with you." + +On a table near the bed stood a tray, with several vials and glasses on +it. At this moment the whole was put in jeopardy by the enterprising +spirit of little Tom, who was determined to make himself acquainted with +their various contents. Neddie was endeavouring to raise himself to the +window-seat, using the curtains as a ladder to assist his ascent. There +was a fair prospect of confusion enough. + +"This will never do," said the nurse, hastily, as she removed the tray +and its contents, and reached the window just in time to save the wilful +Neddie from a fall. "Do you know," she added, suddenly changing her +tone, "what Nelly brought from market to-day? Apples! They are in the +side-board down-stairs. And here are the keys. Who would like one?" + +The boys suspended their mischievous operations, and listened. Letty +did not move. + +"Let me stay," she whispered. + +"Come, Miss Letty, like a good child. Your mother _must_ sleep, or she +will be ill, and the baby too. Come! I know what your quietness is-- +fidgeting about like a mouse. Your mother would have a better chance to +sleep with all the boys about her. Come away." + +"Go, Letty; go with nurse. Be a good child," pleaded her mother, on +whose cheek a bright colour was flickering. "My darling would not make +mamma ill, and baby sister too?" + +"Nurse, try me this once. I will be so quiet." + +But nurse was not to be entreated; and the reluctant child was half led, +half dragged from the room, screaming and resisting. Her mother looked +after her, weary and helpless, and the baby on her lap sent up a +whimpering cry. Mrs Lee leaned back on her chair, and pressed her +hands over her eyes. + +Christie rose. + +"Will you trust me with the baby? I will be very careful." + +The lady started; she had quite forgotten her. Christie stooped over +the baby with eager interest. + +"Are you fond of children?" asked Mrs Lee. + +"I love my brother and my little sisters. I have never been with other +children." There were tears in Christie's eyes as she raised them to +look in Mrs Lee's face, called forth quite as much by the gentle tones +of her voice as by the thought of `the bairns' at home. + +"I am afraid you could do nothing for baby," said Mrs Lee. "Nurse will +be here presently. Perhaps you could amuse the children; but they miss +me, and are fretful without me." + +"I will try," said Christie, eagerly. "Are they fond of stories? I am +very good at telling stories. Or I can read to them. I will do my +best." + +She went down-stairs, and guided by the sound of children's voices, +entered the dining-room. The little girl had thrown herself on the +sofa, where she was sobbing with mingled grief and rage. The boys, on +the contrary, were enjoying the prospect of eating the apples which Mrs +Greenly was paring for them. + +"The baby is crying. The lady wants you. She says I am to try and +amuse the children," said Christie. + +"Well, I wish you joy of your work," said Mrs Greenly, whose temper was +a little ruffled by her encounter with Miss Letty. "For my part, I have +no patience with children who don't care whether their mother gets +better or not. Children should love their parents and obey them." + +"I do love my mamma!" cried Letty, passionately, between her sobs. "Go +away, naughty nurse!" + +"I'm just going, my dear," said the nurse. "And mind, my girl," she +added, to Christie, "these children are to be kept here, and they are to +be kept quiet too. Mrs Lee's wearied out of her very life with their +noise. That useless Bridget was just as good as nobody with them." + +So she went up-stairs, and Christie was left to manage with the children +as best she might. While the apples lasted there was little to be said. +Letty did not heed hers, though it lay on the sofa, within reach of her +hand, till Tom made some advances in that direction. Then it was seized +and hidden quickly, and Tom's advances sharply repelled. Tom turned +away with a better grace than might have been expected, and addressed +himself to Christie. + +"Are you Bridget?" he asked. + +"No," she said, gravely; "I'm Christie." + +"Are you going to stay here?" + +"Would you like me to stay?" + +"No," said the boy; "I wouldn't. I like my mamma to dress me. Biddy +brushes too hard." + +"But I am Christie. I'll brush very gently till your mother gets better +again. Wouldn't you like me to stay? My home is very far-away." + +"How far?" asked Neddie, coming forward and standing beside his brother. + +"Oh, ever so far--over the river, and over the hills, and past the +woods; away--away--away down in a little hollow by the brook." + +The children looked at her with astonished eyes. She went on: + +"There are birds'-nests there, and little birds that sing. Oh, you +should hear how they sing! And there are little lambs that play all day +long among the clover. And there are dandelions and buttercups, and oh! +I can't tell you how many pretty flowers besides. Whose dog is that?" +she asked, suddenly, pointing to a picture on the wall. + +"It's my mamma's," said Neddie. + +"Is it? He's a very pretty dog. What's his name?" + +"He hasn't got any name. He's a picture," said Tom. + +"Oh, yes; he has a name. His name is--Rover. Is not that a pretty +name? Come and sit down by the window, and I will tell you a story +about a dog named Rover. You like stories, don't you?" + +They came slowly forward and stood beside her. + +"Well, Neddie," she said to Tom. "Are you Neddie?" + +"No; I'm Tom. That's Neddie." + +"Oh! that's Neddie, is it? Well, Tom and Neddie, I'm going to tell you +a story about Rover. Only we must speak low, and not disturb your mamma +and baby sister. What's the baby's name, I wonder?" + +"It's baby," said Neddie. + +"Yes; but she must have another name besides baby." + +"No, she hasn't," said Tom. + +"Her name's going to be Catharine Ellinor," said Letty, forgetting her +trouble for a moment. "That's grandmamma's name." + +"Oh, that's a very pretty name!" said Christie. "She's a dear baby, I +am sure." But Letty had no more to say. + +"Tell us about Rover," said Tom. + +"Oh, yes! I must tell you about Rover. `Once upon a time--'" And then +came the story. Never did dog meet with such wonderful adventures +before, and never was a story listened to with greater delight. Even +Letty forgot her vexation, and listened eagerly. In the midst of it +Nelly entered, carrying little Harry in her arms. At the sight of him +every trace of ill-humour vanished from Letty's face. Running to meet +them she clasped her arms round her little brother. + +"Where are his shoes, Nelly?" she said, stooping to kiss his rosy little +feet. + +"What a sweet child!" exclaimed Christie. "I hope he won't be afraid of +me." + +He _was_ very lovely, with his flushed cheeks and tangled curls, and not +in the least afraid of anything in the world. He looked out of his +bright blue eyes as frankly and fearlessly at Christie as if she had +been his nurse all his life. She placed him on her knee while Letty +tied his shoes. + +"Are you to be nurse?" asked her fellow-servant Nelly. + +"I don't know. I would like the place," said Christie. + +"You'll have your hands full," said Nelly, emphatically. Christie had +nothing to say to this; and the boys became clamorous for the rest of +the story. + +In the meantime, the October sunshine, though it was neither very warm +nor very bright, had dried up the rain-drops on the paved court behind +the house, and Mrs Greenly, showing her face for a moment at the +dining-room door, told Christie she might wrap the children up and take +them out for a little time. With Nelly's help, the wrapping up was soon +accomplished. The yard was not a very pleasant place. It was +surrounded by a high wall, and at the foot of the enclosure was a little +strip which had been cultivated. There were a few pale pansies and +blackened dahlia-stalks lingering yet. In two corners stood a ragged +and dusty fir-tree; and all the rest of the yard was laid over with +boards. + +"The children are not to sit down, for they would take cold," called out +Mrs Greenly from an upper window. In a little while Christie had them +all engaged in a merry game, and greatly were they delighted with it. +Some tokens of disorder and riot were given by Tom and Letty; but on the +whole the peace was kept. Their enjoyment was complete, and it was a +merry and hungry group that obeyed Nelly's summons to the tea-table. + +Christie's first afternoon was a decided success. There was nothing +more said about her staying. She fell very naturally into her place in +the nursery, and she and the little people there soon became very fond +of each other. It was a busy life, and so far a pleasant one. When her +position and duties were no longer new to her, she accommodated herself +to them with an ease which would have surprised Aunt Elsie, and even +Effie, who had a higher opinion of Christie's powers than her aunt had. +She was very earnest and conscientious in all she did, and Mrs Lee soon +trusted her entirely. She must have left the children much to her care, +even though she had less confidence in her; for she did not gain +strength very fast. The baby was a fragile little creature, and rarely, +night or day, during the first three months of her life, was her +mother's care withdrawn from her. So the other children were quite +dependent on their young nurse for oversight as well as for amusement; +and considering all things, she did very well, for she tried to do +everything as in the sight and fear of God. + + + +CHAPTER SEVEN. + +"CLOSER THAN A BROTHER." + +But all the days of that dreary autumn were not so happy. Indeed, there +were many times when Christie felt ready to give up in despair. Once it +happened that for weeks together the rain kept the little ones in the +house, and the only glimpse of the outer world which Christie could get +was from the nursery window. For one accustomed to a country life this +was no small deprivation, and though she was hardly conscious of the +cause, her spirits (never very lively) were ready to sink under it. She +became used to the confinement after a while, or rather, as she told +Annie, she did not mind it. But the constant attention which the little +ones claimed was a great strain on her cheerfulness. From early morning +till the hour when the unwilling eyes of the last of them were closed in +slumber, she had not a moment's respite. There was always something to +be done, some one to be coaxed or cautioned or cared for. + +The little Lees were not naughty children. On the contrary, they were +very loving, affectionate little creatures. All of them, except, +perhaps, Letty, were easily amused and governed. But, as is the case +with all over-indulged children, they were inclined to be exacting when +they had the power; and it was no wonder that, among so many of them, +Christie sometimes grew weary even to exhaustion, and fancied that her +strength and courage were quite spent. + +And worse than all, there were times when home-sickness, that could not +be resisted or reasoned away, assailed her. Almost always it was at +night--in the evenings, now growing so long, when no sound save the +gentle breathing of the sleeping children broke the reigning silence. +It was not so bad at such times, however, for she could then let her +weary head fall, and weep a part of her troubles away. But sometimes in +broad daylight, when in her walks with the children she crushed beneath +her feet the dead leaves of the trees, while the autumn wind sighed +drearily through their bare boughs, a pang of bitter loneliness smote +her. Among the crowds she met she was always fancying familiar faces. +More than once she sprang forward with a cry to grasp the hand of one +who looked on her with the unheeding eyes of a stranger. If at such a +time any one had come to her with a message from Effie, saying, "Come +home," she would probably have gone at all hazards--so dreary and lonely +her life seemed to her. + +It was not so with Annie. She made friends easily. She and Christie +went to church; and but few Sabbaths passed before they met many who +nodded and smiled to her bright-faced sister. But Christie was shy and +quiet, and shrank from the notice of strangers; and up to the very last +time that she passed through them, the busy streets of the city seemed a +lonely place to her. + +Christie never quite forgot the remedy tried for the first time beneath +the boughs of the birch-tree by the brook. There were hours when it +seemed to her now, as it seemed to her then, a cure for all the ills of +life, a help in every time of need. There were times when, having +nowhere else to go, she carried her burden to Effie's chief Friend, and +strove to cast it from her at His feet. She did not always succeed. +Many a time she lay down in the dark, beside little Harry, altogether +uncomforted. It seemed to her that nothing could help her but going +home again. But it was only now and then, at rare intervals, that it +seemed possible for her to go. Almost always she said to herself, "I +canna go home. I must stay a little while, at least." Sometimes she +said it with tears and a sorrowful heart, but almost always she had +courage to say it with firmness. + +But now she was beginning to feel herself wrong in coming; or, rather, +she began to see that her motive in coming was wrong. It was less to +help Effie with the little ones, as she was now satisfied, than to +escape from dependence on Aunt Elsie. Not that, even in her worst +moments, Christie could make herself believe that her aunt did not +gladly share the little that she had with her brother's orphans, or that +she would share it less willingly with her than with the others. The +unwillingness was on her part. And the root of this unwillingness was +pride, and an unforgiving remembrance of what she called her aunt's +harshness to her. Aunt Elsie had been at times more or less hard with +all her nieces. But she had been so to Christie in a way different from +the rest; and the child was willing to believe that the cause lay less +in her waywardness than in her aunt's unjust partiality. With such +feelings permitted, nay, at times willingly indulged, no wonder that she +too often failed to find the peace she sought. + +But gradually the home-sickness wore away. Daily she became more useful +and more valued in the nursery. She felt that Mrs Lee trusted her, and +this did much to make her content. She almost always was patient when +the children were in their exacting moods, and was always firm in +refusing any forbidden pleasure. From her "your mamma would be +displeased," or her "it is not right," there was no moving her; and of +this the children soon became aware. She never assumed authority over +them. They would have resented this quickly enough. But if the reward +of a story or a merry game before bed-time was forfeited by ill-conduct, +it was felt as a severe disappointment. For any disobedience or other +naughtiness in the nursery, the refusal of a kiss for good-night was +punishment enough. All children are not so easily guided or governed as +the little Lees were; and few children are placed so entirely apart from +evil influences as they were in those days. They were quick and +restless, and full of spirit, but, as I have said, they were +affectionate and tractable; and though often, before the last little +busybody was safely disposed of for the night, Christie believed her +strength and patience to be quite exhausted, her love for them increased +day by day. + +So the first three months of her absence from home wore away, and the +merry Christmas-time drew nigh. Till now, Christie had seen little of +the master of the house. He was rarely in for many days together. His +business took him here and there through the country; and even when he +was in the city he was not much at home. Once or twice he came into the +nursery. He seemed fond of his children in a careless, indifferent way; +but the children were shy and not very happy in his presence. If Mrs +Lee was not happier when he was at home, she was certainly more sad and +silent for a few days after he went away, and sighed often when she +looked at her children, as though she were burdened with many cares. + +About Christmas-time a great change took place in the household. In the +course of one of his many journeys Mr Lee met with a serious accident. +It was not pronounced serious at the time of its occurrence, but it +became so through neglect. It was painful as well as dangerous, and +confined him to the house during the greater part of the winter. From +this time Christie's duties became more arduous. Mrs Lee's time and +attention were frequently required by her husband, and the fragile +little Ellinor then became the special care of Christie. The nursery, +too, was removed to a room in the attic; for Mr Lee at first could not, +and at last would not, bear the noise of the children; and Christie's +glimpse of the outer world extended only to roofs and chimneys now. The +brief daily airings of the children were taken in a sleigh; and the +doctor insisted that their mother should always share them. She was +very delicate; and her husband, thoughtless and exacting, failed to +perceive that her strength was too much tried. Mrs Greenly was engaged +as his sick-nurse; but she could not be on the alert both night and day, +and when she failed her place must be supplied by his uncomplaining +wife. Night or day it was all the same. She was never sure of an +hour's respite. + +So Christie reigned alone in the attic-nursery, and controlled and +amused the children, and mended, and managed, and looked cheerful +through it all, in a way that excited the admiration and astonishment of +Mrs Greenly, and the thankful gratitude of Mrs Lee. How she got +through it all she hardly knew. On the days when the baby was her +exclusive care, it was bad enough. But by teaching the children to hail +the coming of the little one as a mark of their mamma's great confidence +in them, she succeeded in making them share the responsibility with her. +The boys would amuse themselves quietly for hours rather than disturb +little Ellinor; and Letty (usually the most restless and wayward of them +all) never grew weary of humming little songs, and otherwise amusing the +baby, as she lay in the cot. So they went on better than might have +been expected. But what with the close confinement in the house, and +the climbing of two or three long flights of stairs, Christie grew pale +and thin, and was many a time very weary. + +She had one pleasant hour in the week. At ten on every Sabbath morning +she called for her sister, and they went to church together. Not to the +church they would have chosen at first. There they had difficulty in +finding seats together; so they went elsewhere, with a friend of +Annie's, and after a time they had no desire to change. They rarely saw +each other during the week. Annie sometimes came into Christie's +nursery; but the only real pleasure they had together was in the walk to +and from church on Sabbath morning. + +March was passing away. The snow was nearly gone, but there had been a +shower during the night, and the pavements were wet, as Christie set out +on her accustomed walk one morning. The wind blew freshly, too, and +weary with the work of six days, she shrank from facing it, even for a +little while, with her sister, so, at the street by which she usually +went to the house where Annie lived, she paused. + +"I'll wait in the church for her to-day," she said to herself. "I'm +tired, and it's later than usual. She'll know if I'm not there by +half-past ten, and she'll come down. At any rate, I'm too tired to go +up the hill." + +Yes, she was very tired. The fresh air did not brighten and enliven her +as it usually did. The warm, moist wind that came in gusts from the +south was not invigorating, and she went slowly up the church-steps, +glad that her walk was over. There was no one in the church. Even the +sexton was not visible; and Christie placed herself in her accustomed +seat under the gallery, near the door, glad to rest in the pleasant +stillness of the place. How quiet and peaceful it seemed! The sound of +the moaning wind seemed to come from far-away, and the stillness within +was all the deeper. After the noise and turmoil of six days, the +silence was more grateful to her weary sense than the sound of sweetest +music would have been; and closing her eyes, she leaned back, not to +think, but to rest and be at peace. + +Soon the congregation began to assemble, but her repose was too deep to +be disturbed by the sound of footsteps or the rustling of garments. She +neither stirred nor heard a sound till Annie laid her hand upon her arm. +Then she awoke with a start, coming back to a realisation of time and +place, with a flutter of confusion and pain. + +"What ails you? Have you been sleeping? Are you not well?" whispered +Annie, in alarm. + +"Oh, yes, I'm well enough. I think I must have been sleeping, though," +said Christie, scarcely able to restrain a laugh at Annie's +astonishment. + +"Sleeping! at this time of day, and in the kirk too!" exclaimed Annie. + +"Well, never mind," said Christie, smiling, and holding down her head to +hide her confusion. "Did you see David McIntyre? I'm almost sure I saw +him in the street." + +"Yes, I saw him. He brought this letter from Effie." + +Christie took it from her. + +"Don't read it now, in the kirk. There's nothing in it that will not +keep. There is a little note for yourself inside. They are all well. +Why didna you come up to-day? I have something to tell you." + +Christie listened eagerly. + +"I canna tell you now," said her sister. "See, the people are nearly +all in. But I'll come down to-night, if I can." + +At that moment a hard-featured man, a little in front, turned his sharp +eyes towards them, with a look that was intended to warn and reprove; so +nothing more was said. + +As Annie was walking home with Christie, "I'm thinking of changing my +place," she said. + +"Changing!" repeated Christie. "I thought you were quite content." + +"Oh, it's not that. Mrs Vinton wishes it. Her younger sister is going +to be married, it seems, and her mother, who is an invalid--something +like Aunt Elsie, I should think--wants some one to be with her always. +She lives with a son, somewhere in the far West. Miss Emma--that's the +sister--has been down. She thinks I should suit her mother, and Mrs +Vinton is willing to spare me. I think I should like to go, for some +things. The wages are higher." + +"But so far-away," said Christie, in consternation; "and to leave me!" + +"Yes, that's what disturbs me. You mustna stay when I go." + +Christie shook her head. "I suppose there's the same need of my staying +now that there was before," said she, quietly. + +"But Effie was never quite willing that you should come, you know; and +besides, your place is too hard for you." + +"Just now it is, perhaps," interrupted Christie; "but Mr Lee is better, +and we'll soon get into our old way again." + +"But what I want is this," said Annie; "I want Sarah to come and take my +place at Mrs Vinton's. I have told her about Sarah. And then you +could go home and be with Effie." + +"But _I_ never could do what Sarah does at home," said Christie; "taking +care of Aunt Elsie and all. It would be far harder than what I have to +do now." + +"But you would be at home, and you would have some one to look after +you. I could never think of such a thing as leaving you here alone." + +"But, Annie, Sarah would be alone," remonstrated Christie. + +"Yes, I know; but it's quite different with Sarah. She's strong and +healthy, and will hold her own with anybody; and besides, I'm sure Effie +will never hear of your staying here alone. But there's time enough to +think about it. If I go, I shall spend a week at home first. No; I +can't go in," said Annie, as they came to Mrs Lee's door. "I must go +home. I shall write to Effie. Now, don't fret about this, or I shall +wish I hadna told you;" for Christie looked very grave indeed. + +"We'll wait and see what Effie thinks," said she, sadly. + +"Well, you have her letter; and I'll come down to-night, if I can, and +we'll talk it over. But, for any sake, dinna look so glum, as Aunt +Elsie would say." + +Christie laughed a little at her sister's excitement, but it was a very +grave face that bent over the baby's cot that afternoon. The south wind +had brought rain, and when night came, the drops dashed drearily against +the window-panes. Listening to it, as she sat with the baby in her arms +and the others sleeping quietly about her, Christie said to herself, +many times, that Annie could never venture out in such a night. Yet she +started at every sound, and listened eagerly till it had died away +again. Effie's letter had told her nothing new. They were all well and +happy, and the old question was asked, "When is Christie coming home +again?" But the letter, and even the little note, more precious still, +could not banish from her mind the thought of what Annie had said to +her; and it seemed to her that she could not possibly wait for another +week to hear more. The baby was restless, its mother was detained +down-stairs, and Christie walked about and murmured softly to still the +little creature's cries. But it was all done mechanically, and wearily +enough. Through the baby's cries and her own half-forced song, and +through the dreary sounds of the wind and rain, she listened for her +sister's foot upon the stairs. She could not have told why she was so +impatient to see her. Annie could tell her no more than she had already +told her during their walk from church. But since the possibility of +getting home had been suggested, the old feelings had started within +her. A sudden rush of home-sickness had come over her, and with it the +old unwillingness to go home and be a burden. She could fix her +thoughts on nothing else. Even after the baby had fallen into an uneasy +slumber, she wandered up and down the room, hushing it in her arms as +before. + +There was a step on the stairs at last. It was not Annie, however, but +Mrs Lee. + +"I am afraid the baby has been fretful," she said, kindly, as she took +the child in her arms. "You look tired, Christie." + +"No; I'm not very tired." But she moved about the room, putting aside +little frocks and shoes, keeping her face all the time from the light. +She was very much afraid that if Mrs Lee were to speak so gently again +her tears must flow; and this must not be if she could possibly help it. +In the meantime, Mrs Lee had taken up a book, which lay on a table +beside her. It was Christie's Bible; and when she had finished putting +away the children's clothes worn through the day, and seated herself at +a little distance, Mrs Lee said: + +"You are fond of reading, Christie?" + +Christie had many times asked permission to take a book into the +nursery, when the children were asleep, and she answered: + +"Yes, ma'am; I like to read, very much." + +"And do you like to read the Bible? Some people seem to take great +pleasure in it." + +"Yes; I read it every day. I promised Effie I would." + +Mrs Lee continued to turn over the leaves. + +"Whose marks are these on the margin?" she asked. + +"I suppose they are Effie's. John Nesbitt marked one or two for me, +when I was staying at his mother's last summer. The rest are Effie's." + +Mrs Lee read, "He shall cover thee with His feathers, and under His +wings shalt thou trust." + +"That was John's," said Christie, quickly. "One day a hawk came very +near, and we saw the chickens run to take shelter with their mother; and +in the evening John marked that passage, because, he said, it was just +the right one for a feeble, frightened, faithless little creature like +me. I was not well at the time." + +Christie paused, partly because she thought she had said enough, and +partly because it would not have been easy for her to say more just +then. + +"I don't think your friend could have known you very well," said Mrs +Lee, smiling. "He would never call you feeble, or frightened, if he +knew all you have done, and what a comfort you have been to me, this +winter." + +"Oh, he meant that I was not brave and cheerful, like Effie; and I am +not." + +"It is pleasant to have these tokens of your friend, any way," said Mrs +Lee, musingly. + +"There are other of his marks:--`Under the shadow of Thy wings will I +make my refuge, until these calamities be overpast,'--and another about +rejoicing under the shadow of His wings." + +It was a troubled, tearful face that Christie laid down on her hands as +she said this. Mrs Lee was still turning over the leaves, and took no +notice of the sigh that escaped the little nurse. + +"You read it to please your sister and your friend, do you? Or do you +really love to read it? I have heard of those who find their chief +happiness in believing what the Bible teaches. Do you?" + +There was a pause, during which Christie slowly raised her face from her +hands and turned it towards Mrs Lee. Then she said, with some +hesitation: + +"I don't know. I wouldn't be without the Bible for all the world; and +yet I know I don't find all the comfort in it that some people do. I +suppose it is because I am not sure that I am a Christian." + +"A Christian?" repeated Mrs Lee. + +"Yes; a child of God," said Christie, with a sigh. "If I were sure that +I am a child of God, then all the promises in His Holy Word would be +mine." + +"I suppose you mean if you were always good and never committed any +sin?" said Mrs Lee, inquiringly. + +"No; not that, exactly. Even God's people fall into sin sometimes." + +"What do you mean by being a child of God, then? We are all His +children in a certain sense, are we not?" + +Christie glanced doubtfully at Mrs Lee. + +"I mean one who loves God supremely--one who is at peace with God, who +has no will but His--one whose sins are forgiven for Jesus Christ's +sake." + +"And you think you are not one of these?" said Mrs Lee. + +"I don't know. Sometimes I hope; but I am afraid not. I am sure I wish +to be." + +Mrs Lee looked as though she did not quite understand her; but she said +nothing more. She laid down the book and rocked the baby gently on her +knee. Her thoughts were not very happy, Christie fancied, if she might +judge by her face, which grew grave and sad as she gazed on the child. +One of the little boys made a sudden movement. Christie rose to replace +the coverlet on him. + +"How peacefully they sleep!" said their mother. "Ah me!" she added; "if +they could always be as free from care! If I could get but one glimpse +into their future! And yet perhaps it is better as it is." + +"It is better to trust than to know, I once heard Effie say." Christie +spoke shyly, and with hesitation, as though she were not quite sure that +she should speak at all. + +Mrs Lee smiled, and said, kindly: + +"I see you are very fond of your sister Effie." + +Christie's face spoke; but she did not trust her voice. + +"I suppose she is the eldest of your family?" + +"Yes. She's twenty-two. Oh, I wish you could see Effie! She is very +different from what you would think from seeing me--or Annie, even." + +"How so?" asked Mrs Lee, greatly amused at the eagerness of one usually +so quiet and self-restrained. + +"Oh, I can hardly tell you. She looks so different--from me, I mean. +Annie's more like her. But it's not so much her looks. She is so brave +and cheerful and strong. She is not afraid. And yet she is gentle, and +has patience with us all." + +"Is she one of those you were speaking about just now--a child of God?" + +"Yes; she is," said Christie, gravely. "She doesn't say much about it; +but I do believe it is that which makes the difference. No wonder that +she is strong and brave and cheerful always, when she is quite sure that +_all things_ will work together for her good." + +Christie spoke the last words rather to herself than to Mrs Lee. The +lady listened with much interest, however. She had long ago learned to +value her little nurse for her faithfulness and her desire to do right; +but this glimpse she was getting of her inner life was something new. + +"It's no wonder I love Effie," continued Christie, whose heart was +opened. "When my mother died, I was sickly, and different from the +rest; and she gave me to Effie as her special care. I think I should +have died if it hadn't been for her. Oh, if I could only see her, just +for one minute!" + +Christie was in danger of forgetting all else for the moment. But she +checked herself by a great effort, and said: + +"I don't mean that I am discontented here, or that I would go home if I +could. I know it is best I should be here." + +"What do you mean by all things working together for good?" said Mrs +Lee, by and by. "I suppose Christians have trials and sorrows as well +as others?" + +"Oh, yes! I don't mean that. But a Christian may be sure that even his +trials are sent for the best. That is what John Nesbitt said to Effie +and me once. He said, if we had a friend of whose love we could be +sure, a friend who was wise and powerful and who had promised to bring +us safely through our troubles, we should have no cause to fret and +despond, though we might not understand all that happened by the way. +We might be sure that in the end all would be well." + +"If one could only have such a friend!" said Mrs Lee, with an audible +sigh. + +"Well, I suppose Jesus Christ is such a friend to those who love Him," +said Christie, softly. "He's loving and powerful, and He has promised; +and He cannot break His promise, we know. If we would but trust Him!" + +Mrs Lee said nothing. The look of care that Christie had seen on her +face many times since she came, and oftener than ever within the last +few weeks, was settling on it now. She leaned her head on her hand, and +sighed many times, as she sat gazing on the face of her baby, who had +fallen asleep on her knee. Christie took up her book; but she could not +help stealing a glance, now and then, at the mother and child. + +Thinking of Mrs Lee's troubles, Christie for a time forgot her own; and +it was not so difficult to wait till the next week to see her sister as +she supposed it would be. She had to wait longer than that before their +arrangements were made. Annie wrote to Effie; but as only a weekly mail +reached them, and as even that one might fail, it was some time before +they could expect to hear from her. The days passed very slowly. +Effie's letter seemed a long time in coming. + +In the meanwhile April came in, and as the days grew longer and milder, +Christie's anxiety to hear grew more intense. It seemed to her that she +must get away from the town and run home for a little while. The +longing never left her. Her stories to the children were all about the +buds that were beginning to show themselves, and the flowers and birds +that would be coming soon. She told them how all living creatures were +rejoicing in the return of spring, how glad the calves and the young +lambs would be to find themselves in the pastures, that were now +becoming green. She told them how the icy bands that had bound the +little brooks through all the winter-time were broken now by the bright +sunshine, and how by this time the water must have reached the hollow at +the foot of the birch-tree and covered the turf seat there. She told +them how the waters rushed and murmured when they rose so high that the +green buds of the birch-tree dipped into them, and how the wind swayed +the young willows, till she seemed to hear the sound, and grew faint +with her longing to be there. + +The letter came at last. Annie was to do as she thought best, Effie +said. She could judge what was wisest, and what she would like, better +than they could, who were so far-away; but as for Christie, she was to +come home. Not to exchange with Sarah, however. Whether one of them +would go back, or whether both were to stay at home, was to be decided +afterwards; but in the meantime Christie was to come home. + +"Think of it!" Effie said; "six long months away! Aunt Elsie, Mrs +Nesbitt, old Mrs Grey--everybody said she must come home." + +How the poor girl's heart leaped to meet the welcome that awaited her! +Yes, she must go home, for a little while at least. Mrs Lee was +grieved at the prospect of parting with her. Christie was almost vexed +with herself that the thought of leaving her and the children should not +be more painful to her. But there was too much joy in her heart to +leave room for more sorrow. + +"I didna think I should be so glad to go," she said to Annie many times +during their last walk from church. Annie laughed. + +"You have forgotten Aunt Elsie and all other vexations. Wait till you +get home. It won't be all sunshine there, I can tell you." + +But even the thought of Aunt Elsie had not the power of making Christie +anything but glad. She was afraid of nothing, except that something +might happen to hinder her going home. + +"You foolish child!" said Annie, laughing. "What could happen?" + + + +CHAPTER EIGHT. + +"MAN PROPOSES, GOD DISPOSES." + +But something _did_ happen. That night, when Christie went home, she +found Mrs Lee ill. She was not very ill, at least, not much more so +than she had been for a long time. She had been quite unfit for the +fatigue of nursing her husband, and now that he was better, her strength +forsook her. There was a dull, low fever upon her. The doctor said +Mrs Greenly must be sent for and the baby must be weaned. Christie's +heart sickened as she heard all this. Could she leave the baby to a +strange nurse? It would greatly add to the anxiety of the mother, and +might hinder her recovery for a time, even to know that the children, +and especially the delicate baby, must be left to the care of a +stranger. Ought she to go home? + +What a wakeful, miserable night she passed! She fancied she could bear +to stay; but to disappoint Effie and all at home was very painful. Must +she stay? It seemed so hard to change her plans now, both for her own +sake and theirs. + +But the morrow decided the matter for her. Letty was irritable all day +and all night, and when the doctor came in the morning, he pronounced +her symptoms to be those of scarlet fever. So Christie and the other +children were banished to the attic-nursery again. She said not another +word about going home, except to her sister. + +"Tell Effie I couldna get away. It wouldna be right to leave; would it, +Annie? I will try and not be very unhappy about it." + +But the tears that rolled down her cheeks told how bitter the +disappointment was to her. Annie would have lingered a week, even to +the shortening of her visit at home, for the sake of having Christie go +with her; but this was not to be thought of. The fever might go through +the whole family. The doctor thought that most likely it would do so; +and she could not better leave at the end of a week than now. + +"And don't tell them I was so very much disappointed about it," she +said, trying to smile, when Annie rose to go. "They must be all the +more glad to see me when I come. I couldna go, Annie. Now, do you +really think I could?" + +They were up in the attic-nursery. Christie sat with the baby in her +lap, while little Harry hung about her, begging to be taken up. The +other boys were engaged in some noisy play near the window; but the +confinement up-stairs had already made them irritable, and Christie's +constant interference was required to keep the peace between them. How +much worse it would be if an entire stranger were put in the place of +her who had been their kind nurse all the winter! And the poor, anxious +mother down-stairs too, how much worse for her! + +"No, Christie, dear; considering all things, I think you do right to +stay. But it is a great disappointment." + +"Make Effie understand how it is." It was only by a great effort that +she restrained a flood of tears till her sister had gone. Then they +fell upon the baby's frock like rain. The boys looked on in +astonishment, and little Harry burst out into a frightened cry, wakening +the baby, who joined her voice to his. + +"There! there! Hush, baby! hush! Harry, don't cry. Oh me! what shall +I do?" + +There was but one thing to do, and she tried faithfully to do it;--it +was to forget herself and her disappointment, and devote herself to the +little ones for the day. And so she did, for that day and many days, +with better success than she had dared to hope for. Letty was in the +other nursery, next to her mother's room, and for several days Christie +saw neither of them. The baby missed her mother less than might have +been expected, and submitted to her privation quietly enough. By +passing the day down-stairs in the dining-room, or out in the yard when +the weather was fine, Christie contrived to keep the boys amused and +happy most of the time. Mr Lee was absent on one of his business +journeys. It was uncertain when he would return; but Nelly was equal to +all housekeeping emergencies, and no one spoke of his absence with +regret. Mrs Greenly always considered Christie as under her special +patronage, as she had been the means of bringing her to the house, and +she strove to lighten her burden as much as possible. But it was a +weary time, those first ten days after Annie went away. + +Christie did not go to church the first Sabbath. It is doubtful whether +she would have found the courage, even if she could have been spared. +The next week was not so bad with them. Letty's illness, though severe, +proved less so than had been feared at first; and though Mrs Lee grew +no better, she did not grow worse. Before the second Sabbath, Letty was +pronounced out of danger, and Nelly, taking pity on Christie's pale, +weary face, offered to take her place with the children while she went +to church. + +She went early, as usual, and had time for the shedding of some very +sorrowful tears before the congregation gathered. I am afraid there was +a little bitterness mingled with the sorrow. The good she had done by +staying did not seem worth the great sacrifice it had cost. Letty had +not been very ill after all. The other children were well, and might +have done with a stranger, and she might have been going to the kirk at +home with Effie that very day. Besides, Mrs Greenly did not seem to +think her staying a great matter--though she had more than once praised +her for her care of the children. As for Mrs Lee, she had scarcely +seen her; and when she had, she had not alluded to the change in her +plans which sickness had made. What had cost her so much, she thought, +was a small matter in their view; and it is no wonder that the pang of +home-sickness that smote her, as she looked at her sister's empty seat +in the kirk, was all the harder to bear because of this. She did not +gain much good from the sermon that day. Heedless of some curious-- +perhaps pitying--eyes that were turned towards her, she leaned her head +on her hand and thought her own dreary thoughts; and when the services +were over, she rose and went away with the rest, although uncomforted. + +The day passed slowly enough. It needed a greater effort than she could +make to amuse the children and keep them interested, and they were noisy +and trouble some. The baby, too, was fretful, and would by no means be +content to sit still; and Christie wandered about with her, listless and +miserable, till tea-time. After tea, thankful for the prospect of a +little peace, she put the boys to bed, and seating herself by the baby's +cot, went back to her sad, unprofitable thoughts again. + +It was well for her--though she did not think so--that this moody fit +did not last long. Mrs Greenly's step upon the stairs aroused her. + +"Christie," said she, "are you reading? Just take your book and go and +sit down-stairs, will you? Letty's asleep, and will need nothing, I +dare say. If she does, you can call me. Mrs Lee will need nothing +either. I don't know how it is that I am so overcome with sleep. I'll +lie down and rest a minute or two, and I'll hear the children if they +wake." + +Christie took her book and went down, but she did not read. Instead of +that, she seated herself in the dark on the stairs, and began her +unprofitable musings again. Mrs Lee was not asleep. She was evidently +feverish and uncomfortable, and turned about and sighed often and +heavily. Christie had been told not to go into her room unless she was +called, so she sat still a little, beguiled from her own sad thoughts as +she took note of the uneasiness of the sick lady. + +"Are you there, nurse?" said Mrs Lee, at last. + +Christie rose, and went softly in. + +"Oh, is it you, Christie? Are the children asleep? How's the baby +to-night? I feel very weary and wakeful. I don't know what ails me." + +"Shall I call nurse?" asked Christie. + +"No. Oh, no. She could do nothing for me. Are you reading? Read to +me a little. Perhaps it will quiet me and make me fall asleep." + +While Christie brought the light and placed it where Mrs Lee's eyes +would not be troubled by it, she said again: + +"The children are quite well, nurse tells me. It was very well that you +decided not to go home, Christie. I am very glad you stayed." + +Christie said nothing. + +"I am afraid your sister was disappointed," said Mrs Lee. + +"Yes," said Christie. She could not say more. "Do you think you will +go soon?" + +"I don't know, ma'am." Poor Christie! Going or staying seemed a small +matter to Mrs Lee. It would not bear talking about; so she said: + +"What shall I read to you?" + +"Oh, anything. It doesn't matter. Anything to pass the time." + +Christie turned over a book or two that lay on the table, still at a +loss what to choose. + +"You had a book in your hand when you came in," said Mrs Lee, +presently. "Read that." + +It was the Bible; and opening it at random, Christie read. She read +softly and slowly, psalm after psalm; and soothed by her voice, Mrs Lee +lay and listened. After a time, Christie thought that she slept, and +made a pause. + +"Do you believe what you have been reading?" she asked, suddenly. + +Christie started. + +"It's the Bible," said she. + +"Yes; I know. Of course you believe it in a general way. Everybody +does. But do you take the good of it? That, for instance--`God is our +refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore will not +we fear, though the earth be removed.' Are you never afraid?" + +Christie did not answer. + +"Do you remember what you said to me the other night about your sister, +and all things working for good to those who love God? Are you sure of +it? And are you always content with what God sends you?" + +Poor Christie! She sat conscience-stricken, remembering her murmuring +spirit through the day. + +"If I could be sure that I am one of those to whom God has given a right +to His promises, I think I should be content with all He sends." + +She spoke humbly, and in a broken voice. + +"Oh, if one could be sure!" murmured Mrs Lee. "If there was any good +or pleasant thing in this world of which one could be quite sure! Oh, +how weary I am of it all!" + +The charm of the reading was broken. She moved her head restlessly on +the pillow. Christie went to her. + +"Can I do anything for you? Let me bathe your hands and face." And she +brought some fresh water. "Sometimes when my head used to ache badly, +my mother brushed it softly." + +"I thought your mother was dead," said Mrs Lee, raising herself up, and +submitting to be tended after Christie's fashion. + +"Yes, she died four years ago. I was but a child; but I remember her +quite well." + +"My mother is dead too," said Mrs Lee, with a sigh. "I wonder if she +would have died if I had not left her? I was but a child--only +sixteen--and we never can tell beforehand how things are to turn out. +If I had only known! But, oh me! why do I vex myself with all these +things to-night? It is too late now!--too late now!" + +Christie was alarmed at her evident excitement. Laying her gently down +on her pillow, and smoothing her hair, she said: + +"If you please, ma'am, Mrs Greenly said I was not to speak to you, and +that you must be kept quiet." + +With a strange sound between a sob and a laugh, she said: + +"Ah, yes! It is easy for her to say, `Keep quiet;' but all her good +nursing does not reach my troubles. Oh, me; how weary I am! My mother +is dead, and I have no sister; and my brothers have quite forgotten me. +But if we could only be sure that what your sister says is true, about +the Friend that cares for us, and who will bring us safe through all +troubles!" + +"It's not Effie that says it," said Christie, eagerly, "It's in the +Bible; and you may be quite sure it's true." + +"I wouldn't care so much for myself; but these poor little children who +have no one but me, and I so weak and helpless. My heart fails when I +think of all they may have to bear. I suppose my mother had just such +anxious thoughts about me. Oh, if she had known all! but she could not +have helped me here." + +"But the verse says, `A very present help in trouble,'" said Christie, +softly. "That's one difference between a heavenly Friend and all +earthly friends." + +"Yes," said Mrs Lee, languidly. Christie continued: + +"The Bible says, too, `The Lord is nigh unto all them that call upon +Him, to all that call upon Him in truth.' And in another place, `Wait +on the Lord: be of good courage, and He shall strengthen thy heart.'" + +"Yes; if, as you say, one could be sure that all these words were for +us," said Mrs Lee. Christie faltered a little; but by and by she said: + +"Well, the trust, like all other blessings, comes from Him. We can but +ask Him for it. At any rate, it is to those who are in trouble that He +promises help. It is to those who labour and are heavy-laden that +Christ has promised rest." + +"Rest!" echoed Mrs Lee, wearily. "Oh for rest!" + +"Yes; and He says He will give it to those who come to Him," continued +Christie. "We ought not to doubt Him. He has said, in twenty places, +that He will hear prayer." + +"I have a prayer-book. My mother gave it to me. But I have neglected +it sadly." + +"But the New Testament and the Psalms are full of promises to hear +prayer." And Christie repeated many verses as they came to her mind: + +"_Him that cometh unto Me, I will in no wise cast out_. + +"_Whatever ye ask in My name, it shall be done unto you_. + +"_Ask, and ye shall receive; seek, and ye shall find_. + +"_If ye, then, being evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, +how much more shall your Father in heaven give His Holy Spirit unto +those who ask Him_. + +"And the Psalm says:-- + + "And in the day of trouble great + See that thou call on Me; + I will deliver thee, and thou + My name shalt glorify." + +"Can't you sing?" asked Mrs Lee, coaxingly. + +It was a long time before Christie could conquer her shyness so as to +sing even with the children, but she had no thought of shyness now. She +began the twentieth, and then the twenty-third Psalm, singing them to +old Scotch tunes--rippling notes of strange, wild melody, like what we +seldom hear in our churches nowadays. The child's voice had a clear, +silvery sweetness, melting away in tender cadences; and breathing words +suited to such times of need as come to all, whatever else may pass them +by, it did more than soothe Mrs Lee, it comforted her. + + "Yea, though I walk through Death's dark vale, + Yet will I fear no ill; + For Thou art with me, and Thy rod + And staff me comfort still." + +And so she sang on, her voice growing softer and lower, till Mrs Lee +fell asleep, and slept as she had not slept before for months, calmly as +a child; and Christie stood beside her, listening to her gentle +breathing, and saying to herself: + +"I wonder if I have done her any good?" + +Then she went back to her seat upon the stairs, and before she had sat +there long in the darkness the blessed knowledge came to her that, +whether she had done any good or not, she had gained much within the +last two hours. In trying to comfort another she had herself been +comforted. + +"I can ask for the best blessing that God has to give, and keep asking +till I get it. Why should I not?" And no bitterness was mingled with +her tears, though they still fell fast. "I will try and do right, and +trust, and have patience, and God will guide me, I know He will." + +And so she sat in the dark, sometimes slumbering, sometimes thinking, +till the baby's whimpering cry summoned her back to her usual care. + +The next week was better in all respects than the last. Letty grew well +rapidly, and her mother improved a little day by day. The doctor, +looking now and then into the attic-nursery, gave them hope at last that +the little ones might escape the fever for this time; and Christie's +thoughts began to turn homeward again. But not so anxiously as before. +The pain of parting from the children would be harder now. And during +these days she began to feel a strange yearning tenderness for the poor +young mother, scarcely less helpless and in need of care than they. It +had come to be quite the regular thing now for Mrs Greenly to take an +hour's rest in the attic-nursery when the children had fallen asleep, +while Christie took her place in Mrs Lee's room. + +New and wonderful were the glimpses which those twilight hours gave to +Christie. She found that Mrs Lee, sitting in her drawing-room, or even +in the nursery, giving directions about the care of the children, was a +very different person from Mrs Lee lying in bed feverish or exhausted, +looking back over the days of her childhood, or forward to a future that +was anything but hopeful to her disenchanted eyes. Naturally reserved, +the lady had made but few acquaintances in the city, and had not one +intimate friend; and now, when weak and weary and desponding, it was a +relief to her to speak to some one of the times and places and events +over which memory had brooded in silence for so many years. She never +dreamed what glimpses of her heart she was giving to her little nurse. +She only saw the sympathy expressed by Christie's grave face or eager +gesture; and she talked to her, sometimes regretfully enough, about her +mother and her brothers and her childish days. Yet, sad as those +memories were, they were scarcely so sad as the thoughts she sent out +into the future. She did not often speak her fears; but her silence and +her frequent sighs were to Christie more eloquent than words. + +Christie rarely spoke at such times as these--never, except when a +question was asked; and then her reply was generally prefaced with, "I +have heard my father say," or, "Effie once told me," or, "I heard John +Nesbitt saying." Ignorant as she knew herself to be on the most +important of all subjects, she was yet far wiser than her mistress. +Some of Christie's simple remarks and suggestions made an impression on +her heart that wiser and more direct teachings might have failed to +make. + +As for Christie, in her sympathy for Mrs Lee's troubles, she almost +forgot her own. In striving to relieve her from all anxiety about the +children, she was ready to forget even her own weariness; and in the +knowledge that she was doing some good to them all, she ceased to regret +that Annie had gone home without her. + + + +CHAPTER NINE. + +LIGHT IN DARKNESS. + +The week passed. Sunday morning came; and out of a broken, uneasy +slumber, Christie was awakened by the fall of rain-drops on the window. +In the midst of the trouble and turmoil of the week she had striven to +be patient; but through it all she had looked forward to the two hours' +respite of the Sabbath, and now it seemed to her that she could not be +denied. Turning her aching eyes from the light, she did not, for a +moment or two, try to restrain her tears. But she could not indulge +herself long, if she had been ever so much inclined. For soon arose the +clamour of childish voices, that must be stilled. So Christie rose, and +bathed her hot eyes, and strove to think that, after all, the clouds +were not so very thick, and they might break away in time for her to go. + +"At any rate, there is no good in being vexed about it," she said to +herself. "I must try and be content at home, if I canna go." + +It was an easier matter to content herself than to her first waking +thought seemed possible. She was soon busy with the little ones, +quieting their noise as she washed and dressed them, partly for little +Harry's sake, and partly because it was the Sabbath-day. So earnest was +she in all this that she had no time to think of her disappointment till +the boys were down-stairs at breakfast with their mother. Then little +Harry seemed feverish and fretful and "ill to do with," as Mrs Greenly, +who visited the attic-nursery with the baby in her arms, declared. +Christie strove to soothe her fretful pet, and took him in her arms to +carry him down-stairs. A gleam of sunshine met her on the way. + +"It is going to be fine weather, after all," she said to Nurse Greenly, +turning round on the first landing. + +But nurse seemed inclined this morning to look on the dark side of +things, and shook her head. + +"I'm not so sure of that," said she. "That's but a single gleam; and I +dare say the sky is black enough, if we could see it. And hearken, +child, to the wind! The streets will be in a puddle; and with those +pains in your ankles you'll never, surely, think of going out to-day?" + +Christie's face clouded again; and so did the sky, for the gleam of +sunshine vanished. + +"I should like to go, indeed," said she; "and it's only when I am very +tired that my ankles pain me." + +"Tired!" repeated nurse. "Yes, and no wonder; and yet you will persist +in carrying that great boy, who is far better able to carry himself. I +don't wonder that you want to go even to the church, to be out of the +reach of trouble for a while." + +Christie laughed a little--she could not help it--at nurse's energy. + +"I am afraid it _is_ partly for the quiet that I want to go," said she, +looking grave enough for a minute. + +And she did go, after all, though the weather was so forbidding. + +Christie's first thought, when she entered the church, was that their +hall-clock had gone wrong and made her late; for already there was +scarcely a vacant seat, and it was not without difficulty that she found +her way to the place she was accustomed to occupy. There were strangers +in the pew, and strangers before her and around her; and with a shy and +wondering feeling Christie took up her hymn-book. + +The great multitude that filled the seats and thronged the aisles were +waiting impatiently to hear the sound of a voice hitherto unheard among +them. Christie sent now and then a curious glance over the crowded +seats and aisles, and up to the galleries, from which so many grave, +attentive faces looked down; but even when the stillness which followed +the hum and buzz of the coming in of the congregation was broken by the +clear, grave tones of a stranger's voice, it never occurred to her that +it was the voice of one whose eloquence had gathered and held many a +multitude before. In a little while she forgot the crowd and everything +else. At first she strained her short-sighted eyes in the direction of +the voice, eagerly but vainly. But this soon ceased; and by the time +the singing and the prayers were over, she only listened. + +To many in the house that day, the word spoken by God's servant was as +"a very lovely song of one that hath a pleasant voice and can play well +on an instrument." To many it was a stumbling-block, and to many more +foolishness. But to the weary child, who sat there with her head bowed +down, and her face hidden in her hands, it was "Christ the power of God +and the wisdom of God unto salvation." She forgot the time, the place, +and the gathered multitude. She forgot her own weakness and weariness. +She forgot even the speaker in the words he spoke. In a little while +she grew unconscious of the tears she had tried to hide, and her hands +fell down on her lap, and her wet cheeks and smiling lips were turned +towards the face that her dim eyes failed to see. + +I cannot tell what were the words that so moved her. It was not that +the thoughts were new or clothed in loftier language than she was wont +to hear. It was the old but ever new theme, set forth in the old true +way, reverently and simply, by lips which--long ago touched by a coal +from the altar--had answered to the heavenly voice, "Here am I; send +me." It was God's love, intimated by many a sign and made visible by +many a token, but first and best of all by this, that "He spared not His +own Son, but gave Him up to die for us all." + +No, the words were neither new nor strange; and yet they seemed to be +both to her. It was not as though she were listening to spoken words. +There seemed to be revealed to her, as in a vision, a glimpse of +mysteries into which the angels desire to look. Her eyes were open to +see God's plan of salvation in its glorious completeness, Christ's +finished work in all its suitableness and sufficiency, His grace in all +its fullness and freeness. Oh, that wondrous grace! Angels gaze from +afar, while ascribing to its Author greatness and power and glory. But +the redeemed have a higher and more thrilling song put into their +mouths. + +"Unto Him who loved _us_, and gave Himself for _us_!" they sing; and +then and there this child had a foretaste of their unspeakable +blessedness. It was as "the chiefest among ten thousand, and altogether +lovely," that she saw Him now; and love supreme, and entire trust and +peacefulness, took possession of her heart. Very sinful, and weak and +unworthy she saw herself to be; but she saw also that the grace that can +pardon, justify, purify, and save is the more glorious on that very +account. Her sins no longer rose between her and God. They were +removed from her "as far as the east is from the west." They were cast +altogether behind His back, to be remembered against her no more for +ever. + +If before to-day Christie had been one of Christ's little ones--if she +had had a place in the fold, and had now and then caught a glimpse of +the green pastures and the still waters where the "Good Shepherd" leads +His flock--it was to-day for the first time that she realised the +blessedness of her calling. Her little Bible, and her murmured prayer +night and morning, amid the sleeping children, had more than any other +thing, more than all other things together, helped her quietly and +cheerfully through the weary winter. Clinging now to one promise, and +now to another, she had never been quite without the light and help that +seemed to come from above. But to-day it was not a solitary promise. +It was not even the sense that _all_ the promises to God's people from +generation to generation were hers to rely upon. It was the blessedness +of the knowledge that began to dawn, like heaven's own light, upon her, +the knowledge that she was no longer her own, but _His_ who had bought +her with a price--_His_ to have and to hold, in sorrow and joy, through +life and in death, henceforth and for ever. Now, "neither life, nor +death, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, +nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, could +separate her from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord." + +Silently, with the thoughtful or thoughtless multitude, she passed from +the house of prayer. Yet her soul was sending up a song of praise that +reached the heaven of heavens. A forlorn little figure she must have +seemed to any chance eye that rested on her as she picked her way among +the pools that had settled here and there on the pavement. It was only +by a great effort that she held her own against the wind and rain, that +threatened to carry away her shawl, and rendered vain her attempts to +shield her faded crape bonnet with a still more faded umbrella. If one +among the crowd who met or passed her on her way took any notice of her +at all, it must have been to smile at or to pity her. Yet over her +angels in the high heavens were rejoicing. In her heart was the peace +that passeth understanding, soon to blossom forth into joy unspeakable +and full of glory. + +Heedless alike of smiles and pity, she hastened along, unconscious of +discomfort. Even the near approach to the house, and the thought of the +peevish children and the dim attic-nursery, had no power to silence the +song that her grateful soul was singing. She went up the stone steps +without her accustomed sigh of weariness; and the face that greeted Mrs +Greenly as she opened the door, though pale enough, and wet with +rain-drops, was a very pleasant face for any one to see. + +"You foolish child!" Mrs Greenly exclaimed, eyeing the little figure +that stood on the door-mat. "You would have been better at home." + +Something in Christie's face kept her from saying more. + +"I am very glad I went--very glad," said Christie, stooping to take off +her wet shoes, that she might not soil Nelly's spotless oilcloth; and as +she gathered them up and faced Mrs Greenly again, she repeated, softly: + +"I am very, _very_ glad! You haven't needed me much, have you? How is +wee Harry?" + +Nurse took no notice of her question, but looking gravely at her, said: + +"I wonder the wind didn't carry you away, poor child!" + +"It very nearly did," said Christie, laughing. "I am very glad to be +safe within doors again; but I am very glad I went, for all that." + +"But you are wet through!" said nurse, laying her hand on her shoulder. +"Go and change your clothes this very moment. Stay," she added, as +Christie began to ascend the stairs. "If the children get a sight of +you there will be an end of your peace. Go down to the kitchen, and I +will bring down your things for you." + +Christie looked wonderingly into her face. + +"You are very kind. But you need not take the trouble. I'm not so very +wet." + +"Do as I bid you," said Mrs Greenly, impatiently. "You'll be ill with +those pains in your ankles again. And you have a weary week before you, +or I'm mistaken." + +"What is it?" asked Christie, in alarm. + +"It may be little, after all; but little Harry seems far from well, and +his mother is naturally anxious. At any rate, I'm going to call for the +doctor this afternoon, and if it should prove that he has taken the +fever, why, I must stay for a week, and you have the prospect of a +longer confinement in the attic-nursery." + +It was too true. Little Harry was very ill--much worse than his sister +had been at first. The doctor looked very grave when he saw him that +afternoon, and positively directed that the other children should be +kept away from the room. But Christie was not sent with them to the +attic. + +Having caught a glimpse of her passing the door, Harry could not be +pacified till he found himself in her arms; and not even his mother +could beguile him from her through all that long afternoon. He was very +feverish, and seemed to suffer much, poor little fellow. Sometimes she +soothed his restlessness by singing to him in a low voice, or by telling +him the tales that had amused him many a time during the long winter. +Sometimes she walked about with him in her arms; but she was not able to +do this very long, and so she sat on a low chair, rocking him gently in +her arms. The other children were down-stairs with Nelly. Mrs Greenly +had gone out to make arrangements for a longer stay; and poor Mrs Lee, +anxious and unhappy, went in and out of the nursery, unable to quiet +herself or to take the rest she so much needed. + +It was nearly dark when the doctor came in again, and the little boy had +fallen into an uneasy slumber. The doctor started slightly when he saw +Christie, and said, rather hastily-- + +"I thought I told you to keep away?" + +The child stirred and murmured as the light was brought in, and Christie +hushed him softly; but she made no reply. Mrs Lee spoke for her: + +"But he was so restless, doctor, and seemed so uncomfortable after you +went away; and we could do nothing to quiet him till Christie took him. +He is very fond of her." + +The doctor laid his hand on the hot forehead of the little patient, but +his eye was on Christie. + +"Have you ever had the fever?" he asked. + +"I am not sure. I think I had it when I was a child. But I am not +afraid of it." + +"When you were a child! That could not have been a long time ago, I +should imagine," said the doctor, smiling a little, as he looked into +the earnest face turned towards him. "But I dare say you will do as +well for Harry as Nurse Greenly herself could do." + +"Is he in danger? Is he worse than Letty was?" asked his mother. + +"Oh, no! He is by no means so ill as she was at one time," said the +doctor, cheerfully. "And a fine rugged little fellow like Harry may get +through much better than his sister. But, at the same time, this fever +sometimes becomes more severe as the season advances, and it is as well +to keep the other children away. Not that I think there is any +particular danger for any of them--even the baby; but being weaned so +young, and her teeth coming, it is as well to be cautious. So if +Christie is to nurse Harry, she may as well have nothing to do with the +baby--or the boys." + +Mrs Lee looked still harassed and anxious. + +"There is no harm done," continued the doctor, soothingly. "If Christie +has to be with the other children, she should not be with Harry. But if +Harry is so fond of her, perhaps she had better stay with him to-night, +at any rate. I dare say you can manage without her up-stairs for one +night?" + +"Oh, yes! we can do very well," said Mrs Lee. + +"When do you expect Mr Lee home?" asked the doctor. + +Mrs Lee shook her head. "I have been expecting him every day for a +week. He must come soon, now, or write. He has not yet heard of +Letty's illness. I was so glad it was over before he came! and now +Harry, and perhaps the others--" She stopped short, but soon added, "I +hope nurse will not need to go." + +"No, it's not likely; and even if she should, you will manage with some +one for the other children. I am quite willing to trust my patients +with this careful little person, since she is not afraid. The little +fellow seems quite fond of her. I suppose you don't mind being kept +awake a little for one night?" he said, as he again stooped over the +flushed face of the little boy. + +"Oh, no! And even if I go to sleep, I wake very easily. The least +movement wakes me. I think you can trust me, ma'am; and I can call you +or Mrs Greenly at any moment, you know." + +"I have trusted her all the winter, as I have never been able to trust +any one with the children before," said Mrs Lee to the doctor. +"Christie has been very good to the children, and to me too. I am only +afraid I have put too much on her--such a child as she is." + +Christie's face, which had been pale enough before, crimsoned all over +with pleasure at the words of Mrs Lee. + +"I am quite strong; at least, I am much stronger than I look," she said. + +"Well, you are to stay with little Harry to-night, at any rate, and I +hope I may find him much better in the morning," said the doctor. + +He gave some further directions about the child's drink and medicine, +and went away. Christie heard him in the passage urging upon Mrs Lee +the necessity of keeping herself quiet and taking rest. The child, he +assured her, was in no danger; but he would not answer for the +consequences to herself should she suffer her over-anxiety to bring on a +return of the illness from which she had only just recovered. He did +not leave her till he saw her resting on the sofa in her own room; and +Christie did not see her again till the house had become quiet for the +night. Mrs Greenly had paid one brief visit to the sick-room, and +then, weary with the exertions of the week, betook herself to the +attic-nursery to rest. Christie was left quite alone but her solitary +musings were not so sad as they had been many a time. And sitting there +in the dim light of the night-lamp, she said to herself, "I can never, +never have such sad thoughts again." + + + +CHAPTER TEN. + +THE SHADOW OF DEATH. + +It was past midnight when Mrs Lee entered the nursery again. Little +Harry was on the bed, and his weary nurse was preparing to lie down +beside him. + +"He seems to be sleeping quietly," said his mother, as she bent over +him, "Yes, ma'am--much more quietly than he did last night. I think he +will have a good night," said Christie. + +Mrs Lee seated herself on the side of the low bed, and listened to his +quick, irregular breathing. + +"I was beginning to hope that all the others might escape, now that +Letty is so well," she said; "but if Harry gets over it I shall be glad. +It is always well that children should have these diseases while they +are at home, if they must have them--poor darlings!" + +She looked grave, and even sad as she spoke; but her face was not so +pale, and she did not look so hopeless as she had done when the doctor +was present. + +"I feel quite rested and refreshed," she said, after a few moments. "I +have been asleep two or three hours. You had better go up-stairs and +lie down awhile, and I will stay with Harry the rest of the night. You +look very tired, Christie." + +"I was just going to lie down here," said Christie. "Do you think you +need to sit up, ma'am? He seems sleeping so quietly, and the least +movement he can make will wake me. I can keep a light burning, and call +you at any moment. I do not think you need to sit up." + +"I am afraid you will not rest much with him, if his least movement will +wake you," said Mrs Lee, doubtfully. + +"Oh, I wake and sleep again very easily," said Christie, cheerfully. "I +am used to it now." + +Still Mrs Lee lingered, watching the child with anxious eyes, and now +and then sighing deeply Christie sent many a pitying glance towards her +wondering if any trouble that she knew nothing of was added to the +anxiety with which she regarded her child. She longed to be able to +comfort her. Her heart was full of sympathy for her--sympathy which she +did not venture to express in words. She did not even let her looks +express it, but took up her Bible, that she might not seem to be +watching her. Mrs Lee roused herself at last, and turning to Christie, +said: + +"Mrs Greenly tells me that Mr G., the famous preacher, was in town +to-day. And, by the bye, you must have heard him. He preached in --- +Church this morning. You were there, I suppose?" + +"Yes; I was there," said Christie, with great interest. "There was a +strange minister preached; but I didn't know that he was a great man. +That was the reason there was such a crowd of people, I suppose. I +wondered why it was." + +"You didn't like him, then? or you didn't think him a great man?" said +Mrs Lee, smiling. + +"Oh, yes," said she, eagerly; "I liked him. But I wasn't thinking about +him as a great man; I wasn't thinking of him at all--only of what he +said." + +"He told you something new, then?" said Mrs Lee. + +"No! Oh, no! Nothing new; nothing that I had not heard many times +before. And yet it seemed to come to me as new!" she added, a strange, +sweet smile passing over her face. + +"What did he say that was new to you?" + +"Some things he said that I shall never forget. He was telling us of +God's love to man, shown in many ways, but most and best of all in the +work of redemption. It wasn't new, what he said; and yet--I don't know +how it was--I seemed to see it as I never saw it before." And again the +same bright smile flashed over her countenance. + +"The work of redemption?" repeated Mrs Lee; and there was a questioning +tone in her voice that made Christie look at her doubtfully before +replying. + +"Yes; you know, `God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten +Son, that whosoever believeth on Him might not perish, but have eternal +life.' And `All we like sheep have gone astray. We have turned every +one to his own way; and the Lord hath laid on Him the iniquity of us +all.' And there are many more verses in the Bible like this. One of +them says, `When there was no eye to pity, or hand to save, God's eye +pitied, and His own arm brought salvation.' I'm not sure that these are +the exact words, but that is the meaning of the verse." + +"Brought salvation!" repeated Mrs Lee. "That means that God's people +will be saved, and will go to heaven when they die?" + +"Yes," said Christie, hesitatingly. "It means that; but it means +something more. We don't have to wait till we die to get the good of +salvation. We shall be saved from the punishment of sin when we die, +but we are saved here from its power. We come to hate what we once +loved, and to see beauty and worth in things that before were +uninteresting to us. What was hard to do and hard to bear becomes easy +for Christ's sake. Somehow or other, everything seems changed. `Old +things pass away. All things become new.'" + +She paused, and letting her cheek rest on the hand that held her Bible, +she gazed into the glowing embers with eyes that seemed to see pleasant +things far-away. Mrs Lee looked at her with wonder for a time, and +then said: + +"Has all this happened to you--this change you speak about?" + +A sudden flow of tears was the only reply her question received at +first. But soon she raised her head, and said: + +"Sometimes--now and then--I have hoped so; and to-day, when God's great +love to sinners was set forth, and the way of salvation shown to be so +wise, so free, so suitable, it seemed foolish and unreasonable to doubt +any more. I had heard all about it many and many a time before, but the +words seemed to come home to my heart to-day. It was like the sudden +shining out of a light in a dark place. Maybe I'll go back again to my +old doubts and discontent. But I hope not; I believe not. I know He is +able to keep me; and I think He will." + +Mrs Lee had laid herself down by Harry, and was listening now, with her +eyes shaded by her hand. She lay so long and so quietly that Christie +thought she must have fallen asleep, and began softly to turn over the +leaves of her Bible again; and she quite started when, in the course of +half an hour, she spoke again. + +"You said something about God's love in redemption. What did you mean +by it? Tell me more of what the preacher said." + +Christie hesitated a moment, and was at a loss what to say: "I can't +mind all he said. That is, I can't mind the exact words. But he told +us what a blessed thing it is for us that our salvation, from beginning +to end, is God's own work, and how impossible it is that we could be +saved if it depended on ourselves." + +"Yes; even if one could begin one's life again. It would be all the +same. We might avoid some errors and keep from falling into some +mistakes; but after all, it would come to the same thing in the end, I +dare say. There is no use in wishing for another chance." + +Mrs Lee sighed; and Christie hesitated a moment, and then said: "We can +do nothing to save ourselves, ma'am, and all else that we have to do +grows easy, because of the grace which God gives, and because of a +knowledge of Christ's love to us. It is easy to do the will of One who +loves us, and whom we love." + +There was a long pause after this, which Mrs Lee broke by saying: "What +was it you said about `no eye to pity, and no arm to save'?" + +"Here it is," said Christie; and she eagerly read the words from her +Bible, and many more besides--a verse here and a verse there, as her own +judgment or Effie's marginal marks suggested: such as, "_Surely He hath +borne our griefs and carried our sorrows_. + +"_He was wounded for our transgressions, and bruised for our +iniquities_. + +"_For when we were without strength, in due time Christ died for the +ungodly_. + +"_For scarcely for a righteous man will one die; yet peradventure for a +good man some would even dare to die_. + +"_But God commendeth His love toward us, in that, while we were yet +sinners, Christ died for us_. + +"_Who shall lay anything to the charge of God's elect? It is God that +justifieth. Who is he that condemneth? It is Christ that died; yea, +rather, that is risen again, who is even at the right hand of God, who +also maketh intercession for us. Who shall separate us from the love of +Christ_?" + +"If we could be sure that we are among the children of God," said Mrs +Lee, with a sigh. And soon after she added: "There are a great many +things in the Bible that are hard to understand." + +"Yes; I suppose so--I am sure of it," said Christie, gravely. "But the +things most necessary for us to know and understand are easy for us; at +least, with the help of the Holy Spirit they grow easy, I think. It is +very plainly told us we are sinners and need a Saviour, that a Saviour +has been provided, and those who come to Him He will in no wise cast +out. These are the chief things; and besides these, we are assured of +help and guidance and peace, all the way through to the end." + +Christie spoke slowly, striving to put into as few words as possible +these precious truths of the Bible. + +"You seem to know a great deal about these things, and to take a +pleasure in them," said Mrs Lee. + +Christie shook her head. "I take pleasure in them, but I know very +little. It is only lately that I have cared to learn. I am very +ignorant." + +Ignorant though she was, the child knew more of God's truth than her +mistress; and many a word in season she spoke to her anxious heart +during the long watches that they shared together in the sad times that +followed that memorable day. They were words very simply and humbly +spoken--rarely Christie's own. They were passages of Scripture, or bits +from the catechism, or remembered comments upon them made, in her +hearing, by her father, or by Effie and her friends. + +Nothing could have been farther from Christie's thoughts than any +intention of teaching. She did not dream how strange and new to her +listener were the blessed truths that were beginning to present +themselves so vividly to her own mind. She would have shrunk from the +thought of presuming to teach, or even to suggest new trains of thought. +In ordinary circumstances she might have found it difficult to converse +long on any subject with Mrs Lee. But watching and anxiety, shared in +the chamber over which hangs the shadow of a great dread, soon break +down the barriers of reserve which a difference of age or position +raises; and there seemed no inappropriateness in the grave, earnest +words that now and then fell from the lips of the little maid. Indeed, +weak in body and exhausted in mind as the troubles of the winter and +spring had left her, Mrs Lee found positive rest and refreshment in the +society which might at another time have seemed unsuitable; and mingled +with the gratitude with which she saw Christie's devotion to the sick +child was a feeling of respect and admiration for the character which +was gradually developing before her eyes. + +How long the days and nights seemed! Little Harry's robust frame and +fine constitution availed him little. The fever raged with great +violence; and the close of the week found the doctor still in doubt as +to how it might end with him. His mother's strength and hopefulness had +held out wonderfully till this time; but when the baby, the fair and +fragile little Ellinor, was stricken down, faith, strength, and courage +seemed to fail her. It was not long, however. The child's need gave +the mother strength; and the baby needed nothing long. The other +children were sent away to a friend's house in the country; and silence, +broken only by the moans of the little ones or the hushed voices of +their anxious nurses, reigned through the house, lately echoing to far +other sounds. + +Before three silent days had passed, the mother knew that her baby must +die. In the presence of her unutterable sorrow Christie was mute. The +awe which fell upon her in the dread presence left her no words with +which to comfort the stricken mother. But in her heart she never ceased +through all that last long night to pray, "God comfort her." + +And she _was_ comforted. Though her tears fell fast on the folded hands +of her child as she said the words, they were humbly and reverently +spoken: + +"`Thy will be done.' It would have been harder to leave my child than +to let her go!--and now one of my darlings is safe from all sorrow for +ever!" + +The father came home just in time to lay his little daughter in the +grave; and then both father and mother sat down to wait. For what? For +the gradual return of the rose to the cheek and the light to the eye of +little Harry? Alas, no! It was not to be. A keener pang was to pierce +the heart of the stricken mother. For to part with little Harry was a +far harder trial to anticipate than even the loss of her baby had been +to bear. But day by day it became more apparent to all that Harry's end +was hastening. The fever went away, but there seemed to be no power to +rally in the little worn-out frame of the child. His father, for a +little while, spoke hopefully of a change of air, and the sea-side; but +he could not long so cheat himself with false hopes. The restlessness +and irritability, which they had said to one another were hopeful signs, +passed away. His smiles were more languid and constrained, and he soon +failed to recognise the anxious, loving friends who ministered to his +wants. + +Before this the mother's strength had quite failed; and the father, +unused to the sight of suffering, shrank from looking on the last agony +of his child. Through all his illness the little boy had clung to +Christie--never quite at rest, even in the arms of his mother, unless +his Christie was near. Her voice had soothed him, her hands had +ministered to his comfort, her care had been lavished on him, through +all those lingering days and nights. And now it was Christie who met +his last smile and listened to his last murmured "Good-night!" Yes, it +was Christie who closed his eyes at last, and straightened his limbs in +their last repose. She helped to robe him for the grave, and to lay him +in his little coffin; and all the time there was coming and going +through her mind a verse she had learned long ago-- + + "Now, like a dew-drop shrined + Within a crystal stone, + Thou'rt safe in heaven, my dove; + Safe in the arms of Jesus, + The everlasting One!" + + + +CHAPTER ELEVEN. + +AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR. + +And now a sad silence fell on the household. The children were not to +be brought home for some time, the doctor said; and their mother was not +able to go to them; so Christie was left to the almost unbroken quiet of +her forsaken nursery. She needed rest more than she was aware, and sank +into a state of passive indifference to all things which would have +alarmed herself had not her kind friend, Mrs Greenly, been there to +insist that she should be relieved of care till her over-tasked strength +should be in some measure restored. In those very quiet hours, thoughts +of home came to her only as a vague and shadowy remembrance. The events +of the winter, and even the more recent sufferings of the last month, +seemed like a dream to her. Dearly as she had loved her little charges, +she was hardly conscious of regret at their loss. It seemed like +something that had happened long ago--their long suffering and +departure. The very promises which had of late become so sweet to her, +soothed her merely as a pleasant sound might do. She scarcely took note +of their meaning or power during those days. + +But this soon passed away, and with returning strength came back with +double force the old longing to go home. She had sent a line to Effie +when little Harry was taken ill, telling her how utterly impossible it +would be for her to leave her place. Since then, about the time of the +baby's death, a neighbour had called, and by him she had sent the same +message, assuring her sister that she was quite content to stay. But +her old eagerness to get home came back, now that she found herself with +little to occupy her, and she waited anxiously for the time when Mrs +Lee might be spoken to on the subject. + +In the meantime, Mrs Greenly was called away, and the duty of +attendance upon Mrs Lee once more devolved on Christie. If anything +could have banished from her heart all thought of home or all wish for +change, the days that followed would have done so. Not an hour passed +in which she was not made to feel that she was a comfort to her friend-- +for _friends_, in the highest sense, the mistress and her little maid +were fast becoming. The readings and conversations which had been begun +during their long watches together were renewed; and blessed seasons +they proved to both. Christie never knew--never could know on earth-- +all the good she did Mrs Lee in those days. She was only conscious of +an ever-increasing love for her and an ever-increasing desire to serve +her. + +If in the first agony of her bereavement there had been in the mother's +heart murmuring and rebellious thoughts, they were all stilled now. +With more than the submission of a chastened child--with joy that had in +it a sense of reconciliation and acceptance--she was enabled to kiss the +Hand that had smitten her. She seldom spoke of her children; but when +she did, it was with gratitude that they had been hers, and were still +hers, in heaven. Seen by the new light that was dawning on her soul, +the world, its hopes and fears and interests, looked to her very +different. Humble submission and cheerful trust took the place of her +old, anxious forebodings. Scripture truths, which formerly conveyed no +distinct idea to her mind, came home to her now with power. They were +living truths, full of hope and comfort. The promises were to her a +place of rest and refuge--a strong tower, into which she could run and +be safe. By slow degrees the light of the glorious Gospel of Jesus +Christ dawned upon her soul; and to one fearful and doubtful of the +future, as she had been, what blessed rest and refreshment was in the +trust, that gradually grew strong, in the embrace of an Arm mighty to +save! To know herself one of those to whom Jesus has given a right to +say, "I will fear no evil, for _Thou_ art with me," was all that she +needed for her consolation; and during those days the blessed knowledge +came to her. + +What part the simple words and earnest prayers of her little nurse had +in bringing about this blessed change, God knows. The girl herself had +little thought of the good which her entrance into the household had +wrought. It might have helped her to a more patient waiting had she +known how often her name was mingled with the thankful praises of Mrs +Lee. She was not impatient, but a longing for home that would not be +stilled mingled with the gladness that filled her heart at the thought +of being useful. + +Summer had come. June was half over, and the only glimpse of green she +had had was the top of the mountain, far-away. Now and then Nelly +brought home from the market a bunch of garden-flowers. But the sight +of them only made her long the more for the fields where so many flowers +that she knew had blossomed and faded unseen. More than once, when sent +out by Mrs Lee to take the air, she had tried to extend her walk in one +direction or another, till she should reach the country. But partly +because she did not know the way, and partly because she grew so soon +weary, she never succeeded. She had to content herself with the nearest +street where there were trees growing, and now and then a peep through +open gateways upon little dusty strips of grass or garden-ground. + +Oh, how close and hot and like a prison the long, narrow streets seemed +to her! How weary the street-noises made her! It was foolish, she +knew, and so she told herself often, to vex herself with idle fancies. +But sometimes there came back to her, with a vividness which for the +moment was like reality, the memory of familiar sights and sounds. +Sometimes it was the wind waving the trees, or the ripple of the brook +over the stepping-stones; sometimes it was the bleating of the young +lambs in the pastures far-away. She caught glimpses of familiar faces +in the crowd, as she used to do in the home-sick days when she first +came; and she could not always smile at her folly. Sometimes her +disappointment would send her home sad and dispirited enough. Almost +always the smile that met her as she entered Mrs Lee's room brought +back her content; but often it needed a greater effort to be cheerful +than an on-looker could have guessed. Still, the effort was always +made, and never without some measure of success. + +One morning she rose more depressed than usual. A quiet half-hour with +her little Bible was not sufficient to raise her spirits, though she +told herself it ought to be; and she said to herself, as she went +down-stairs, "I will speak to-day about going home." + +Mrs Lee was able to go down-stairs now. On this particular day a +friend was to visit her, and Christie determined to say nothing about +the matter till the visitor should be gone. But the prospect of a long +day in the solitary nursery did not tend to brighten her face, and it +was sadly enough that she went slowly down the street on an errand for +Nelly when breakfast was over. + +She did not look up to-day in her usual vain search for a "kenned face," +or she would never have passed by the corner so unheedingly. A pair of +kind eyes, for the moment as grave and sad as her own, watched her as +she came on, and after she passed. In a little while a very gentle hand +was laid on her shoulder. + +"What's your haste, Christie, my lassie?" + +With a cry she turned to clasp the hand of John Nesbitt. Poor little +Christie! She was so glad, so very glad! It was almost like seeing +Effie herself, she told him, amid a great burst of tears that startled +the grave John considerably. For a moment her sobs came fast. The open +streets and the wondering passers-by were quite forgotten. + +"Whisht, Christie, my woman," said John, soothingly, "that's no' the way +we show our gladness in Glengarry." + +Drawing her hand under his arm, he held it firmly in his own. Christie +made a great effort to control herself, and the face which she soon +turned towards her friend had grown wonderfully brighter for the tears +that fell. + +"Effie bade me notice how you looked and what you said; and I'm afraid +she'll no' be pleased to hear that I got such a tearful welcome," said +John, with his grave smile. + +"Oh, Effie will understand. Why, it's almost like seeing Effie herself +to see you, John!" she repeated, giving him a tearful smile. She felt +sure it was a true friend's hand that pressed hers so warmly as she +spoke. + +"But where are you going, Christie?" asked John. + +"Oh, I forgot; we are past the place." But her face grew grave in a +moment. "When did you come, John? and how long are you going to stay?" + +"I came yesterday, and I shall stay no longer than I can help. I have +had enough of this dusty town for once. I wonder how you ever stayed so +long in it, Christie." + +"I wonder myself, whiles," she said gravely; "but it won't be long now." + +"Are they better at your house? Will they spare you to go home with +me?" + +"There is no one ill now. Did you hear--" But Christie's voice was lost +in the remembrance of little Harry and the baby. + +"Yes, we heard. You must have had a sad time, poor lassie! But the +remembrance of these precious little ones cannot be altogether +sorrowful, Christie?" + +"No; oh, no, indeed!" But she could say no more. As they drew near the +house, she added: + +"And shan't I see you again, John?" + +"Ay, lass, that you will. I'm by no means done with you yet. Are you +busy to-day? because I would like your help. I promised to get some +things for my mother, and I'm not good at choosing. Will you come with +me? Do you think you can be spared?" + +"I don't know. I should like it. I can ask." + +In a minute she returned, with a face made radiant by Mrs Lee's +cheerful consent to spare her for as much of the day as she pleased; and +it was arranged that John should call for her in half an hour. + +If anything could have marred the delight with which her preparations +were made, the sight of her faded bonnet and shawl might have done so. +The rain and the snow had wet them, the sun had done its work on them, +and the wind had taken liberties with them, many a time. And besides, +they seemed too hot and heavy for such a summer day, even if they had +not been shabby and grey. For Christie had had other things to think +about of late than the getting of summer garments. Just for a minute a +wish that they had been newer and fresher-looking, for John's sake, came +to her mind. It was only for a moment that she thought about it at all. + +"For John cares little for such things," she said to herself; "and +there's no matter for the shop-people and the rest." + +She was right. Looking into the brightened face that met him at the +door, John failed to discover that the bonnet above it was dingy and +brown. And if the rustiness of the little shepherd's-plaid shawl that +covered her shoulders marred in any degree the pleasure with which he +drew her hand beneath his friendly arm, he gave no token that it did so. +Christie gave a little sigh of satisfaction as she found herself out on +the street once more. + +"I have got so many things to ask about," she said; "but I suppose I may +as well wait till we have done with the shops. If I once begin, I'm +afraid I shan't be able to attend to anything else." + +The purchases were soon made. Indeed, Mrs Nesbitt's commissions had +not been very extensive. Christie had more to do on her own account. +But she had planned so many times just what she was to get for each one +at home, that it did not take her long to choose. Besides, her purse +was not one of the fullest. Still, the little she had to do involved a +good deal of running here and there; and her parcels increased in number +and size to such an extent, that Christie at last said, laughing, she +would have to forego the pleasure of taking them home herself, as her +box would never hold half of them; John would need to try to find room +for them in his. + +"And are you not afraid they may call you extravagant at home, getting +so many braw things?" + +Christie laughed. + +"I'm no' sure. But then--unless it's Aunt Elsie's gown--there's nothing +dear. They are just prints; the frocks and the other things are all +useful, except perhaps the playthings for the bairns; and they are +useful too, for things that give pleasure have a use, I am sure." + +"It canna be doubted," said her friend, laughing. + +Christie's face grew a little grave, after a rather lengthened +examination of the pieces left in her purse. + +"There is just one other thing; but I fear I ought not to have left it +to the last. It's for blind Alice. I have thought about it so long. +It's not very far, we might ask the price of it, anyway." + +It was true, the place was not very far; but it was a shop of greater +pretensions than any they had entered yet. Christie had set her heart +on a musical-box, which she knew would be a treasure to the blind child. +But the cost! It was altogether beyond her means, even if she were to +stay another month. + +The disappointment was very great. + +"Allie must have something that she can hear, you ken; and I had no +thought that it would be so dear." + +"Why not send her a bird--a real canary?" said John, as they made a +pause at a low window in a narrow street, where a great variety of cages +were hanging. + +"A bird?" repeated Christie. "I never thought of that. Are they very +dear?" + +"We can ask," said John; and as Christie stood admiring the gay plumage +of some strange bird, he put the question to the person in waiting. +Christie did not hear his answer. John did not mean that she should. + +"Could you spare two dollars, Christie?" said he. + +"Two dollars!" she repeated. It was the wages of half a month. + +"I have cheaper ones," said the man, "but he is the best singer I have +had for a long time. Or maybe you would like a pair?" + +"A pair!" thought Christie to herself. If she could manage to get one +she would be content! As if to verify the words of his owner, the bird, +after hopping quickly from perch to perch, poured forth such a flood of +melody as Christie had never heard from a bird's throat before. + +"Oh, how sweet!" exclaimed she. "To think of little Allie having music +like that all the winter long! But how can you carry it, John?" + +Oh, John could carry it easily--no fear; and touched by Christie's eager +delight, or by some more powerful cause, the man let the cage go with +the bird. + +So that was settled. + +"We're done now, I suppose," said Christie, with a sigh, as they passed +along the shady side of the street. The excitement of pleasure was +passing out of her face; and more than ever before, since the first +glimpse he got of it, did John Nesbitt realise what a pale, weary little +face it was. + +"I wish you were going home with me, Christie!" + +"I wish I was, indeed! I wish I had spoken to Mrs Lee before! But I +couldna leave her, John, till she got some one else, she is so delicate +now. Sometimes I think I never could get courage to leave her at all, +if she were to ask me to stay." + +"Ay, lass; but there's more to be said about that. They'll think at +home that you're forgetting them, if I tell them what you say." + +Christie laughed. + +"I'm not afraid. I don't think it would be right to leave her now; and +seeing you has given me courage for another month at least. You can +tell Effie that." + +"I shall have two or three things to tell her besides that," said John, +looking down on her with the grave smile which she liked so much to see. +"I shall be sorry to tell her how pale and ill you look," he added, his +face growing grave as he looked. + +"Oh, that's only because I am tired just now; and besides, I was always +`a pale-faced thing,' as Aunt Elsie used to say. You are not to vex +Effie by making her think that I am not well," she said, eagerly. "I +have not been used to walking far, lately, and I get tired very soon." + +They were entering the large square at the moment, and John said: + +"Can we go in there among the trees? I see seats there. Let us sit +down and rest a while." + +"Oh, yes! I have been here before. Nothing reminds me so much of home +as the flickering of these shadows--not even the leaves themselves. And +how sweet the flowers are! Do you ken, John, I didna see the leaves +this year till they were full-grown? I can hardly believe that the +spring has come and gone again." + +John Nesbitt was looking and listening, and all the time he was +considering something very earnestly. He had not many dollars at his +disposal, and the few he had he was not inclined to part with but for +value received. He was saying to himself, at the moment, that if it +should be decided that he was qualified for the work to which he had set +himself apart, he should need them all, and more too, before his course +of study should be finished. He had a vision, too, of a set of goodly +volumes, bound in calf, on which his heart had been set a year or more. +Untouched in his pocket-book lay the sum he had long ago set apart for +their purchase; and there was very little in it besides. + +"There must be a limit to the pleasure a man gives himself. I can only +choose between them," said the prudent John to himself. To Christie he +said: "Have you ever been round the mountain? Would you like to go +to-day?" + +"Never but once--in the winter-time; but I should like to go, dearly." +And the eager, wistful look in the eyes that through all the pleasant +spring-time had seen no budding thing, won the day. + +"Well, I have never been round it either. So let us take one of these +carriages that seem so plenty here, and go together. It is well worth +the trouble, I have heard." + +Christie's first look was one of unmixed delight, but soon it changed +into one a little doubtful. She did not like to speak her thoughts; but +in a little while she said, half smiling: + +"Are you no' afraid that they may think you extravagant at home?" + +"Indeed, no! At least, I'm sure Effie wouldna, if she saw your face at +this moment. It was well we had all those things sent home. Come." +And like a foolish fellow, he determined not to make a bargain for the +carriage while the prudent little Christie was within hearing, and so +had, I dare say, double to pay when he dismissed it. But the pleasure +was not spoiled, for all that. + +"How pleasant it is!" said Christie, as the absence of street-noises and +the fresher breeze upon her cheek told her that they were leaving the +city behind them. Her short-sighted eyes could not take in the view +that charmed John so much. But she did not know how it could be more +pleasant than the fresh air and the gentle motion of the carriage made +it to her; and so she said, when at last she started up and looked about +her: + +"Is not this the way to the cemetery? Oh, let us go there a little +while." + +And so they did. The carriage was dismissed. They were to stay a long +time--as long as they liked; and then they could walk home, or perhaps +they might get the chance of a returning carriage. At any rate, they +would not be hurried. + +How lovely the place looked to Christie's unaccustomed eyes! They were +not alone. There were groups here and there among the graves--some of +them mourners, as their dress showed, others enjoying the loveliness of +the place, untroubled by any painful remembrance of the loved and lost. +Slowly they wandered up and down, making long pauses in shady places, +lingering over the graves of little children which loving hands had +adorned. Christie wandered over the little nameless graves, longing to +find where her dear ones lay. + +"How beautiful it is! It is a very sweet resting-place," she said to +herself, many times. + +Yes, it was a very lovely spot. A strange feeling of awe stole over +Christie's spirit as she gazed around on the silent city. As far as the +eye could reach it extended. Among the trees and on the sunny +hill-sides rose many a stately monument of granite and marble, with, oh, +so many a nameless grave between! Close at their feet lay a large +unenclosed space, where the graves lay close together, in long, +irregular lines--men and women and little children--with not a mark to +tell who slumbered beneath. It was probably the burial-place of +strangers, or of those who died in the hospitals. To Christie it had a +very dreary and forsaken look. She shuddered as she gazed on the place. + +"A friend's grave could never be found among so many," said she. "See! +there are a few with a bit of board, and a name written on it; but most +of them have no mark. I would far rather be laid in our own kirk-yard +at home--though that is a dreary place, too, when the sun doesna shine." + +They moved on together; and in a place which was half in the sunshine +and half in the shade, they sat down. In a little while the pleasant +influence of the scene chased the dreariness from Christie's thoughts, +and she looked about with eyes that did not seem able to satisfy +themselves with its beauty. + +"How lovely it is here!" she repeated. "How green and fresh everything +is! The very grass seems beautiful!" And she caressed with her hand +the smooth turf on which they were seated. + +"It's a wonder to me how people can choose to live in the midst of a +town, with nothing to see that's bonny but a strip of blue sky now and +then." + +"It's a wonder to me," said John, smiling. + +"Oh, but I mean people that may live wherever they choose. There are +people that like the town best. Where it is right to stay, I suppose +one can be content in time. I think if I hadna home and the rest to +think about and wish for, I might be willing to live here always. But +at first--oh, I thought I could never, _never_ stay! But I am not sorry +I came. I shall never be sorry for that." + +There was something in her earnest manner, and in the happy look that +came over her face as she spoke, that arrested the attention of John; +and he said: + +"You have been happy here, then, upon the whole?" + +"Yes; upon the whole," repeated she, thoughtfully; "but it wasna that I +was thinking about." + +"Christie, do you know I think you have changed very much since you used +to come and see my mother? You have changed; and yet you are the very +same: there's a paradox for you, as Peter O'Neil would say." + +His words were light, but there was a meaning in his grave smile that +made Christie's heart leap; and her answer was at first a startled look, +and then a sudden gush of happy tears. Then came good John Nesbitt's +voice entreating a blessing on "his little sister in Christ"; and this +made them flow the faster. But, oh, they were such happy, happy tears! +and very happy was the hour that followed. + +Now and then there comes an hour, in the intercourse of friends with +each other, which reveals to each more of the inner and spiritual life +of the other than years of common intercourse could do; and this was +such an hour. I cannot tell all that was said. The words might seem to +many a reader tame and common-place enough, but many of them Christie +never forgot while she lived, and many of them John Nesbitt will not +cease to remember to his dying day. + +Christie had no thought of showing him all that was in her heart. She +did not think that the friend who was listening so quietly to all the +little details of her life among strangers--her home-sickness, her fears +and weariness, her love and care for the children and their mother--was +all the time thanking God in his heart for all the way by which this +little lamb had been led to take refuge in the fold. She knew by the +words he spoke, before he rose to go, that he was much-moved. They came +back to her many a time afterwards, brightening the sad days, and +comforting her when she was in sorrow. They helped her to the cheerful +bearing of a disappointment near at hand. + +As for John, he was far from thinking the day lost that he had devoted +to the pleasure of Christie. If in the morning the hope of possessing +at once the much-desired books had been given up with a sigh, it was the +sigh, and not the sacrifice, that was regretted now. With a sense of +refreshment unspeakable there came to his remembrance the Saviour's +promise that the giving of a cup of cold water to one of His little ones +should have its reward. To have supported those weary feet, if ever so +little, in the way, to have encouraged the faint heart or brightened the +hope of this humble child, was no unworthy work in the view of one whose +supreme desire it was to glorify Him who came from heaven to earth to +speak of hope to the poor and lowly. Nor was this all. He was +learning, from the new and sweet experiences which the child was so +unconsciously revealing to him, a lesson of patient trustfulness, of +humble dependence, which a whole library of learned books might have +failed to teach him. + +The shadows were growing long before they rose to go. + +"You'll be very tired to-morrow, I'm afraid," said John, as they went +slowly down the broad, steep way that leads from the cemetery. "I'm +afraid your holiday will do you little good." + +"It has done me good already. I'm not afraid," said Christie, +cheerfully. "Only I'm sure I shall think of twenty things I want to ask +you about when you are fairly gone." + +"Well, the best way will be to collect your wits and ask about them +now," said John, laughing. + +And so she did. Matters of which her sister's letters and chance +callers had only given her hints were recalled, and discussed with a +zest that greatly shortened the way. They were not very important +matters, except as they were connected with home life and home friends; +but if their way had been twice as long, the interest would not have +failed. + +"But, John," said Christie, at last, "what was it that Davie McIntyre +was telling me about Mr Portman's failure? Is it really true? and has +he left his wife and little children and gone--nobody knows where?" + +"Yes, it is too true," John said, and added many painful particulars, +which he never would have given if he had had his wits about him. +Christie's next question recalled them, with a shock which was not +altogether pleasant. + +"Was it not Mr Portman who had Aunt Elsie's money? Then she has lost +it, I suppose?" + +"Yes, it's too true," said John, with an uncomfortable conviction that +Effie would far rather her little sister had not heard of it yet. He +did not say so, however, and there was a long silence. + +"I wonder what Effie will do?" said Christie, at last. + +"Now, Christie, my woman," said John, rather more hastily than was his +habit, "you are not going to vex yourself about this matter. You know, +if anybody can manage matters well, your sister Effie can; and she has a +great many friends to stand between her and serious trouble. And I +don't believe she intended that you should know anything about this--at +any rate, until you were safe at home." + +Christie was sure of that. There was no one like Effie. John could +tell her nothing new about her goodness. But if it had been needful +that they should be separated before, it was still more necessary now +that she should be doing her part; and she intimated as much to John. + +"But you must mind that Effie was never clear about your leaving home. +If she had had her way, you never would have left." + +"I am very glad I came," was all that Christie replied, but in a little +while she added, "John, I think, on the whole, you may as well take all +the things home with you, if you can. The sooner they get them the +better; and something may happen to hinder me." + +"Christie," said John, gravely, "Effie has set her heart on your coming +home this summer. It would grieve her sorely to be disappointed. You +are not going to disappoint her?" + +"I don't know," said Christie, slowly. "I'm sure Effie would rather I +should do what is right than what is pleasant." + +"But you are not well, Christie. You are not strong enough to live as +you have been living--at least, without a rest. It would grieve Effie +to see how pale and thin you are." + +"I am not very strong, I know, but I shall have an easier time now; and +if Mrs Lee should take the children to the country or the sea-side, I +should be better. I am sure I wish to do what is right. It is not that +I don't wish to go home." + +Christie's voice suddenly failed her. + +"It seems like a punishment to me," she added, "a judgment, almost. You +don't know--Effie dinna ken even--how many wrong feelings I had about +coming away. I thought nothing could be so bad as to have to depend on +Aunt Elsie, and now--" Something very like a sob stopped her utterance. + +"Whisht, Christie!" said John. "God does not send trouble on His people +merely to punish; it is to do them good. You must take a more +comforting view of this trouble. I am afraid the pleasure of the day is +spoiled." + +"No! oh, no!" said Christie eagerly. "Nobody could do that. There are +some pleasures that canna be spoiled. And besides, I am not going to +vex myself. It will all come right in the end, I am quite sure. Only +just at first--" + +"Thou shalt keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on Thee, +because he trusteth in Thee," whispered John. + +"I know it;" and that was all she could say. + + + +CHAPTER TWELVE. + +SISTERS IN CHRIST. + +Christie found, on reaching home, that Mr Lee had returned, and when +John called in the morning she was able to tell him it was decided that +the family should go to the sea-side for a month. + +"And considering all things, John, I am glad that Mrs Lee wants me to +go too. I shall have time for a long visit at home when I come back +again, before summer is over. The sea air will make me strong. You +know we lived near the sea at home. And I should like to take a pair of +red cheeks home to Glengarry." + +John was not altogether satisfied with her cheerful words; but there +seemed nothing better for any of them but to make the best of it. + +"It might be far worse for you, my lassie," he said, cheerfully. "I +would have liked to take you home with me to Glengarry, for your sake +and theirs. But if you'll promise not to let the look come back that I +saw first in your face, I'll leave you with a good heart, and tell no +sad tales to Effie and the rest." + +It was all that she could do, even now, to keep a bright face, but she +did; and John went away, taking with him the remembrance of it at its +very brightest. + +The next few days were too busy to give time for regretful thoughts. +The children came home, and there was the making of their dresses, and +all the necessary preparations for a journey and a lengthened absence +from home. + +Christie had only time for a hurried letter to Effie, telling her of +their plans. She wrote quite cheerfully. She was not strong, and the +runnings to and fro of the day often made her too weary to sleep at +night. But she was useful, she knew, and Mrs Lee's gentle kindness +proved that she appreciated her efforts to do her duty, and that helped +to make her work pleasant and easy. And there was, besides, an +excitement in the prospect of a change of scene. Looking forward to a +sight of the sea, to feeling the sea-breeze again, to getting away from +the heat and dust and confinement of the city, was enough to help her +through the day's toils and troubles. And so she felt and wrote +cheerfully, notwithstanding the disappointment that had been so hard to +bear. + +But a disappointment which she was to feel still more bitterly awaited +her. The preparations for departure were nearly-completed. Mrs Lee +had so far recovered as to be able to go out, and they looked forward to +leaving within a day or two. + +One afternoon, while Mrs Lee was superintending the packing that was +going on in the nursery, her husband came in. Christie had hardly seen +him since little Harry died. He looked grave enough as he came in. He +did not speak to her, but in a little while she heard him mention her +name, and her heart stood still, as she heard him say: + +"You don't mean to tell me that you are to have no one to take care of +the children and wait on you while you are away, but that child? Why, +she looks as though she needed to be taken care of herself. I can never +think of permitting such a thing." + +Christie felt, rather than saw, the look of entreaty that passed over +Mrs Lee's face as she laid her hand upon her husband's arm. Meeting +Christie's startled gaze, she said: + +"Go down and ask Nelly if the clean things are ready for this other +trunk. I will ring when I want you." + +Very quietly Christie obeyed; but before she closed the door, she heard +Mr Lee say, in his quick, careless manner: + +"It is quite absurd to think of it! A rush of a girl like that!" + +Christie's heart failed. She knew that Mrs Lee seldom found courage to +differ from her husband in any point where yielding was possible, and +she felt that there was little hope that she would do so now. + +She was mistaken, however. Mrs Lee spoke very earnestly to her +husband. She told him of all that Christie had been to her and the +children through all the long, dreary winter and spring. She told him +of the faithful, loving service that had never flagged through weakness +and weariness. She assured him of the perfect confidence she placed in +her, saying she could not name one, even among her friends, to whom she +would so willingly leave the children in case of illness or absence from +them. She spoke with tears of little Harry's love for her, and of +Christie's untiring devotion to him through all his long illness, till +her voice lost itself in sobs of sorrow at the memories thus awakened. + +Mr Lee did not listen unmoved. All unconsciously, his wife was giving +him a glimpse of her own sad experiences during the last few months. +Careless as he had grown, he could not listen without a pang, which was +half sorrow and half shame. + +"My poor Letty!" he said, gently; "you have had a sad time. You have +indeed suffered much." + +"Yes," she said, tearfully; "it has been a sorrowful time. But it is +over now. I would not have my loved ones back again even if I could. I +am glad for their sakes. Nothing can harm them where they are; and I +shall see them again." + +There was a long pause. Then Mr Lee returned to the subject: + +"But about your nurse. She really is a very sickly-looking girl. She +seems to me like one far gone in a decline. I am very sorry, as you +have found her so useful. But I cannot consent that you should go with +no more efficient help." + +"But I don't think she is ill," said Mrs Lee, doubtfully. "She never +complains. She was always delicate-looking. I remember when she first +came, I quite hesitated about engaging her, she looked such a fragile +little creature. But no one would have thought her otherwise than +strong, and efficient too, who saw her through all our troubles." + +"Well, to me she looks frightfully ill just now," said Mr Lee. "You +must at least speak to the doctor about her." + +"She is tired now," replied Mrs Lee. "She has worn herself out--first +with me when I was ill and then with the children. A month at the +sea-side will quite revive her." + +Mr Lee was not convinced. + +"I feel that I ought to take her. She has wearied herself for us-- +injured her health, perhaps. I ought to take her, even if we take +another servant." + +Mr Lee alluded to the additional expense. + +"Besides," he added, "it is doubtful when we may return. We may not +return here at all. We may see England before we see this place again. +It would never do for you to take the responsibility of such a girl as +that--to say nothing of taking her so far from her home and friends." + +Mrs Lee sighed. She had become accustomed during her married life to +frequent and sudden changes. She had learned not to be surprised at +them now. Her sigh was for the little graves she must leave behind her, +perhaps never more to look on them again. And Christie! Would it be +right, in view of these possibilities, to take her away? Knowing them, +would she be willing to go? Yes; she felt sure that Christie would not +leave them willingly. But she must not think of herself in this matter; +she must consider what was best for the poor girl. Would Christie's +friends, would that sister she loved so well, consent to let her go +away, uncertain where she was to go or when she was to return? No; even +if Christie herself was willing, she must not think of taking her away. + +Yet who was to supply her place? Oh, how wearily she sighed! how she +shrank from this new trial! She knew that to her husband this would +seem a very little thing indeed; and she kept her sad thoughts to +herself, as she had done many a time before. + +"I don't know how I can tell her," she said. "It seems so unkind to +change our plans at this late hour. She will be disappointed, I am +sure." + +"Oh, I will tell her, if that will do," said her husband. "I dare say +she will be sorry to part from the children and you. You have been very +kind to her, I am quite sure. You must make her some little present--a +frock, or something; and I'll tell her our plans." + +"How little you can know about it!" sighed Mrs Lee. + +But the matter was considered settled. Nothing more was said about it +till the following day, when Mr Lee told his wife he had engaged a +woman to go with them--a very suitable person, highly recommended to him +by one of his friends. + +In the meantime, Christie, having heard no more of the matter, let the +remark which had so startled her quite pass out of her mind; and she was +in no way prepared for the announcement which Mr Lee made on the second +morning, of the change in their arrangements. She was grieved and hurt; +so grieved that she could hardly restrain her tears, so hurt that she +had the power to do so, and to answer, quietly, "Very well, sir." + +She finished what she was doing in the room and then went out, without +another word and without looking towards Mrs Lee. + +"You see, she takes it very quietly," said Mr Lee. "Be sure and make +her some little present, as I said before, and it will be all right." + +Mrs Lee sighed. + +"It is I who have the most cause for regret," she said, sadly; "but it +is vain to speak of it. You could never, _never_ know." + +Christie went about the house all day very quietly, but no less busily +than usual. Her thoughts were by no means pleasant, however. + +"It was my vanity that made me think I was of use to her and that she +cared for me," she said to herself, bitterly. "And now I must go home, +when I was growing content to stay. If I had only taken John's advice, +and gone with him! Well, I suppose I was too full of my own plans, and +this is the way I am to be taught wisdom and humility. I will try to be +content. But it will not be very easy, I am afraid." + +Mrs Lee was out a good deal during the day, so that she scarcely saw +her till the children had gone to bed. Then she came into the nursery +to make some last arrangement of little garments; and in spite of +herself, Christie trembled to find herself left alone with her. + +"I _must_ speak to her," she said. "Oh, if I only need not! If I could +just say good-bye, and nothing more!" + +Mrs Lee sat lost in thought, not seeming to heed her, and Christie +stitched away as though there were nothing in the world more important +than that little Ned's buttons should be sewed on firmly. They were +finished at last, and the little garment laid with the rest. Instead of +coming to her seat again, she stood a little behind Mrs Lee, and said, +in a low voice: + +"Is it to-morrow, ma'am?" + +"Yes; we leave to-morrow, early in the day," said Mrs Lee. + +By a great effort, Christie said, hurriedly: + +"About my things, ma'am--my frock and hat? I am afraid I have not +enough to pay for them and take me home." + +She had not time to say more. Suddenly turning, Mrs Lee laid her hand +on her arm. + +"Hush, Christie! It is not a matter of wages between you and me +to-night. Money could not pay what I owe to you. We'll speak of that +by and by. Sit down, now, my poor, weary child." + +She placed herself on a low stool at a little distance, and let her head +fall on her hand. + +"Are you thinking to go home?" asked Mrs Lee. + +"I don't know. I suppose so. I have nowhere else to go." Christie's +voice was husky, but she was able to command it. + +"And did you think I would leave you with nowhere to go?" asked Mrs +Lee, gravely. "But would it not be best to go? You are not strong, +Christie." + +"Perhaps it would be better to go, but I wish I could get a place for a +little while." And Christie told her of the new misfortune that had +befallen them, in the loss of her aunt's income. + +Mrs Lee sighed, and after a pause, said: + +"I was at Mrs Seaton's to-day, near the mountain. There is illness in +the family, and a young infant. More help is required in the nursery. +You remember the twins, the pretty boys we used to see in the carriage. +One of them is ill--never to be better, I fear. The other you will have +the care of for the present. They are quite in the country. I think it +will be good for you to be there. I think you will like it too." + +Christie thanked her as well as she was able. + +"It seems unkind to you that we should change our plans at so late an +hour. I should have considered sooner. But I thought more of my +children, and of having you still with them, than I did of what would be +best for you." + +Christie tried to say how glad she would be to go even now. Mrs Lee +shook her head. + +"You are not strong, and you are very young. It would be wrong to take +you I know not where. It may be a long time before we return here. We +may never return." She was silent for a moment, and then continued: + +"Yes, it would be wrong to take you so far from your home to share our +uncertain fortunes. If you were but as strong as you are faithful and +patient! But it cannot be." + +Christie ceased to struggle with her tears now, but they fell very +quietly. + +"As for wages," said Mrs Lee, lifting the lid of Christie's work-box +and dropping in it a little purse, "money could never cancel the debt I +owe you. I am content to owe it, Christie. I know you will not grudge +your loving service to my darlings. + +"And I owe you more than that," she added, after a pause. "Christie, +when the time comes when all these chafings and changes shall be over, +when seeing the reason of them we shall bless God for them, we shall be +friends then, I humbly hope. And you must tell your sister--no, you +could never tell her. I wish I had seen your friend, John Nesbitt, when +he was here; but I will write. And Christie, my brave girl, look up. +See what I have for you." + +Something glistened in the light, and Christie received into her hand a +locket, hung by a black ribbon. Upon being opened, there was a face--a +lovely child's face--"little Harry!" + +Yes, it was little Harry's face, copied from a miniature taken about the +time when she first saw him. On the other side, encircled by a ring of +the baby's golden hair, was written, in fair characters, by the mother's +hand: + +"To Christie. From the children." + +"And now, Christie," said Mrs Lee, when the tears that would come at +the sight of the picture had been wiped away, "our good-bye to-morrow +must be a brief and quiet one. To-night I must say, `God bless you.' +Don't let the world spoil you as you grow older. You won't, I know. +You have a talisman against its power. May God make you a blessing to +many, as He has made you a blessing to me! Good-bye, my dear child. If +we never meet on earth, I humbly hope we may meet in heaven!" + +It was not like a parting between mistress and maid. Mrs Lee kissed +her earnestly, while her tears fell on her face, and when Christie said +"Good-bye," she clung to her as she had not clung even to Effie. It was +like the farewell of sisters who know that they must meet death before +they look on each other's faces again. + +Not one of the many grateful thoughts which filled Christie's heart had +she the power to utter. But they were not needed. After so many months +of loving service--after so many nights of anxious watching, shared so +gladly for the love she bore to her and her little ones--words could +have been of little value. + +The "good-bye" in the morning was brief and quiet, as Mrs Lee had +wished--so brief that not till the carriage that took them away had +disappeared, did Christie realise that they were gone; and the walls of +the deserted nursery echoed to many a bitter sob ere she bade farewell +to the place where she had passed so many changeful hours. + + + +CHAPTER THIRTEEN. + +CHRISTIE'S NEW HOME. + +It was a very lovely scene, and all the lovelier for the light of a fair +summer morning upon it. There was a broad, sunny lawn, with a margin of +shade, and just one mass of flitting shadows beneath the locust-tree +near the gate. Beyond, there were glimpses of winding walks and of +brilliant garden-flowers, and farther on, the waving boughs of trees, +and more flitting shadows; the cedar hedge hid the rest. The house that +stood beyond the sunny lawn was like a house in a picture--with a porch +in front, and galleries at the sides, and over the railings and round +the pillars twined flowering shrubs and a vine, with dark shining +leaves. A flight of stone steps led up to the open porch, and on the +uppermost one sat a young girl, reading. One hand rested on her book, +while the other slowly wound and unwound the ribbon of a child's hat +that lay beside her. Her head was bent low over her book, and Christie +could not see her face for the long, bright curls that shaded it. So +intent was she on her reading that she did not hear the sound of +footsteps; and Christie stood admiring the pretty picture which the +young girl and the flowers and the drooping vine-leaves made, without +caring to speak. + +She might have stood long enough before the young reader would have +stirred, had not some one advanced from the other side. + +"Miss Gertrude, the carriage will be round in ten minutes." + +"Yes, I know," said the young girl, without raising her eyes. "I am +quite ready to go." + +"But Master Clement is going; and nurse is busy, and he won't let me +dress him; and if you please, Miss Gertrude, Mrs Seaton begs that you +will come and coax him, and try to get him away without waking his +brother." + +The young lady rose, shutting her book with an impatient gesture; and +then she saw Christie. + +"Good morning," she said. "Do you wish to see any one?" + +"I wish to see Mrs Seaton. Mrs Lee sent me," said Christie. + +"Oh, the new nurse for Clement. I dare say he won't go into town +to-day, Martha. It was only to get him out of the way--the young +tyrant. Show this girl to Mrs Seaton's room. She wished to see her as +soon as she came." And then she sat down and took up her book again. + +"If you please, Miss Gertrude, Mrs Seaton wishes to see you at once. +Perhaps you will be so obliging as to go up-stairs with her. Master +Clement has kept me so long that I fear I shall not have the things +ready to send with Peter." + +Miss Gertrude rose, but with not the best grace in the world, and +Christie followed her into the house and up-stairs. At the first +landing a door opened, and a little boy, half-dressed, rushed out. + +"Tudie, let me go with you; I want to go." + +"Naughty boys who won't let Mattie dress them mustn't expect to be taken +anywhere. You are not to come with me. You will wake Claude." + +"Oh, Claude's awake, and crying to be dressed. Let me go with you," +pleaded the child. + +"No; you are not to come. Remember, I tell you so; and I am not Mattie, +to be trifled with." + +Miss Gertrude spoke very gravely. Her brother, a spirited little lad of +five or six years of age, looked up into her face with defiance in his +eyes. Then he gave a glance down the long hall, as if meditating a rush +in that direction; but he thought better of it. + +"I'll be good, Tudie. I won't make a noise," said he. + +"Stay where you are," said Miss Gertrude, decidedly. She led the way +down the long hall, then up a flight of steps, and opened the door of a +large room. It seemed quite dark at first, but soon Christie was able +to distinguish the different things in it. The furniture of the room +was covered with green stuff, and there was on the floor a soft green +carpet, with bright flowers scattered over it. The curtains on the +windows and on the bed were of white muslin, but the hangings above were +green. The paper on the walls was white, with a border of brown acorns +and green oak-leaves. It was a very pretty room; and the coolness and +the softened light made it seem altogether delightful to Christie after +her long, dusty walk. + +On the bed was a lady, dressed for an outdoor walk, but her hands were +pressed over her eyes as though she were in pain. A little boy lay +tossing fretfully on the sofa, but his peevish cry ceased for a moment +as they entered the room. Miss Gertrude seated herself beside him, and +said, without approaching the bed-- + +"Here is the young girl that Mrs Lee sent." + +The lady took her hand from her eyes, and raised herself up. Seating +herself in a large chair by the bed, she beckoned to Christie to come +towards her. + +"You came from Mrs Lee, did you?" said she. + +Christie came forward. The lady observed her for a moment. + +"Mrs Lee told me you were young, and not very strong," said she; "but I +had no idea you were quite such a child." + +"I am past fifteen," said Christie. + +"And do you mean to tell me that Mrs Lee trusted her children to you-- +that infant too--through all her illness?" + +"Mrs Greenly was in the house nearly all the winter, and she was in the +nursery very often. That was all the help I had," said Christie, with a +slight change of colour. + +"And was it you who took care of little Harry, and who was with him when +he died?" + +The remembrance of that sorrowful time was too vivid for Christie to +bear this allusion to it unmoved. She grew quite pale, and took one +step forward towards a little table, and laid her hand upon it. Miss +Gertrude, who had been watching her with great interest, rose and +brought forward a chair, looking towards her mother, without speaking. + +"You look tired," said Mrs Seaton. "Did you walk? Sit down and rest." +Christie gladly obeyed. + +"Mrs Lee speaks very highly of you--very highly indeed. You must have +been very useful to her; and I dare say she was very kind to you." + +Remembering all they had passed through together, Christie could hardly +restrain her tears. But, as the lady seemed to expect an answer, she +said, with some difficulty-- + +"She was very kind to me, and I loved her dearly--and the children." + +It is possible Mrs Seaton did not consider much love necessary between +mistress and maid. She did not look as though she did, as Christie +could not help thinking as she glanced towards her. + +"And you got on nicely with the children, did you? Of course you will +have little to do here in comparison with what you must have had there. +But my wilful Clement, I am afraid, you will find too much for you. He +is a masterful lad." + +She did not speak regretfully, as though the child's wilfulness grieved +her very much, but rather the contrary. And, indeed, one could hardly +wonder at the pride in her voice as Master Clement rushed in among them. +He was a child that any mother would own with pride--a picture of +robust health and childish beauty. His brown curls were sadly +disordered. One arm was thrust into the sleeve of his frock, in a vain +attempt to finish the dressing which Mattie had commenced. One foot was +bare, and he carried in his hand his stocking and shoe. He walked +straight up to his sister, saying gravely: + +"Baby is crying, and I came to tell mamma." + +She did not answer him, but laying down Claude's head on the pillow, she +began to arrange his disordered dress. He submitted quite patiently to +the operation, only saying, now and then, as he turned round to look in +her face: + +"Am I naughty, Tudie? Are you going to punish me?" + +She did not answer him. Indeed, there was no occasion. He did not seem +at all afraid of the punishment, whatever it might be. When she had +tied on his shoe, he slipped from her, and flung himself on the sofa +beside his brother. He did not mean to be rough with him, but the +little fellow uttered a peevish cry, and pushed him away. + +"I didn't mean to hurt you. Don't cry." + +His little brown hand was laid softly on Claude's pale cheek, and their +brown curls mingled as their heads were laid on the same pillow. What a +contrast they presented! Christie could hardly persuade herself these +were the little lads that she and the Lee children used to admire so +much--partly because they were so pretty, and partly because they were +so much alike. They were alike still. One could hardly have told, as +they lay together, to which head the tangled mass of brown curls +belonged. Their eyes were the same, too, but little Claude's were +larger, and they drooped with a look of weariness and pain sad to see in +any eyes, but very, _very_ sad to see in the eyes of a child. His +forehead was larger, too,--or it seemed larger, above his thin, pale +cheeks. But not even his wan cheeks or weary eyes struck so painfully +to Christie's heart as did the sight of his little, wasted hand, white +as the pillow on which it lay. It seemed whiter and more wasted still +when it was raised for a moment to stroke his brother's rosy cheek. Oh, +how very sad it seemed! And his mother! She closed her eyes, and laid +herself back in her chair, with a sigh that was almost a groan. + +Clement was very gentle, or he meant to be very gentle, with his +brother. He stroked his cheeks, and kissed him, calling him "little +brother," and "poor Claudie." And the little fellow hushed his peevish +cry, and tried to smile for a moment. + +"I am going into town," said Clement; "and then we are going to spend +the day at Aunt Barbara's. They are making hay there. May Claude go? +It would make him quite well to play among the hay with me and Fanny and +Stephen. Mamma, mayn't he go? Tudie, do let Claudie go." + +"Mamma, mamma, let me go. Let Mattie dress me. Oh, I want to go among +the hay!" + +He came down from the sofa, and went towards his mother as fast as his +trembling limbs could carry him. She met him and received him in her +arms. + +"My darling cannot go. He is not strong enough. Oh, Gertrude, how +could you let Clement come in here?" + +"Mamma, I am quite well. I should be quite well if I could play among +the hay, as we used to do." + +Memories of health and strength enjoyed in summer sunshine were +doubtlessly stirring at the boy's heart, to which he could give no +utterance. The look of wistful entreaty in his weary eyes went to his +mother's heart. + +"My dear boy, if you only could? Oh, Gertrude! how could you be so +thoughtless?" she repeated. + +"I desired Clement to stay in the nursery, and he disobeyed me," said +Gertrude, gravely. + +"And now are you going to punish me?" he asked. + +"Go into the nursery, and I will tell you. Go at once." + +"Go away, naughty boy, and not vex your little brother," said his +mother, rocking in her arms the child, who was too weak and weary to +resist. + +"I didn't vex Claude. Let him go with us. I'm not a naughty boy." He +looked as though he meditated taking up a position on the sofa. + +"Go," said his sister. + +"How will you punish me, then?" + +"I will tell you when I come to the nursery," she said, opening the door +for him. + +Not very willingly, but quietly, he went; and in a little while they +heard his merry voice ringing along the hall. + +"I am very sorry," said the young lady, coming back; "give me Claude. I +will walk about with him; you are not able." + +"No, no," said Mrs Seaton, though the little boy held out his arms to +go to her. "Go; the carriage is waiting. You should have gone long +ago." + +"Need we go?" she asked, looking at Christie. "Clement can be kept out +of the way now." + +"Yes, yes; go," answered she, hastily. "We have had vexation enough for +one day. And I thought this dear child was so nicely settled for the +day; and now he is getting quite feverish again." + +Miss Gertrude turned and went out without reply. + +"My boy, my poor boy!" murmured the mother, as she rocked him in her +arms, and her lips were pressed on his feverish brow. "Will he ever +play among the hay again?" + +She rocked him till his crying was hushed, and weary with struggling, he +begged to be laid down. Christie arranged the pillows, and his mother +placed him on the sofa. She would fain have lingered near him; but, +weak from recent illness, she was obliged to lie down. In a little +while he asked for water, and to his mother's surprise, was willing to +take it from Christie's hands. He even suffered her to bathe his hands +and feet, and when he grew restless again, let her take him on her lap. +He was quite contented to stay there; and the last object the mother saw +before she sank to sleep was her sick boy nestling peacefully in the +arms of the little stranger maid. And it was the first object she saw +when she waked, some three hours afterwards. Christie had not moved, +except to let her hat and shawl fall on the floor, and little Claude was +slumbering peacefully still. He awoke soon, however, refreshed and +strengthened, and not at all indignant at finding himself in a +stranger's arms, as his mother feared he might be. He suffered her to +wash and dress him, as he had suffered no one but his mother to do for +the last three weary weeks. It was very well that he was inclined to be +friendly, for Mrs Seaton found herself much too ill to do the +accustomed duty herself; and it was with something very like gratitude +stirring at her heart that she said to Christie, when all was done: + +"You are fond of children, are you not? You are very gentle and +careful, I see." + +The little boy quarrelled with his dinner, as usual; but upon the whole +the meal was successful, his mother said; and as a reward for being +good, he was promised a walk in the garden by and by. + +In the meantime Christie went down-stairs to her dinner, under the care +of the friendly Mattie, whom she had seen in the morning. She was very +kind, and meant to make herself very agreeable, and asked many +questions, and volunteered various kinds of information as to what +Christie might expect in her new place, which she might far better have +withheld. Christie had little to say, and made her answers as quietly +and briefly as possible. + +When she went up-stairs again, she found affairs in not quite so +cheerful a state as when she had left them. The doctor had been in, and +though he had greatly applauded the scheme for sending little Claude +into the garden, he had utterly forbidden his mother to leave her bed to +go with him. It could not be permitted on any account; and she had so +entirely devoted herself for the last few weeks to the care and +amusement of the child that he could not, at first, be prevailed on to +go without her. He would not look at Mattie, nor at Mrs Grayson, the +housekeeper. After much gentle persuasion on her part, and many +promises as to what he would see and hear out in the pleasant sunshine, +he suffered Christie to bring his hat and coat and put them on. + +"I think you may trust me with him, ma'am," said Christie. "I will be +very gentle and careful with him. Poor wee boy!" she added, looking +into the face that seemed more wan and thin under the drooping plumes of +his hat. But his mother dismissed them with a sigh. + +It was not a very easy thing to amuse the exacting little fellow for a +long time, but it was perhaps a very good thing for Christie that it +fell to her lot to do so. A longer indulgence in the musings which had +occupied her during three hours passed in the darkened room would not +have been good for her, at any rate; and there was no chance for that +here. She was suffering very keenly from her parting with Mrs Lee and +her children, and as she had felt the clinging arms of little Claude +about her neck, she had said to herself, almost bitterly, that she would +not allow herself to love any one--any stranger--so dearly again. Yes, +the pain was very hard to bear, and she felt very lonely and sad as she +paced slowly up and down the long walks of the garden. + +It was a very quiet place, however, quite out of reach of all disturbing +sounds, and Christie could not help wondering that she did not enjoy it +more, till she remembered what good reason she had for being very weary, +and she was content to wait for a full enjoyment of the pretty garden. + +"I dare say I shall like to stay here after a little," she said to +herself. "There is one thing sure, it was no plan of mine to come. I +have had enough of my own plans. I'll just try and be as useful and +happy as I can, and wait till I see how things will turn. I am afraid +Effie may not like my staying, but I can only just wait, and it will all +come right." + +And she put her good resolutions into practice then and there. She was +very patient with her little charge. She amused him, till he quite +forgot his shyness with her. She brought him flowers, and translated +the talk of the two little birds who were feeding their young in the old +pear-tree, till he laughed almost merrily again. The time soon passed, +and it was a very weary but very happy little face that he held up to +kiss his mother that night, and he was soon slumbering quietly in his +little cot by her side. + +Then Christie betook herself to her place in Master Clement's nursery. +She found that noisy young gentleman quiet for the night, and gladly +laid herself down. In spite of her weariness, her long walk and her +afternoon in the open air had done her good. She was asleep before any +lonely or home-sick thoughts had time to visit her, and she slept as she +had not slept for weeks, without waking till the twittering of the birds +in the pear-tree roused her to begin her new life. + +Christie had never to measure her strength with that of the "masterful" +Clement. It happened quite otherwise--fortunately for her, though sadly +enough for Mrs Seaton. The doctor, at his next visit, very decidedly +assured her that her proposed visit to the sea-side must no longer be +delayed, unless she intended to remain an invalid during the rest of the +summer. Her health, her life even, depended on a change of air and +freedom from anxiety. The good she could do her sick boy by staying at +home would be very little in comparison to the harm she would do +herself. She ought to have gone weeks since. Her infant and nurse +might go with her, but none of the other children. It would do her more +harm than good to be troubled with the boys on the journey or at a +strange watering-place, and as for them, home was the best place for +both. He assured her that her anxiety for Claude was unnecessary. He +was in no immediate danger. It might be months, or even years, before +he would be quite well again. He might never be so strong and healthy +as his brother. But there was no danger for him. Quiet and constant +care were what he needed; and they could be found best at home. + +"Come here, my little man," said he, "and let me prove to your mother +that you are going to be quite well again, and that very soon, too." + +Claude had been sitting on the balcony into which the windows of the +green room opened, and he came forward, led by Christie, at the doctors +desire. After a minute's talk with the child, his eye fell on her. + +"What! are you here? I thought you had been far enough away by this +time. How came you to leave your charge?" + +Christie came forward shyly, looking at Mrs Seaton. + +"Mr Lee thought her not strong enough," said Mrs Seaton. "There was +no other one to go; and she hardly seemed fit for the charge of all." + +"Humph! He has made a mistake or two before in his lifetime--and so has +she, for that matter," said the doctor, with a shrug of his shoulders. + +"Mrs Lee didn't know when they would come back again, and she didn't +like to take me so far-away," said Christie; "and I was very sorry." + +"And so you are to be Claude's nurse, it seems?" + +Christie looked at Mrs Seaton. + +"She came, in the meantime, to go out with Clement and to help in the +nursery generally. I have kept Claude with me altogether of late." And +as Christie took the little boy to the balcony again, she added, "I +don't see how I can leave him. Poor little fellow! He will let no one +care for him but me." + +The doctor shook his head. + +"That may be very well for him, but it is very bad indeed for you. +Indeed, it must not be. Let me make a plan for you. You can quite +safely leave him with this new nurse. I would recommend her among a +thousand--" + +"A child like that!" interrupted Mrs Seaton. + +"A child in appearance, I grant, but quite a woman in sense and +patience. She has surprised me many a time." + +"But she has had no experience. She cannot know--" + +"Oh, that is the best of it. She will do as she is bidden. Save me +from those `experienced' persons who have wisdom enough for ten! I can +trust this little maid that she will do exactly as I bid her. She is a +very conscientious person--religiously inclined, I should think. At any +rate, she is just the nurse I should choose from all the sisterhood for +your poor little boy--just the firm and gentle attendant he needs now. +Trust me. I know her well." + +It is possible that in speaking thus the doctor's first wish was to set +the mind of the mother at rest about leaving her child, but he could say +what he did without doing any violence to his conscience. He really had +admired and wondered at Christie's management of the little Lees during +his frequent visits to their nursery. + +"And besides," he added to himself, "the poor little fellow will be +better when away from his mother's unbounded indulgence for a while. It +will be better for all concerned." + +So the matter was arranged--not without many misgivings on Mrs Seaton's +part, however. Her directions as to Christie's management of the boy +were so many and so minute that the poor child was in danger of becoming +bewildered among them. To all she could only answer, again and again: + +"I will be very careful, ma'am;" or, "I will do my best." + +It was well for Mrs Seaton that there was but little time left, or her +heart, and Christie's too, might have failed. At the very last moment +the mother had a mind to change her plans. + +"After all," she said, "perhaps it would have been wiser to send him to +his aunt's. Her children are noisy and troublesome, to be sure; but I +should have felt easier about him. Mind, Gertrude, you are to write +every day till your father returns. And, Christie, remember, you are to +obey the doctor's directions in all things. He is to call every day. +And don't let Clement fret him. And, Gertrude, be sure to write." + + + +CHAPTER FOURTEEN. + +NEW FRIENDS. + +The house seemed very quiet after Mrs Seaton went away. For that day +and the next, Christie and her little charge were left to the solitude +of the green room and the garden. Miss Gertrude and Clement had gone to +visit their aunt, and not knowing when they might return, Christie was +beginning to wonder what she should do during the long hours that her +little charge slept or amused himself quietly without her. There were +no books in the green room--at least, there were none she cared for. In +the nursery there were a few story-books for little children--fairy +tales, and rhymes, with pictures of giants and dwarfs and little old +women, among which Christie recognised some that had been great +favourites long ago. But after the first glance she cared no more for +them. + +On the morning of the third day, when Claude was taking his nap, the +time began to hang heavy on her hands. She took her Bible and read a +chapter or two, but in spite of herself she grew dull and dreary. The +stillness of the house oppressed her. The other servants were busy in a +distant apartment. She seemed quite shut in from all the world. Just +opposite the window was a large locust-tree, which hid the garden from +her; and the only sound that reached her was the murmur of the wind +among its branches, and the hum of the bees that now and then rested a +moment among the few blossoms that still lingered on them. Her thoughts +turned homewards. + +"I might write to Effie," she said to herself. But she was not +sufficiently in the mood for it to go to her trunk for her small store +of paper and pens; and she sat still, with her head leaning on her hands +and her eyes fixed on the swaying leaves, vaguely conscious that the +indulgence of her present mood was not the best thing for her. + +She was not permitted to indulge it long, however. The little boy +stirred and tossed in his crib, and she went to arrange the coverlet +over him; and as she was moving listlessly about the room, something +glistened in a stray sunbeam and caught her short-sighted eyes, and from +the cushions of the great easy-chair, where it had lain since the first +day of her coming, she drew the book that Miss Gertrude had been reading +when she watched the pretty picture she made as she sat beneath the +drooping leaves. + +With a cry of delight, she recognised her old favourite, "The Lights and +Shadows of Scottish Life." The very same! though this was glittering in +blue and gold, a perfect contrast to the little, brown-covered book, +with the title-page lost, which had made Christie forget her bread and +her cooling oven on that unhappy day. But the remembrance of the old +time and the old favourite came back all the more vividly because of the +contrast. The memory of the old times came back. Oh, how long ago it +seemed since that summer afternoon when she lay on the grass and read it +for the first time! Yet how vividly it all came back! The blue sky, +with the white clouds passing over it now and then, the sound of the +wind among the low fir-trees, the smell of the hawthorn hedge, the +voices of the children in the lane beyond, seemed once more above her +and around her. And then the sound of her mother's gentle chiding, when +she found her sitting there after the shadows had grown long, came back. +Her voice, her smile, the very gown and cap she wore, and the +needlework she carried in her hand, came sensibly before her. Yet how +long ago it seemed! Christie remembered how many times she had taken it +with her to the fields, when the incompleteness of their fences during +the first year of their stay on the farm had made the "herding" of the +sheep and cows necessary that the grain might be safe. She had read it +in the woods in spring-time, by the firelight in the long winter +evenings, and by stealth on Sundays, when the weather had kept her from +the kirk. It was associated in her remembrance with many things +pleasant and many things sad; and no wonder that for a while she turned +over the leaves, catching only here and there a glimpse of the familiar +words, because of the tears that hid them. + +Sitting on the floor, with the book held close to her face, she read, +and forgot all else. The little lad tossed and murmured, and +mechanically she put forth her hand and rocked him in his crib; but she +neither heard nor saw when the door opened and some one came in. + +It was Miss Gertrude. A look of surprise passed over her face as she +caught a glimpse of the reader on the floor, but it gave place to +interest and amusement as she watched her. Her absorbed look never +changed, even when she rocked and murmured soothing words to the +restless child. She read on--sometimes smiling, sometimes sighing, but +never lifting her eyes--till Miss Gertrude came forward and spoke. + +"Well, how have you been getting on?" + +Christie started, as if it had been Aunt Elsie's voice she heard; and at +the look of astonishment and dismay that spread itself over her face, +the young lady laughed. + +"How has Claude been, all these days?" she asked, softly, as she bent +over the crib. + +"He has been quite well and quite good, I think," said Christie, trying +to collect her scattered wits. + +"Has the doctor been here?" asked Miss Gertrude. + +"Yes; he was here this morning. He asked when you were coming home, but +I couldn't tell him." + +"Well, I'm here now; and I'm going to stay, too! If the doctor thinks +he is going to banish Clement and me from home for the next month, he +will find himself mistaken. For my part, I don't see the use of his +coming here so often, just to shake his head and look grave over poor +little Claude. Of course the child's mother wishes it; but it is all +nonsense." + +Christie looked at her in astonishment. But that the words were so +quietly and gravely spoken, she would have thought them uncalled for, +not to say impertinent, from a girl scarcely older than herself. They +needed no reply, however, and she made none. + +She did not then know that Mrs Seaton was not Gertrude's own mother, +and that she was only half-sister to the two little boys, upon whom she +looked as mere children, whilst she felt herself a young lady. + +"Have you been lonely here?" she asked, in a few minutes. + +"A little. It is very quiet," said Christie, hesitatingly. "But I like +it." + +"Is Claude fond of you?" asked Gertrude, gravely. + +Christie smiled a little. + +"He does not object to me. I dare say he will be fond of me in time. I +am sure he will be very glad to see you and his brother. It is very +quiet for him to be left alone with me." + +"But the doctor wishes him to be quiet," said Gertrude; "and his mother +won't have him vexed on any account. I have seen her quite tremble when +his brother has come near him; and after all it is no wonder." + +"Clement is so strong," said Christie; "but he will learn to be gentle +with his brother in time. How very much alike they used to be! We used +to see them driving together. We didn't know their names, but we always +called them the two pretty boys." + +"Yes, they were very much alike; and it will grieve Clement, when he is +older, to know-- Did you never hear about it? They were playing +together, and Claude fell. The doctor thinks that fall was the cause of +his illness. His mother can't bear to think so, it is so sad; and +besides, it seems to make his illness more hopeless. I am afraid he +will never be strong and well again." + +"Oh, don't say so," said Christie, sadly, quite shocked at what she +heard. "Please God, he will be well again. He is only a child; and +children outlive so much. For two or three years no one thought I +should live to grow up. But I am quite well now." + +"You are not a giant yet, nor very strong either. At least you don't +look so," said Gertrude. + +"But I shall grow strong here in the country. I am better already since +I came. Do you really think that little Master Claude will never be +strong and well again?" + +"I don't know. I cannot tell. But Aunt Barbara says the doctor is not +at all hopeful about it, though he speaks hopefully to mother. Aunt +Barbara thinks if the poor little fellow should live, he may be +deformed, or lame for life. I think it would be much better for him to +die now, than to live to be deformed or a cripple." + +"I don't know. I can't tell," said Christie, looking with a vague +wonder from the sleeping child to the sister who spoke so quietly about +his great misfortune. "It is well we have not to decide about these +things. God knows best." + +"Yes, I suppose so. It is in vain to murmur, whatever may happen. But +there is a deal of trouble in the world." And the young lady sighed, as +though she had her share of it to bear. + +Christie's astonishment increased. Looking at the young lady, she said +to herself that it was doubtful whether she knew in the least what she +was talking about. + +"Troubles in the world? Yes, doubtless there are--plenty of them! But +what could she know of them?" + +"Are you fond of reading?" asked Gertrude, after a little time, her eye +falling on the book which Christie still held. + +"Yes," said Christie; "I like to read. This is the book you left the +other day. I only found it a little while ago." + +"Have you read much of it? There are some pretty stories in it, I +think." + +"Oh, yes; I read the book long ago. It was one of our favourites at +home. I like to read anything about home--about Scotland, I mean." + +"And so do I," said Gertrude. "I knew you were Scotch when I heard you +speak. Is it long since you came? Have you been here long? Tell me +all about it." + +In the short half-hour before Claude awoke, there was not time to tell +_all_ about it, but the young girls told each other enough to awaken a +mutual interest. + +Miss Gertrude's mother had died when she was quite young, and she had +been committed to the care of an aunt, with whom she had continued to +reside for some time, even after the second marriage of her father. She +had had a very happy home, and had been educated with great care. +Looking back on those days now, she could see no shadow on their calm +brightness. She had had her childish troubles, I suppose, but she +forgot them all as she went on to describe to Christie her merry life +with her young cousins and her friends. Her aunt's death had broken all +those pleasant ties, and she had come to Canada, which must be her home +till she was grown up. When she should be of age, she told Christie, +and could claim the fortune her mother had left her, she was going home +again to live always. She did not like Canada. It did not seem like +home to her, though she was living in her father's house. She longed +for the time when she should be her own mistress. + +Christie didn't enjoy the last part of her story very well. She could +not help thinking that some of the trials that the young lady hinted at +existed only in her own imagination. But she did not say so. She +listened to the whole with unabated interest, and in return, told +Gertrude the story of her own life. It was given in very few words. +She told about her mother's death, and their coming to Canada, and what +happened to them afterwards, till they had been obliged to leave the +farm and separate. + +It is just possible that the young lady, who sat listening so quietly to +these simple details, took to herself the lesson which the story was so +well calculated to teach. But Christie had no thought of giving her a +lesson. She told of Effie's wise and patient guidance of their affairs, +of the self-denial cheerfully practised by all, of her own eager desire +to do her part to help keep the little ones together, of Effie's slow +consent to let her go; all this, far more briefly and quietly than Miss +Gertrude had spoken of her childish days that were passed in her aunt's +house. By experience the young lady knew nothing of the real trials of +life. She had no rule by which to estimate the suffering which comes +from poverty and separation, from solitary and uncongenial toil. Yet, +as she sat listening there, she caught a glimpse of something that made +her wish she had said less about the troubles that had fallen to her +lot. Christie faltered a little when she came to speak of the first +months of her stay in town, and of the time when her sister went away. + +"I was very, very home-sick. If it hadn't been for shame, I would have +gone at the end of the first month. And when my sister went away in the +spring, and left me here, it was almost as bad. It seems like a +troubled dream to look back upon it. But it has passed now. It will +never be so bad again--never, I am sure." + +"You have got over your home-sickness, then? And are you quite +contented now?" she asked, with great interest. + +"Yes, I think so. I think it is right to stay. I am very glad to stay, +especially now that I am out here, in the country almost. There was a +while in the spring that I was afraid I should not be able to stay. But +I am better now. I shall soon be quite strong." + +The little boy stirred in his crib, and his eyes opened languidly. +Christie was at his side in a moment. To the astonishment of his +sister, he suffered himself to be lifted out and dressed without his +usual fretful cry. + +"How nicely you manage him!" she said, at last. "This used to be a +troublesome business to all concerned." + +Christie did, indeed, manage nicely. Her experience with the little +Lees stood her in good stead now. She was very quick, and gentle and +firm with the little boy, beguiling him from his fretfulness by little +tales or questions, or merry childish talk, till the last string was +tied and the last of his beautiful curls arranged. Then he was put in +his favourite place among the cushions of the great chair, and the chair +was drawn close to the window. Gertrude leaned over him for a moment, +and then, kneeling down, she kissed his little white hands, and stroked +his thin, pale face, her own looking grave enough all the while. + +"He scarcely knows me now," she said. "He has almost forgotten me since +he has been so ill. But we shall be friends again, my dear little +brother." + +"Where's Clement?" asked the child. "_He_ is _your_ little boy." + +"Oh, but I want two little boys. I want a little boy to take care of +and love with all my heart--a gentle, patient little boy, who doesn't +fret and cry when he is dressed, any more. I want a little boy to take +into the garden in his little carriage, and to be my little boy always." + +"Christie takes me into the garden. I like Christie she's good." + +"I'm quite sure of it," said Miss Gertrude. "Listen: There is Clement. +Shall I open the door and call him in, if he will promise to be good?" + +What a contrast they made! The cheeks of one flushed with health, his +bright eyes dancing with happiness, the other--oh, so wan and thin and +fragile! Miss Gertrude's eyes filled with tears as she tried to +restrain Clement's eager caresses. They were very glad to see each +other. Climbing up into the chair beside him, Clement put his arms +round his brother's neck and stroked his cheeks. + +"You'll soon be well now, Claudie," he said, "and we'll go and see the +pony. Oh, such a fine fellow as he is! You're getting well now, aren't +you?" he added, wistfully. + +"Yes, I'm well; but I am too tired," said Claude, laying himself back +among the pillows, with a sigh. Miss Gertrude lifted Clement down, and +held him firmly, saying: + +"Clement is not going to tire you any more. He is going to be very +gentle and good when Christie lets us come in here; and by and by we +will go and sit under the locust-tree and be very good and happy all +together." + +And so they did that afternoon, and many afternoons besides. A very +happy time they had. Far from banishing Miss Gertrude and little +Clement, the doctor encouraged them to be much with the sick boy. The +noisy Clement was permitted to become the almost constant companion of +his brother, on certain conditions. He was never permitted to weary him +or vex him. A walk with his brother was made the reward of good +behaviour; and banishment from the green room for an entire day was felt +to be so severe a punishment that it was not insisted upon more than +once or twice during the time of his mother's absence. Upon both the +boys this intercourse had a very beneficial effect. The little invalid +brightened under the influence of Clement's merry ways, now that the +watchful care of Miss Gertrude or Christie kept his mirth within bounds, +and prevented him from being wearied with too boisterous play. + +The whole of the pleasant summer morning was passed by him in the open +air. Up and down the broad garden-walks he was drawn, when the weather +was fine. Sometimes he was content to sit for hours in the shadow of +the locust-tree near the window, or in the pleasant cedar walk at the +other end of the grounds. Sometimes he was permitted to walk a little +while on the lawn; and in a few days the dawning colour on cheek and lip +was hailed as a hopeful sign of returning health. + +Christie grew quite satisfied with her new place, and devoted herself to +her little charge with an interest that was untiring; and the increasing +affection of the little boy made her service day by day more pleasant to +her. + +Of Miss Gertrude she scarcely knew what to make. She was always very +kind to her, and spent much time with her and little Claude, either in +the garden or in the green room. But she was not gentle and pleasant to +all the world. She was sometimes full of impatient and discontented +thoughts, and now and then let fall words that proved this too plainly. +Christie was sometimes pained, and sometimes amused, as she listened to +her. Like too many young people, she had a keener eye for defects than +for excellences of character; and she never hesitated to amuse herself +at the expense of those with whom she came in contact. Sometimes her +remarks were amusing and harmless enough, but too often they were unkind +and severe; and more than once she tried to place in a ludicrous light +characteristics which she could not but acknowledge were real +excellences. Christie had an uncomfortable consciousness that there was +something wrong in all this, even amid the interest and admiration which +the young girl had awakened in her, but she was very far from realising +how wrong this spirit of criticism is, or how injurious the indulgence +of it might prove to Miss Gertrude. + +These things, as they came up, marred but little Christie's admiration +of her bright and winning ways. The young lady's impatience and pride +were never manifested where she or the boys were concerned; and the +charm there was in constant intercourse with one of her own age was +delightful. Notwithstanding the difference in station, the two young +girls had many subjects of interest common to both, which they were +never weary of discussing. + +The enjoyment of their companionship was not all on Christie's side. +Since her residence in her father's house, Miss Gertrude had had no +companions of her own age for whose society she cared. She was +constantly surprised and delighted to find how entirely her brother's +little nurse could understand and sympathise with some of her moods and +fancies. She brought out her favourite books and discussed her +favourite subjects, and spoke to her of many things as she had never +spoken to any one since she bade adieu to her young cousins at home. + +It cannot be denied that Christie's evident admiration of her helped to +bespeak Miss Gertrude's good-will. But the young lady was not very +vain. She really liked Christie, and took pleasure in her society; and +she admired the tact and patience with which she managed Little Claude. + +The first few days of their intercourse was to each like the reading of +a pleasant book; nor did their interest in each other fail as they grew +better acquainted. + + + +CHAPTER FIFTEEN. + +PEEPS INTO FAIRY-LAND. + +"Christie," said Gertrude, coming into the green room just as the little +nurse had arranged the crib for Claude's mid-day nap, "did you ever read +`The Lady of the Lake'?" + +Christie was sitting down, with a basket of little socks and a bunch of +darning-cotton in her hand, and she looked up eagerly as she entered. + +"No, I never read it; but I have heard of it. It is a nice book, isn't +it?" + +"Yes. Get your work ready, and I'll tell Martha to look after Clement +for the next two hours, and I will read to you while Claude sleeps. I +have read it once; but I would like to read it again." + +And she did read it. Soon Christie's socks and darning-cotton were +forgotten, and she sat listening intently. It was something entirely +new to her, and she yielded herself to the charm of the book with an +eagerness that delighted the reader. Miss Gertrude liked the book at +the second reading even better than at the first. She enjoyed it this +time for herself and Christie too. + +"There seems so much more in a book when you have anybody to enjoy it +with you," she said, at the end of an hour. "But I am tired of reading +aloud. You must take it a while now." + +"But I have got out of the way of reading aloud," said Christie; "and +besides, I do not read so well as you." + +"Oh, never mind; you'll read well enough. And give me the basket; I'll +darn your socks in the meantime." + +"The socks? Oh, I had forgotten them! But there is very little to do. +I'll read a while if you like; but I know I don't read so well as you." + +She took the book, however, and another hour passed rapidly away. She +shut the book with a sigh when Claude moved. + +This was the first of many such readings. During the hours when Claude +was asleep and Clement under the immediate superintendence of Martha, +Miss Gertrude brought her book into the green room and shared the +pleasure it gave her with her little brother's nurse. And at other +times, too, when the little boys were amusing themselves together in the +garden, they read and discussed their books, sitting in the cedar walk, +or under the shadow of the locust-tree. And a very pleasant month they +had. Christie had great enjoyment in all this; and apparently Miss +Gertrude had no less; for she refused several invitations, and broke +more than one engagement with her aunt, rather than interfere with these +new arrangements. + +But one day Miss Gertrude came into the green room with a cloud upon her +brow. It was plain that something was the matter. + +"It has been a great deal too pleasant to last long," she said, throwing +down a letter which she held in her hand. "Here is papa coming home +immediately. I wouldn't mind his coming," she added, checked by the +look of surprise on Christie's face. "I shall be very glad to see him; +and he won't make much difference--he is so seldom at home. Besides, he +will let me please myself about things. He has no fancy for my going +here and there at everybody's bidding. But Mr Sherwood is coming with +him--Mrs Seaton's cousin--a very disagreeable person; at least, I think +so. Mamma thinks him wonderfully good, and he is a great favourite with +papa, too. I am sure I don't know why. I think he is conceited; and he +is an Englishman, besides." + +Christie laughed. + +"That's not a very good reason." + +"Perhaps not. But he has such a cool, indifferent way of asserting the +superiority of the English over all other nations, as though the +question need not be discussed. `It must be quite evident to +everybody,' his manner seems to say." + +After a pause, Miss Gertrude continued: + +"And that is not all. He is very meddlesome. He is always telling +mamma what ought to be expected from a young lady like me, and getting +her to annoy me about lessons and other things; at least, I think so. I +know he thinks me quite childish; and sometimes he interferes between +Clement and me. What do you think he had the impertinence to say to me +once? That no one was fit to govern who had not learned to obey. That +it would be wiser for me to learn the lesson of obedience myself, than +to attempt to teach it to my little brother." + +"And what answer did you make?" asked Christie, after a little +hesitation. + +"I turned and walked out of the room; and I did not see him again. I +chose to be out of the way when he came to say good-bye. I dare say +that is one reason why I don't like the thought of his coming just now. +I feel a little awkward, you know. I owe him one good turn, however. +If it had not been for him, I think father would have listened to Aunt +Barbara and sent me to school. I ought to thank him for that." + +"And didn't you want to go to school?" asked Christie, in some surprise. + +"No, indeed! I never was at school, you know. We had a governess and +teachers at home. I am to have private teachers for some things here, +when the summer is over, unless I should be sent to school, after all." + +When the gentleman made his appearance among them the next day, he did +not look like the formidable person Christie imagined him to be. They +were sitting on the lawn, in the shadow of the locust-tree, when he +arrived; and before he went into the house he came and shook hands with +Miss Gertrude and the little boys. Christie thought he must have quite +forgotten his falling-out with the young lady, he met her so pleasantly +and frankly. The embarrassment was all on her side. + +As for the boys, they were beside themselves with delight. It was easy +to see they did not share their sister's dislike. Poor little Claude +clasped his arms about his neck and kissed him eagerly. Clement, in a +way that showed he felt sure of his sympathy, began to tell him of the +pony and the rabbits, insisting that he should come with him to the +stable to see them at once. + +The next day was Sunday. After a fortnight of lovely summer weather, a +great change had taken place. The rain was falling in torrents, and the +wind was whistling through the trees in the garden, when Christie looked +out. A rainy day in the green room was by no means such a dreary matter +as it used to be in Mrs Lee's attic-nursery, with only a glimpse of +driving clouds and dripping roofs to vary the dulness within. So +Christie comforted little Claude for the want of his morning ride and +ramble in the garden, telling him how glad the dusty leaves and thirsty +little flowers would be for all the bright drops that were falling on +them. She told him how the bees, that had been so busy all the week, +must take a rest to-day, and how warm and dry the little birds would be +in their nest in the pear-tree, for all the driving rain. Setting him +in his favourite chair by the window, she amused him with talk like +this, as she went about putting things in order in the room. While she +comforted him she comforted herself; for the rain had brought a +disappointment to her too. It had been arranged that Martha should take +charge of Claude while Christie went to church in the morning, where she +had not been for several Sabbaths. But remembering Mrs Greenly's +oft-repeated warnings against exposing herself to dampness, she did not +like to venture in the rain. So she had to content herself at home. + +This was an easier matter than it had sometimes been. As the morning +wore away, and the time approached for the little boy to take his usual +sleep, she was quite contented to be where she was. + +"It is very pleasant, all this reading with Miss Gertrude," she said. +"She is very kind, and I like her very much. But I shall be glad to be +alone for a little while." + +Claude's eyes closed at last, and she was just taking her Bible from the +table beside her, when the door opened and Miss Gertrude entered. + +"I only heard this minute from Mattie that you did not go to church, +after all," she said. "No wonder! What a rain! Papa thought it was +too bad to take out the horses. He is tired, too, after his journey. +Is it half-past eleven? Everybody is lazy on Sunday morning. But there +will be an hour or two before lunch yet. I have brought our friend +`Jeanie.' There will be time for a chapter or two." + +Christie looked up with an expression of surprise and doubt on her face. + +"Jeanie Deans, is it? But it is the Sabbath-day!" + +Miss Gertrude laughed. + +"Well, what if it is? I'm sure there is no harm in the book. You +looked exactly like Aunt Barbara when you said that; I mean, all but her +cap and spectacles. `The moral expression' of your face, as she would +say, was exactly the same." + +Christie laughed, but said nothing. + +"You don't mean to tell me that there is any harm in the book?" +continued Miss Gertrude. + +"It is not a right book for the Sabbath, though," said Christie, +gravely. + +"Well, for my part, I don't see that a book that it is right to read +every other day of the week can be so very bad a book for Sunday," said +Miss Gertrude; sharply. + +Christie made no reply. + +"I declare, I like Aunt Barbara's way best; to call all tales wicked at +once, and have nothing to do with them--these vile novels, as she calls +them. Come, now, you are not in earnest?" + +"I am quite in earnest," said Christie, gently, but firmly. + +"And you have been reading or listening to this, or something like it, +all the week! Well, that is what I should call straining at a gnat and +swallowing a camel." + +"Well, perhaps it is. I never thought about it in that way before. But +I am sure it is not right to read such books on the Sabbath-day. And +perhaps it is wrong to read them at all--at least, so many of them as we +have been reading. I almost think it is." + +She spoke sorrowfully, but not in any degree offensively. Indeed, she +seemed to be speaking rather to herself than to Miss Gertrude. Yet the +young lady was offended. Assuming the tone and manner with which she +sometimes made herself disagreeable, she said: + +"I should regret exceedingly to be the means of leading you to do +anything that you think wrong. I must try and enjoy my book by myself." +And without looking towards her, she walked out of the room. + +For a little while Christie sat motionless, gazing at the door through +which she had disappeared, and thinking sorrowfully that this was a very +sad ending to a very pleasant time. But there was a sharper pain at her +heart than any that this thought awakened. All those days that had been +so bright in passing had a shadow over them as she looked back upon +them. To what end and purpose had all their intercourse tended? What +was the cause of the feeling of uneasiness, almost of guilt, that had +come on her now and then at quiet moments? It had clung to her all the +morning. She was not very wise or far-sighted. She could not reason +from cause to effect, or analyse her own feelings very closely. But +even when she was congratulating herself on the prospect of a quiet time +she was half conscious that she was not very glad to find herself alone. +When she sat down with the Bible in her hand, there fell on her spirit +no such blessed sense of rest and peace as used to transform the dim +attic into something pleasanter than this pretty green room, and fairer +than the summer garden. + +"There is something wrong," she said to herself, as she listened to Miss +Gertrude's footsteps on the stair. "I am afraid I am one of the folk +that Mrs Grey used to tell about, that an easy life is not good for. +Better the weary days and nights than to fall back into my old ways +again, just content with the pleasure the day brings, without looking +beyond. Who would have thought that I could have forgotten so soon? It +is just this foolish novel reading, I think. Aunt Elsie said it was a +snare to me; and Effie said something like it once." + +"Well, I'm not likely to have more of it," she continued, with a sigh. +"I suppose I ought to be glad that Miss Gertrude went away vexed; for I +dare say I should not have had courage to-morrow to tell her that so +much of that kind of reading is not good for me, Sabbath or week-day. +It couldn't have lasted long, at any rate. Of course, when Mrs Seaton +comes home it will be quite different. Well, it will be better for me-- +a great deal better. I must be watchful and humble. To think that I +should grow careless and forget, just when I ought to be so mindful and +thankful!" + +A few tears fell on the leaves of her little Bible; but by and by the +former peace came back again, as she felt herself half resting indeed on +the only sure foundation. The foolish fancies that had haunted her +imagination all the week vanished before the influence of the blessed +words on those familiar pages. They were precious still, though the +strange charm of her new companionship had turned her thoughts from them +for a time. She forgot her idle dreams, the foolish fancies she had +indulged, the vain longing for this or that earthly good for herself and +for all at home that had at times for the last few days taken possession +of her. The peace which flows from a sense of pardon and acceptance and +a firm trust was for the time enjoyed. To be and to do just what God +willed seemed infinitely desirable to her. + +"`Great peace have they that love Thy law,'" she murmured. "I do love +it; and I have the peace." + +Very humble and earnest were the prayers that rose beside the bed of +little Claude that day, and very grave, yet happy, was the face that +greeted his waking. Christie needed all her patience, for this was one +of Claude's fretful days. He grew weary of being confined to one room; +he longed for the company of his sister and Clement. His brother came +in for a little while after he had had his dinner; but he was in one of +his troublesome moods, and vexed and fretted Claude so much that +Christie was fain to give him over to Martha's charge, bidding him not +come into the green room till he was ready to be good and kind. + +In the meantime, Miss Gertrude was enjoying her book in her own room; +or, rather, she was not enjoying it. It had lost much of its interest +to her. She was not in a humour to enjoy anything just then. She +wandered into the parlour at last, thinking a chat with her father, or +even with Mr Sherwood, would be better than her book. But her father +was in the library, with the door shut, and Mr Sherwood had gone out, +notwithstanding the rain. The deserted room looked dreary, and she went +to her own again. + +At six she went down to dinner. They were not a very lively party. Mr +Seaton looked sleepy, and yawned several times before they went to the +dining-room. Mr Sherwood was very grave, and, indeed, "stupid," as +Gertrude thought. + +"What a misfortune a rainy Sunday is!" she said at last. "One scarcely +knows what to do with one's self. This has seemed twice as long as +other days." + +"Pray don't let any one hear you say that, my dear," said her father, +laughing. "If one rainy Sunday exhausts the resources of a +well-educated young lady, I am afraid her prospects are not the +brightest." + +Miss Gertrude laughed. + +"Oh, father, I haven't quite got to that state of exhaustion! But I +have been dull and stupid--not able to settle myself to the enjoyment of +anything--all day." + +"Where are the boys?" asked her father. + +"Claude is in the green room, with his nurse. Indeed, I suppose both +boys are there just now. After dinner I shall send for them. Claude +really seems better; he runs about again." + +"Stay," said Mr Sherwood. "This reminds me that I brought a letter +last night for the new nursemaid; at least, I suppose so;" and he took a +letter from his pocket, and laid it on the table. + +"You don't mean that you brought that home last night, and have kept it +till this time?" said Miss Gertrude, with much surprise. + +"Tut, tut, my child!" said her father, touching the hand outstretched to +take the letter. She withdrew her hand without a word. + +"You could not have been more indignant had the letter been for +yourself. It is not such a terrible oversight," said Mrs Lane, or Aunt +Barbara, as she was commonly called, who had looked in on her way from +church. "If it is like most of the letters of that sort of people, it +would be little loss though she never got it. Such extraordinary +epistles as I sometimes read for my servants!" + +"This seems quite a respectable affair, however," said Mr Seaton, +reading the direction in Effie's fair, clear handwriting: + + _Christina Redfern_, + _Care of J.R. Seaton, Esquire_. + +"That is a very pretty direction--_very_." + +"I am very sorry, and very much ashamed of my carelessness," said Mr +Sherwood. "I hope, Miss Gertrude, you will forgive me, and I will never +do so again, as little boys say." + +But he did not look either very sorry or very much ashamed, Miss +Gertrude thought, and she made no reply. The rather uncomfortable +silence that followed was broken by a low voice at the door: + +"Am I to take the children, Miss Gertrude?" + +Master Clement answered: + +"No, I shan't go to bed yet. It's only seven o'clock." + +"Come in," said Mr Seaton, kindly. "I want to know how these little +fellows have behaved since their mother went away." + +Christie came forward shyly, curtseying, in some confusion, to Mrs +Lane, whom her short-sighted eyes did not discern till she was close +upon her. + +"I hope they have been good and obedient, and have not given you much +trouble?" said Mr Seaton again. + +A little smile passed over Christie's mouth. "Master Clement is Miss +Gertrude's boy, sir," she said, as she stooped to buckle the belt of +that active young gentleman. + +"And I'm very good. She punishes me when I ain't good." + +"I'm afraid she has enough to do, then. And the doctor thinks Claude is +better, does he?" he asked, caressing the pale little face that lay on +his shoulder. + +"Yes," said Christie, doubtfully. "He says he is better." + +There was no mistaking the look of wistful interest that overspread her +face as she looked at the child. + +"He is very good and patient, almost always," she added, as she met the +little boy's smile. + +"I'm a great deal better," said Claude. "The doctor says I may ride on +the pony some day." + +"Have you had much to do with children?" asked Aunt Barbara. + +"I lived with Mrs Lee eight months." + +"And she parted with you because she needed a person of more +experience?" + +"Yes, I suppose so. I wasn't strong enough Mr Lee thought. I was very +sorry." + +It was a sore subject with Christie yet, and the colour went and came as +she spoke. + +"And where were you before?" asked Mr Seaton, wishing to relieve her +embarrassment. + +"I was with our own children, at home. I was one of the children then +myself. I never was away from home before my father died." + +"Look, here is something for you. Cousin Charles says it is for you. +It is a letter," said Clement, holding it up. + +If there had been ten Aunt Barbaras in the room, Christie could not have +restrained the expression of surprise and pleasure that rose to her lips +at the sight of Effie's familiar handwriting, and her hands quite +trembled as she took it from the little boy. + +"Now, Claudie," said the young lady, coming forward, "it is time for you +to go with Christie. Say `good-night' to father and Aunt Barbara." + +For a single moment the look of peevish resistance that used to come so +often to the child's face passed over it, but it changed as Christie +stooped down, saying softly: + +"Will you walk? or shall I carry you, as they carried the little boy +home from the field?" + +"And will you tell me more?" he asked, holding out his hand. + +"Oh, yes; and how glad his mother was when he grew better again. Now +walk a little bit, and I will carry you up-stairs. The doctor says he +ought to be encouraged to walk," she said to his father, as she set him +down. + +The child bade them "good-night" quite willingly, and went. + +"Clement, stay with me," said his sister. "Christie will not get much +good of her letter for the next two hours, if you are with her." + +Clement was very willing to stay. But for all that Christie did not get +much good of her letter for an hour and more, except the good it did her +to hold it in her hand, and feeling the delight that was in store for +her. Miss Gertrude came to the green room some time after, to find her +still rocking and singing to the wakeful Claude. + +"You don't mean you haven't read your letter yet?" she said, in +astonishment. + +"I have opened it. They are all well. I like to be sure of a quiet +time to read a letter." + +"Well, take the lamp and go over there. I will take care of him for the +present." + +"He is just asleep now," said Christie, hesitating. She was thinking +that she would like to have the room to herself before she read her +letter, but as Miss Gertrude seated herself in the low rocking-chair, +she had only to take the lamp and go to the other side. + +She soon forgot Miss Gertrude, Claude, and all besides, except Effie and +the bairns at home. Effie had the faculty, which many people of greater +pretensions do not possess, of putting a great deal into a letter. They +were always written journal-wise--a little now, and a little then; and +her small, clear handwriting had come to be like print to Christie's +accustomed eyes. So she read on, with a smile on her lip, quite +unconscious that the eyes that seemed to be seeing nothing but the +bright embers were all the time furtively watching her. Miss Gertrude +longed for a peep into the unseen world in which her humble friend was +at that moment revelling. She felt positively envious of the supreme +content that was expressed on Christie's plain, pale face. + +She would not have understood it had the peep been granted. She never +could have understood the interest which in Christie's mind was +connected with the various little items of news with which Effie's +letter was nearly filled. There was the coming and going of the +neighbours, a visit from blind Alice, and her delight in her canary. +There was an account of Jennie's unprecedented success in +chicken-raising, and of little Will's triumphant conquest of compound +division; and many more items of the same kind. There were a few +words--a very few--about the day Christie had spent in the cemetery with +John Nesbitt, which brought the happy tears into her eyes; and that was +all. + +No, the best came last. The letter had been opened again, and a slip of +paper had been added, to tell how Effie had got a letter from Mrs Lee. +It was a very short letter, scarcely more than a line or two; but Effie +was to keep it safe to show to Christie when she came home. In the +meantime she must tell her that she had never in all her life been so +proud and happy as she had been when she read to Aunt Elsie what a help +and comfort her dear little sister had been to the writer in the midst +of sickness and sorrow; and more than that, how, by means of her little +Bible and her earnest, humble words, she had opened to her a way to a +higher hope and a better consolation than earth could give, and how the +lady could not go away without doing what she knew would give her friend +more pleasure than anything else she could do. She must tell Christie's +sister how good and patient and useful she had been. + +"And so, Christie, when you are weary or desponding, as I am afraid you +sometimes are, I think you may take a little rest and pleasure from the +thought that you have been favoured to be made the giver of a `cup of +cold water to one of _His_ little ones.'" + +Oh, it was too much! Such words from her dearest sister Effie! And to +think that Mrs Lee should have written them that last night, when she +must have been so weary! And had she really done her good? Oh, it was +too much happiness! The letter fell from her hands, and her face, as +she burst into happy tears, was hidden by them. It was only for a +moment, however. She fancied herself quite unobserved as she took up +her precious letter. + +"Are they all well at home?" asked Miss Gertrude, as Christie, having +stealthily wiped away all traces of her tears, came and sat down on the +other side of the cot, where Claude was now sleeping soundly. + +"They are all quite well. My aunt is better. Everything is just as +usual." + +"Your sister is a very pretty writer, is she not?" she asked. + +"Yes, she writes very plain and even. Her writing is easily read." But +Christie did not offer to show her the letter, as Miss Gertrude half +hoped she would. It was not altogether for the gratification of her +curiosity, nor chiefly for that, she wanted to see it. Though her +companion was sitting there, with her cheek leaning on her hand, so +gravely and so quietly, she knew that her heart was by no means so quiet +as her outward appearance seemed to indicate. She saw that it was ready +to overflow with emotion of some kind--happiness, Miss Gertrude thought, +but was not sure. + +But it could not be all happiness. Christie must be longing for the +sight of the sister whose written words could call forth such tears as +she had seen falling even now. And she wished to be able to sympathise +with her, to say some word that would establish confidence between them. +Besides, she had a feeling that she ought to atone for her petulance in +the morning. At any rate, she wanted to be sure that Christie did not +resent it. + +But Christie said nothing. She sat quite still, and her thoughts were +far-away. When she roused herself, it was not to speak, but to take up +her little Bible, that lay within reach of her hand. + +"How fond you seem to be of that book!" said Miss Gertrude, as she +watched her turning over the leaves. + +"Yes," said Christie, quietly. "Effie gave it to me." + +"Are you going to read now?" + +"I was looking for something that Effie wrote about. I can't mind the +exact words, and I am not sure where to find them." And she still +turned over the leaves. + +"Have you found it?" said Miss Gertrude, when she paused. + +"Yes; I have found it. Here it is. `And whosoever shall give to drink +unto one of these little ones a cup of cold water only, in the name of a +disciple, shall in no wise lose his reward.'" + +She read it slowly and gravely, but Miss Gertrude could by no means +understand the look of mingled doubt and pleasure that she saw on her +face when she had done. + +"Well?" she said, inquiringly. + +But Christie had nothing to say. Her face was bowed down on her hands, +and she did not raise it till she heard the door open and shut; and when +she looked up, Miss Gertrude was gone. + + + +CHAPTER SIXTEEN. + +A TALK IN THE GARDEN. + +The next day was rainy, and the next, and the next. There was not a +glimpse of sunshine till Friday, and then it was only a glimpse. There +was no such thing as going into the garden, or even into the wide +gallery that ran along the ends of the house. The only change that +little Claude enjoyed all that time was being daily taken into the +drawing-room while the green room was aired, or into the dining-room +when his father was at home, a little while before he went to bed. He +did not grow worse, however. He seemed quite contented with Christie, +and fretted less when Clement left him than he used to do. + +He was growing very fond of his nurse. She was gentle and patient with +him, never sparing herself when he needed to be amused. But her +firmness was equal to her gentleness. She never suffered herself to be +persuaded to indulge him in anything that had been forbidden by the +doctor; and she was faithful to the letter in obeying all his +directions. The little boy soon learned to yield to her in all things, +and the fretful violence that used to excite fever and exhaust his +strength seldom appeared now. The green room was Christie's +acknowledged domain. The "masterful" Clement was taught that he was +only admitted there on condition of good behaviour; and really, +considering all things, he was very good. He was encouraged to be much +in the green room during those rainy days, for his merry ways and +pleasant childish talk did his little brother a great deal of good. + +As for Miss Gertrude, I am sorry to say she did not recover her +good-humour so soon as she ought to have done. She did not resent what +she called Christie's reproof about the book half so much as she did her +slowness in responding to her offered sympathy about the letter. She +fancied that the little nurse ought to have been very much flattered by +the interest she had tried to show in her affairs, and was displeased at +the silence with which her advances had been received. + +Poor Christie had offended very unconsciously. With her mind full of +her letter and all the associations it had awakened, she had been quite +unmindful of Miss Gertrude and her attempts to make up the little +falling-out of the morning. She only began to realise that the young +lady must have been offended, when the days passed over with only a +brief visit to Claude. Even then she believed that her vexation rose +from what had passed about the book. + +But Miss Gertrude was very much out of sorts with herself too. If it +had not been a rainy day, she would have availed herself of her Aunt +Barbara's invitation to spend the day with her. But a rainy day at Aunt +Barbara's was not to be thought of. She took a long time to write a +short letter to Mrs Seaton, in Scotland. Then she took a fit of +practising her music, which, she said to herself, she had sadly +neglected of late. Then she read a little. Then she went into the +kitchen and superintended the making of a pudding after a new recipe +which some one had given to her. + +Then she dressed for dinner. But the time is very long from nine in the +morning till six at night, when it is rainy without and gloomy within. +It wanted full an hour of the usual time for her father's return when +she was quite ready to receive him. She wandered into the dining-room. +There were no signs of the dinner-table being laid. She wandered into +the drawing-room, and passed her fingers over the keys of the piano once +or twice. But she could not settle to steady playing, or, indeed, to +anything else. + +"I wonder what has become of Master Clement all this time? It is time +Martha was in the dining-room. I will go and see." + +She went into the nursery; but it was deserted. She called, but +received no answer. A sound of voices from the green room drew her +there, and the door opened on as merry a game as one could wish to see. +Claude sat in his usual place in the arm-chair, and scattered on the +carpet before him were a number of pictured and lettered blocks which +his father had brought home. These Master Clement was examining with +much pretended gravity. He was looking for the letter C, which Christie +had pointed out to him. Whenever he made a mistake and pointed out the +wrong letter, he punished himself by creeping on his hands and knees +under Claude's crib; and whenever Christie's nod and smile proclaimed +that he was right, he vaulted over the crib, with such laughter and +grimaces, and such a shaking of his tangled curls over his face, that +Claude laughed and clapped his hands from sympathy. + +Miss Gertrude leaned over the chair and watched the play. + +"How noisy you are, Clement!" she said, at last. + +"Yes; but it is nice noise. I'm very good to-day, Tudie." + +"Are you? I am very glad to hear it, and very much surprised too." + +"Are you cross to-day?" + +"Why? What makes you ask?" + +"Oh, because you haven't been here." + +"I have been busy writing a letter to your mother." + +"Did you tell her that I am a good boy? I am a very good boy; and so is +Claudie." + +A leap and a grimace more astonishing than any he had yet accomplished +sent Claude into fits of laughter. + +"I declare," said Miss Gertrude, looking down upon him, "I don't believe +your mother would know you if she were to see you now! Why, there is +quite a colour in his lips. He really seems better, doesn't he?" + +"Yes, and he has been very good and easily amused all day, though he has +not been able to go out." + +There was silence for a time. Both girls stood watching the game that +was going on. But soon Christie said: + +"If you please, Miss Gertrude, will you show me that stitch again? I +have quite lost it." + +"Yes," said Miss Gertrude; "I will show you. It is quite easy." + +"Yes, I dare say it is. I am afraid I am very dull at learning it." + +She was watching the expert fingers of Miss Gertrude admiringly. It was +a piece of work she had commenced long before, but getting tired of it, +she had offered to teach Christie, who was to finish it. + +"It is very pretty," said Christie, "and quite easy, when one knows the +way." + +"Yes, it is quite easy," said Miss Gertrude. But her manner was quite +different from what it had been at the last lesson. + +"She is not going to be vexed with me, if I can help it," said Christie +to herself; and in a little while she said, again: + +"Miss Gertrude, have you any objection to my copying this pattern out of +your book, to send to Effie? I am going to write to her. She is very +quick at such work." + +"Certainly not; no objection at all. You can copy it if you like--if +you think your sister can make anything of it." Then, a little ashamed +of her ungracious manner, she added, "I will copy it for you--and +another, a much prettier one. When shall you send your letter away?" + +"Oh, I am very much obliged! I write so slowly that there is no haste +about it. I shall not have my letter ready till Friday." + +The next day Miss Gertrude made herself very busy with her practising, +and with a magazine that Mr Sherwood had brought home. The day +following she spent with her aunt, who sent for her in the morning. +Thursday, she was as tired of her dignity as she was of the rain, and +came into the green room with a smiling face, and a nice book in her +hand. Christie received her exactly as she would have done had there +been no interruption of their intercourse. She did not for a moment +think of resenting Miss Gertrude's coolness. She had been busy every +moment of her spare time during these few days, writing to her sister, +and she had missed her society far less than it would have pleased the +young lady to know. But she was very glad to see her back again, and to +hear her declare, as she seated herself in the arm-chair, that after all +the green room was the very pleasantest in the house. So, with no more +words about it, they fell into their old, pleasant ways again. + +Mrs Seaton's return made less difference in their manner of life than +they supposed it would. She seemed to Christie a very different person +from the pale, anxious invalid that went away so unwillingly; and indeed +she was. Her health and spirits were quite restored. Instead of +falling back into the retired mode of life that had become habitual to +her since the illness of her little boy, she went into society, as she +had done before; and as her circle of friends was large, she had very +little time to devote to her children, and Christie continued to have +almost as much care of Claude as she had had during his mother's +absence. + +There was one change which at first seemed anything but a pleasant one; +they left the pretty green room for a smaller one in a higher story. At +first it seemed a dull, dismal place, but Christie learned to love it +very much before she left it. + +Miss Gertrude's lessons commenced again soon after the return of Mrs +Seaton, but there was nothing more said of her going to school, at least +for the present. She was not old enough to go much into society, and +she had plenty of time to devote to the readings in the upper nursery, +as Christie's new room was called. Her interest in these readings was +not uniform. Sometimes for several days at a time her visits were few +and brief; but on the whole, she enjoyed them very much, and did not +neglect them very long. + +The balconied window of the green room was not the only one at which the +locust-tree made pleasant music. It shaded also one of the library +windows. The library had become so much the resort of Mr Sherwood that +it almost came to be considered as his room. He spent much of his time +in it undisturbed. So it happened one day, when he was not at all busy, +he heard the sound of voices beneath, and looking out, discovered that +the nursery party had placed themselves on the rustic seat that always +stood there. The September wind had scattered many of the long, slender +leaves of the locust; but they had come there rather to enjoy the +sunshine than the shade. He could see them quite plainly--Claude +sitting on his cushion, Clement running here and there about the lawn, +Miss Gertrude, as usual, with her book, and Christie with her work. He +could not hear what they said, except a word now and then from the +children's shrill voices. Miss Gertrude pretended to read, but +evidently the reading did not prosper; and by and by the book was laid +aside, and in the conversation that followed the girls seemed to take an +equal part. Mr Sherwood was quite astonished to find himself wishing +that he could hear what they were saying; but he could not, except when +Miss Gertrude's voice was raised in warning or in reproof, as Master +Clement pursued his own pleasure in a distant part of the garden. + +By and by the sound of wheels was heard in the garden, and Miss Gertrude +rose quickly. + +"Oh, here come visitors!" she exclaimed. Her face was turned towards +the window, and he heard every word plainly. "Let us go to the cedar +walk. I don't want to go in; and if they don't see me they will never +think of me. Come, Christie." + +She lifted Claude from his cushion and ran away with him, leaving +Christie to follow with the shawls and other things. The book was left +behind on the bench, and when the visitors were safe in the house, Mr +Sherwood could not resist the desire he felt to go down to see what it +was. As he passed the drawing-room door, Mrs Seaton looked out. + +"If you are going into the garden, Charles, and should see Miss +Gertrude, tell her Mrs Jordan is here, and has asked for her." + +"I dare say she won't thank me for the message," he said to himself, as +he picked up the book and took his way to the cedar walk. He smiled to +himself as he turned over the leaves. + +"You are inquired for," he said. "Mrs Seaton bade me tell you that +Mrs Jordan is in the drawing-room with her daughters, and they have +asked for you." + +"Oh, dear me! And I thought I was safe for this time! But I don't +think I will go. They'll forget all about me in a few minutes." + +"Mrs Seaton wishes you to go, however," said Mr Sherwood, gravely. + +Miss Gertrude shrugged her shoulders. They had more than once differed +as to the nature and extent of duty she owed to her step-mother. She +said nothing, however, but rose. + +"I'm going too," said Clement. "Tudie, you must take me." + +"Cousin Charles, carry me!" entreated Claude. + +"No, Clement; you are not to come unless you are sent for. And I'll +come back directly." + +Mr Sherwood took one turn in the garden, and came back to the cedar +walk in time to hear the end of Christie's story: + +"And so, when the blind man heard the noise of so many people passing +by, he wondered. And they told him that Jesus was passing by, and that +all the people were following Him. And he asked, `Is it Jesus, who +healed the ruler's little daughter?' Then he began to call out, as loud +as he was able, `Jesus, Jesus, Thou Son of David, have mercy on me!' +And all the people told him to be still, and not make such a noise. But +he thought, `Perhaps Jesus will never come this way again!' so he cried +out all the more. + +"Well, Jesus heard him, and He stood still and waited till the blind man +came up to Him. And then He said, `What wilt thou that I should do unto +you?' And the man said, `Lord, that mine eyes might be opened.' + +"And with a single word that Jesus spoke, his eyes were opened; and he +saw the earth, and the sky, and the wondering crowd, and Jesus. Just +think how glad he must have been to come out of darkness to see so many +beautiful things! And how good and kind Jesus was!" + +"Will Jesus ever come again? And could He make me well and strong like +Clement? Oh, I wish He would come!" + +It was a very entreating little face that was turned towards her as he +spoke. She did not answer him at once, but kissed him, and stroked his +hair with loving hands. + +"Will He ever come again?" he repeated, eagerly. + +"My child, He is near us now. He does not forget little children, and +the sick and the blind and the sorrowful. And He hears us, just as He +heard the blind Bartimeus, and He cares for us and helps us all the +same, though He has gone to heaven." + +"And will He make me well again?" + +"I don't know. If it is best He will. And if He does not make you +well, He will make you good and patient, and willing to be sick. And +you will be happy--more happy than when you were quite strong and well. +Don't you remember how He took the little children up in His arms and +blessed them?" + +"Yes; and He said, `Suffer the little children to come unto Me.'" But +the little boy looked very sad as he said it. + +Mr Sherwood took another turn in the garden and approached them from +the other side. Christie was wrapping Claude in a plaid, and preparing +to wheel him round the garden--as quiet and uninteresting a person, to +all appearance, as one could fancy a child's nurse to be. + +"Carry me, Cousin Charles," entreated little Claude. "It is so much +nicer than to be drawn in the carriage. Do take me for a little while." + +"We'll play horses," said Clement, making his appearance at the moment, +"and I'll drive. Now, up and away!" + +Christie sat down to her work again, while they carried on a merry game +up and down the cedar walk, with much shouting and laughter from all. + +"And now that must do," said Mr Sherwood, seating himself on the bench +that always stood there. "Your horse is very tired, and he must rest +before he goes farther. Sit still, Claude. I am not too tired to hold +you--only too tired to run any more." + +"He is very warm," said Christie, laying down her work to come and pin +the plaid more closely about him. She did it very gently, and there was +no mistaking the loving looks the little boy gave her. + +"I found this book as I came out," said Mr Sherwood. "Was it you or +Miss Gertrude who was making it your study?" + +"Did I leave it behind me? It was very careless," said Christie, in +some confusion. "We were both reading it; that is, Miss Gertrude read, +and I listened." + +"`Evidences of the Truth of Revealed Religion'," he read, turning to the +title-page. "Which of you is troubled with doubts on that subject?" + +"Neither of us, I hope," said Christie, quietly. She did not quite like +the tone in which he spoke. + +"But what is the use of reading the book, if you are quite sure already +of what it professes to teach?" + +"The book was Miss Gertrude's choice," said Christie, scarcely knowing +what to say. + +"Oh, then it is Miss Gertrude whose faith is wavering?" + +Christie shook her head. + +"One day Miss Gertrude asked me something about which I was quite sure, +but I couldn't tell her why I was so sure; and she found this book, and +we thought we would read it." + +"To make you more sure?" said Mr Sherwood, smiling. + +"No, sir, not that. Nothing could make me more sure than I am that the +Bible and all it teaches is true. But it is well to be able to tell why +I am sure." + +"And so you are sure of these things without knowing why you are sure?" + +Christie sent a grave, questioning look into his face, and said: + +"I think the true knowledge of these things is not learned in books, +unless it is in the Bible--and not in that, unless God teaches one." + +After a pause, she added: + +"It must be true, you know. What can one trust to, if not to the Word +of God? What else is there that does not fail us in the time of need, +in some way or other?" + +"Not much, indeed," said Mr Sherwood, gravely. + +"Nothing," repeated Christie, "except the word and promise of God. They +never fail--never change--never!" + +"Do they never change? What were you telling that boy just now about +the blind man that was healed for the asking? But you could not tell +Claude that the same power could make him strong and well again, though +I am sure you wish it were so." + +"But I am quite sure He could; and He would, if it were best." + +"But why is it not best for him as well as it was for the blind man? He +wishes it, and all who love him wish it. And our poor little Claude is +not the only one. Think how much suffering there is in the world that +might be relieved." + +Christie looked puzzled and anxious for a moment. + +"But it is not that He has changed, or that He breaks His promise. I +cannot say just what I would, but I don't think it is quite the same. +You know when Christ came into the world it was not merely to do that +kind of good to men; it was to save them. And it was necessary that He +should prove to them that He was the Son of God, by doing what none but +God could do. So He opened blind eyes, and healed their diseases, and +raised the dead. And besides, they were to know another way: `Surely He +hath borne our griefs and carried our sorrows!' They might have known +He was the Messiah by that too." She stopped suddenly, and then added: +"It is different now." + +"And so, having done enough to prove all that, He forgets the troubles +people in the world have now. Does He?" + +"It is not that He forgets, or breaks His promise," said Christie, +hesitatingly, yet earnestly. "He has not promised that His people +should never have trouble in the world; quite the contrary. But He +promises always to be with them, to support and comfort them through +all. And that is as good as though they were to have none--and, indeed, +far better." + +She spoke very earnestly. Her face was flushed, and the tears filled +her eyes, but she spoke very modestly and humbly too. + +"Well, it does not seem that _you_ are troubled with doubts, anyway," +said Mr Sherwood, rising, and placing Claude on the seat she had +prepared for him. + +"No; I do not doubt. It must be a great unhappiness to think at all +about these things and not be sure and quite at rest about them." + +"And what would you say to any one who suffered this great unhappiness?" + +The question was gravely, even sadly, asked. There was not the echo of +mockery in his tone that had made Christie shrink during the first +moments of his being there. She looked up wistfully into the face that +was still bending over the child. + +"I don't know," she said. "I cannot tell--except to bid him ask, as the +blind man asked, `Lord, that mine eyes might be opened!'" + +He went slowly down the cedar walk, and Christie watched him with +wistful eyes. Whether he asked the gift of sight or not, there was one +who, after that day, did ask it for him. + + + +CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. + +THE SECRET OF PEACE. + +Gertrude could not find her book. All that Christie could tell her +about it was that she had seen it in Mr Sherwood's hand in the cedar +walk, and that he did not leave it when he went away. She looked for it +in the library and in the drawing-room, but it was nowhere to be seen. +She had a great objection to asking him for it. Mr Sherwood sometimes +condescended to jest with the young lady on some subjects about which +they did not agree; and she did not like his jests. So time passed on, +till the third day. + +"I'll ask him for it at dinner," she said to herself. "He is never so +provoking when father is there." + +But a good opportunity occurred before dinner. Mr Sherwood was +standing in the hall, waiting for Mrs Seaton, whom he was to take into +town, when Miss Gertrude passed him on her way up-stairs. + +"Mr Sherwood," she said, "you picked up a book in the garden the other +day. It was very careless in me to leave it there. Will you give it to +me now?" + +"I ought to apologise to you for having kept it so long," he answered, +gravely. "I will get it for you this moment." + +Miss Gertrude looked up to see whether there was not a smile upon his +face. She had no idea that her new "whim" for serious reading was to be +allowed to pass without remark. But his look was quite grave as he +turned into the library. + +"Do you like this?" he asked, when he came out with the book in his +hand. + +"I don't know. I have not read much of it," she answered, quickly, +moving towards him to take the book. He gave it to her without +speaking. + +A glance at his face induced her to say, "Are you not well to-day, +Cousin Charles?" + +It was one of Miss Gertrude's "whims" always to address him formally as +"Mr Sherwood"; and in his agreeable surprise at her familiarity, he +smiled brightly. But his face grew grave again as he said: + +"Yes; I am quite well--only, perhaps, a little more indolent and +self-indulgent than usual." + +About this time there came a letter from Effie, in which there was one +sentence that cost Christie many a wondering and anxious thought. + +"My dear little sister, let your light shine, and who knows but you may +be the means of blessing to this household also?" + +"Effie doesn't know," said Christie to herself. "She thinks I have +grown good and wise, but she is much mistaken. I am sure if I did any +good to Mrs Lee I don't know how it happened. And besides, she was ill +and in trouble, and had need of the little help and comfort I could give +her. But Miss Gertrude! She is the only one I come very near to here; +and she is so quick and beautiful and strong--so much above me in every +way. Oh, if Effie were to see her, she would never think of my being +able to influence her. Everybody admires Miss Gertrude; and I am but a +nursemaid, and hardly that." + +And yet the humble little maid did influence Gertrude as the days and +months passed on; but Mrs Seaton and her gay friends in the +drawing-room were not more unconscious of the influence for good she was +exerting over the wayward young lady than was the little maid herself. + +Gertrude only vaguely realised that she was beginning to see and +estimate things differently from what she used to do--half thinking, as +her mother did, that it was because she was growing older and more +sensible. She found herself thinking, now and then, that her standard +of right was not exactly what it used to be before she had compared +opinions with Christie. In her intercourse with her own family and with +others also, she often found herself measuring their opinions and +actions by Christie's rule. But she by no means realised that her own +opinions and actions were gradually adjusting themselves to the same +rule. Yet so it was. + +She liked to watch Christie. She was never weary of admiring the +patience with which she bore the changing moods of her little charge, +when illness made him fretful or exacting. Gertrude saw that she was +learning to love the little boy dearly; but she also saw that it was not +merely her love for him that made her so faithful in doing her duty to +him, nor was it to please the mother and sister or win their confidence, +for she was equally faithful in matters that could never come to Mrs +Seaton's knowledge, and Gertrude knew by experience that _her_ pleasure +was never suffered to interfere where Claude's interest or comfort was +concerned. + +No; Christie lived that useful, patient life from higher motives than +these. "She does what is right because it is right," said Gertrude to +herself. She saw her quite cheerful and contented from day to day, +doing the same things over and over again, with few pleasures--with +none, indeed, unless the hour or two of reading which they managed +almost daily to get could be called such. + +And yet, by a thousand tokens, Gertrude knew that she would have enjoyed +keenly many pleasures that were quite beyond her hopes--leisure, and +books, and going to school, and the power to give gifts and confer +favours. To be able to live at home, with no heavy cares pressing on +the family, would be real happiness for her. All this Gertrude gathered +from the conversations they sometimes had, from occasional remarks, and +from her intense delight when letters from home came. + +And yet she did not repine in the absence of these things. She was +happy in the performance of her duties, whether they were easy or not, +and enjoyed the few simple pleasures that came in her way. + +"It is not because she is stupid, or that she does not know anything +else," said Gertrude to herself. "She enjoys reading and learning as +well as I do, and makes a far better use of the chance she has: and yet +she lives on from day to day, wearying herself with little Claude, and +stitching away, as though she cared for nothing beyond. Wouldn't she +enjoy being rich, and sending things to her family! Why, the delight +she had over that common grey plaid that she sent to her aunt was quite +absurd--and quite touching too. It cost her two months' wages at the +very least, but she did not seem to think of that. The only thing that +marred her happiness at all that day was the want of a few pence that +would have enabled her to buy a warm pair of slippers to go with the +shawl. She doesn't seem to think of herself. I wonder why?" + +And Gertrude watched her still, thinking her often needlessly particular +in the performance of small duties, and losing patience now and then, +when these things interfered with her wishes. But the more she watched +her daily life the more sure she felt that Christie had some secret of +sweet peace which she had not yet found. She knew that her strength and +cheerfulness daily renewed came from none of the helps to which one in +her circumstances might naturally look. It was not the knowledge that +she was valued, nor the feeling that little Claude was beginning to love +her dearly, that sustained her; though Gertrude could see that these +were pleasant and precious to the little maid. It was not even the +thought of home, or Effie's letters, or the pleasant word they brought +of how she was missed and how they wished her with them. It was not the +hope of the time when they should all be together again. To these +ardent young people this re-union seemed by no means impossible, or even +distant. With Gertrude's help, Christie often built castles in the air, +about a farm which was to be the wonder of the country-side, where they +were all to live together, and where Gertrude herself was to pass many a +pleasant day. + +But it was not this, nor all of these, that brought the look of sweet +contentment to that pale face, when she thought herself quite +unobserved. It was there sometimes when she was wearied. She was not +naturally hopeful or cheerful. She had none of that happy +self-confidence which makes burdens light and causes difficulties to +disappear. The source of her courage and patience was out of herself. +Her gentle cheerfulness, flowing evenly through long days and weeks, +sprang from some unseen fountain, pure and free and never-failing. + +Sometimes it came into the young lady's mind that Christie's constant +study of her little Bible had something to do with her being so +different from any one she had ever known before. But both of them were +a little shy about speaking of these things. They talked about the +histories, and even about the doctrines, of the Bible. The stories that +little Claude so delighted in all came from the Bible; and Christie had +no shyness in speaking to him. To these stories, and the simple +comments made on them, Gertrude sometimes listened when she seemed to be +occupied with far other matters, and she would have liked very much to +have heard more on some of the themes of which these conversations gave +her only a hint. But Christie seldom talked about herself. It was only +by slow degrees that she came to understand the secret of her content. + +Coming one night later than usual into the upper nursery, she found +Christie sitting with her little Bible in her hand. She shut it as +Gertrude sat down beside her, but she did not put it away. + +"I suppose it is too late to begin to read anything now?" said Gertrude. +"I have been helping Miss Atherton to dress. You should have seen her! +Her dress was splendid--too splendid for so small a party, mother +thought. I wish I had called you to see her." + +"I wish you had, indeed," said Christie, with real interest, for she was +a great admirer of anything pretty. "I should like to have seen her. +She is beautiful always." + +"Yes, but dress makes a difference even in beautiful people. I have +seen ladies who looked quite plain at home by daylight, who were thought +great beauties by those who only saw them at parties. But Miss Atherton +is always beautiful. She will shine to-night." + +Gertrude sat for a little while gazing into the fire. + +"Would you like to have gone with her?" asked Christie. + +"No, I think not; I am sure not. I was asked, you know, and I dare say +mother would not have objected to my going. But I find these parties +very stupid." + +"Miss Atherton does not find them stupid, I should think." + +"Miss Atherton! Oh, no! But she is quite different. I dare say I +should like them well enough too, if I were quite grown up, and a belle +like her. But one like me is only in the way in such a place, unless +she sits quiet in a corner. That is all very well for a little time, +but it soon becomes stupid enough." + +"But you are not a little girl. You are fifteen," said Christie. + +"Yes, I am too old to be contented with a seat in a corner, so I don't +like parties yet. And I do believe father thinks it is because I am so +sensible." + +Christie could not help laughing at the half-grave, half-comic way in +which this was spoken. + +"It must be very pleasant to be a belle, however," continued Gertrude, +meditatively, "to have all eyes fixed on you in admiration, and to +eclipse all the rest of the stars." + +"But that doesn't often happen, except in books, I fancy," said +Christie. + +"Well, I suppose not. It couldn't happen very often. But it must be +delightful when it _does_ happen. Don't you think so?" she added, as +Christie's face grew grave. "Wouldn't you like to shine, as Miss +Atherton will, at the Youngs' to-night?" + +"You forget I don't know about these things," said Christie. + +"Nonsense! You can imagine how it would seem. I can imagine how it +would seem to be drawn over the snow by reindeer, or to be carried away +in a balloon. Now, tell me--wouldn't you like to be beautiful and rich, +and admired by everybody?" + +"I can imagine something I would like far better." + +"What, the model farm, and to live at home? Oh, but if you are to wish, +you know, you may as well wish for riches and beauty and all the rest at +once! You would never stop short at your farm and contentment, if you +had your wish." + +Christie shook her head. "I think I would not wish at all." + +"Do you mean that you are so satisfied with your lot that you would not +have it different if your wish could change it?" asked Miss Gertrude, in +some surprise. + +Christie hesitated a moment. + +"I mean that I don't know what is best for me or for those I love, and +He who has appointed our lot does; and so all things are best as they +are." + +"Do you mean that you would rather be as you are, living away from home, +among strangers, poor and not very strong, than to have all that we +sometimes talk about, and to be able to be benevolent and live at home +with your sisters?" + +"Ah, that would be very pleasant; at least, it seems so now. But still +it might not be best for us. If it would be best, we should have it so, +I am quite sure." + +Gertrude opened her eyes in amazement. + +"But I don't know what you mean by _best_!" she said, presently. + +"Don't you?" said Christie, smiling a little. "Well, I am not good at +explaining things. I don't mean what is pleasantest just now, but what +is really best for us all, now, and--and afterwards." + +"Do you mean to say that you are better off here as Claude's nurse than +you would be if you were to live at home, or go to school, as you were +wishing you could the other day? If you had your choice, is that what +you would choose?" + +"Oh, I don't speak about a choice. I am content not to choose; at +least, almost always I am content. I know it is best for me to be here, +or I shouldn't be here." + +"But, do you know, that seems to me quite absurd. Why, according to +that, everybody is just in the right place. No one ought to have any +wish to change, even to be better. All the world is just as it ought to +be." + +"I can't tell what is best for all the world and everybody," said +Christie, gravely. "I was only speaking of myself and Effie, and the +rest at home." + +"But I suppose what is true for you is true for other people also--for +me, for instance! Don't you think I have anything left to wish for? Do +you think I am in the very best place I could be in for my happiness now +and always?" + +"I don't know," said Christie, looking wistfully into her face. "I hope +so. I cannot tell." + +"But what makes you so sure in your own case, then, if you can't tell in +mine? I think few people would hesitate as to which of us is most +happily placed. What makes you so sure of yourself?" + +Christie did not reply for a moment. She was slowly turning over the +leaves of her Bible. When at last she stopped, it was to read softly: + +"`For a man's life consisteth not in the abundance of the things which +he possesseth.'" + +And, farther on: + +"`Consider the ravens: for they neither sow nor reap; which neither have +storehouse nor barn; and God feedeth them: how much are ye better than +the fowls?' + +"`Consider the lilies how they grow: they toil not, they spin not; and +yet I say unto you, that Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like +one of these.' + +"`If then God so clothe the grass, which to-day is, and to-morrow is +cast into the oven, how much more will He clothe you, O ye of little +faith!'" + +Gertrude had half expected some such answers. She did not speak, but +watched her as she continued to turn the leaves. She read again: + +"`And we know that all things work together for good to them that love +God.'" + +"That is all very well," she said; "but that is for one as well as +another, for me as well as you. And besides, people don't take all +things just as they stand. I am sure all the people I know live as +though their life _did_ consist in the abundance of the things they +possess." + +"Well, I suppose the promise is not good to them," said Christie; "but +that does not hinder its being good to others." + +"Then one need not trouble one's self about what is to happen, according +to that? One may just rest content and let things take their course?" +said Gertrude, incredulously. + +"Yes, that is just what one may do, when one is sure of a right to claim +the promise." + +"But what do you mean by having a right? And why should one have a +right more than another?" asked Gertrude, impatiently. But all the time +she was saying to herself that the quiet little maid before her was one +of those who might be content. + +"I don't mean that any one has a right to claim the fulfilment of any +promise, except the right that God gives. You know the verse says it is +to them that love God for whose good all things work together. God's +people, it means--those who love Him, and those whom He loves." + +Looking into her earnest face, it was not easy for Gertrude to answer +lightly, but in a little while she said: + +"Well, Christians ought to be very happy people according to that." + +"Surely," said Christie, earnestly, "and so they are." + +"Well, I know some of them who don't seem very happy. And they strive +for riches and greatness, and all that, just as though their happiness +depended upon it." + +"But no real child of God does that," said Christie, eagerly. + +"Oh! as to that I can't say. They call themselves Christians." + +"Well, we can't always judge people by just seeing them," said Christie. +"There's many a one who seems to be living just as other folk live, and +going the round that other folk go, and all the time he may be really +very different. I am not good at speaking about these things, but I +know that to a child of God His simple promise is worth more than houses +or lands, or anything that this world can give. No; we have nothing to +fear. Only we forget and grow desponding." + +The last words were spoken rather to herself than to Miss Gertrude. She +sighed; but her face was quite untroubled as she rose, and laying down +her Bible, began to arrange the things in the room. + +"You always say, `child of God,'" said Gertrude, wishing still to +prolong the conversation. "Does that mean just a Christian, or does it +mean something more?" + +"Yes. `As many as received Him, to them gave He power to become the +sons of God, even to them that believe on His name.' Yes, it means just +the same. You see, it seems to bring us very near to Him, speaking of +Him as a Father, and of Christ as an Elder Brother. You know a child +will never want for anything that a loving father has to give, if it is +for his good; and so surely the children of God may well rest content +with what He appoints for them. The only wonder is that they are ever +otherwise than content." + +Gertrude made no reply, and there was a long silence. + +"`A child of God.' `Content with what He sends them.' There is +something wonderful in it. She is one of them, I dare say; and that is +what makes her so different from almost any one I know. I wish I could +understand it. It must be worth a great deal to know that one is a +child of God. I wish she could tell me more about it." + +But Christie did not seem inclined to say more on any subject that +night. She moved here and there in silence, putting things to rights in +the room. Gertrude rose at last. + +"That is a hint that it is time for me to go," she said. + +Christie laughed. + +"Well, yes. You know Mrs Seaton was displeased to find us sitting up +the other night when she came home. It is nearly ten." + +"Oh, she won't be home to-night till the small hours have struck. Miss +Atherton will take care of that. There is no fear of her finding us up +to-night." + +There was an expression of surprise on Christie's countenance. + +"Oh, I know very well what you mean. That makes no difference, you +would say. Well, I suppose we must do what she would wish, the same as +if she were here, though I don't feel the least sleepy. Good-night." + + + +CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. + +THE CURE FOR A BAD TEMPER. + +The first days of winter passed away rapidly. Gertrude continued to +watch Christie's daily life, and to draw her own conclusions from what +she saw. Humble, patient, and self-denying she always saw her, and +almost always she was peaceful and happy. Not quite always; for +Christie was not very strong, and had her home-sick days, and was now +and then despondent. But she was rarely irritable at these times. She +was only very quiet, speaking seldom, even to little Claude, till the +cloud passed away. And when it passed it left the sunshine brighter, +the peace of her trusting heart greater than before. + +It is not to be supposed that Gertrude watched all this with no thought +beyond the little nurserymaid. When she had settled in her own mind +that it was her religion which made Christie so different from most of +the people with whom she had come in contact, she did not fail to bring +into comparison with her life the lives and professions of many who +wished to be considered Christians. This was not the wisest course she +could have taken, but happily she went farther than this. Comparing her +own life and conduct with that of Claude's nurse, she did not fail to +see how far it fell short. + +There was nothing very difficult in Christie's daily duties. She had no +opportunities for doing great things, or for bearing great trials. But +seeing her always as she saw her, Gertrude came to feel that the +earnestness, the patience, the self-forgetfulness, with which all her +little duties were done, and all her little disappointments borne, would +have made any life beautiful. And seeing and feeling all this, there +gradually grew out of her admiration a desire to imitate what seemed so +beautiful in the little maid; and many a time when she was disappointed +or angry did the remembrance of her humble friend help her to +self-restraint. With a vague idea that Christie's power came from a +source beyond herself, she groped blindly and only half consciously for +the same help. She studied in secret the Bible that seemed to be so +precious to her, and she prayed earnestly--or she believed she prayed-- +to be made wise and strong and self-denying, and in short, did what +might be done to build up a righteousness for herself. + +Of course she failed, and then came discouragement and despondency; and +while this mood lasted, all the days in the upper nursery were not happy +ones. For Gertrude, vexed with herself and her failure, grew impatient +and exacting with all the world; and as all the world was not at the +young lady's command, a great deal of her discomfort was visited on +Christie. + +As for Christie, she was very patient and forbearing with her, waiting +till her unkind moods were over, not answering her at all, or waiting +and watching for an opportunity to win her from an indulgence of her +spleen. Sometimes she succeeded, sometimes her gentleness served to +irritate the wayward girl to sharper words or greater coldness. But +save by silence, or a look of grieved surprise, her unkindness was never +resented. + +A half perception of how it was with the young lady helped her greatly +to endure her petulance. She longed to help her, but she did not know +how to do so by words. So she prayed for her and had patience with her, +saying to herself, if Miss Gertrude was in earnest to do right, God +would guide her to Himself in time. + +"Do you know you speak to me just as you speak to Claude when he is +fretful and naughty," said Gertrude one day, when she had been more than +usually irritable and unhappy. + +"Do I?" said Christie, looking up, gravely; but she smiled brightly +enough when she saw by Gertrude's face that the cloud was passing away +for this time. + +"Yes. If you would pat me gently, and smooth my hair, and offer to tell +me a story, the illusion would be complete. Why don't you tell me to +take myself and my books down-stairs? I am sure you must be sick of the +sight of me." + +Christie laughed, and shook her head. + +"Come, now, confess that you were just saying to yourself, How cross and +unreasonable she has been all day!" + +"No; I was wondering what could be vexing you, and wishing I could help +you in some way." + +"There is nothing vexing me that you can help. It is just my nature to +be cross and disagreeable. I don't suppose there's any help for that." + +Christie laughed quite merrily now. + +"It's a wonder I never found out that was your nature before." + +"Oh, well, you are finding it out now. I only found it out lately +myself. I never in all my life tried so hard to be good and patient and +self-denying, and I was never so bad in all my life. There are times +when I quite hate myself; and I am sure I shouldn't wonder if you were +to hate me too." + +She had been gazing moodily into the fire, but she turned as she said +this, and met the wistful, almost tearful, eyes of Christie fixed upon +her. + +"I wish you could tell me something to do," she added. "You know so +much more about these things than I do." + +Christie shook her head with a sigh. + +"Oh, no; I know very little; and even what I know I can't speak about as +other people can. You must have patience with yourself,"--"and pray," +she would have added; but Miss Gertrude cut her short. + +"Oh, yes! it is easily said, `have patience.' I would give a great deal +to be naturally as gentle and patient and even-tempered as you are." + +"As I am!" said Christie, laughing; but she looked grave in a moment. +"That shows how little you know of me, if indeed you are not mocking me +in saying that." + +"No; you know very well I am not mocking you now, though I was a little +while ago. I don't think I have seen you angry since you came here-- +really angry, I mean." + +"Well, no, perhaps not angry. Do you really think I am gentle and +even-tempered?" she asked, suddenly, turning her face towards her. "I +am sure I used not to be. But then I have so little to try me now." + +"Well, I think you have had enough just for to-day, what with the boys +and with me. But if you were not always patient and good, what changed +you? What did you do to yourself? Tell me about it, as Claude would +say." + +"Oh, I don't know what I could tell," said Christie, in some +embarrassment. "I only mind what a peevish, good-for-nothing little +creature I was. The others could have had little pleasure with me, only +they were strong and good-tempered and didn't mind. Even to Effie I +must have been a vexation; but mother gave me to her care when she died, +and so she had patience with me. I was never well, and my mother +spoiled me, they said. I'm sure it was a sad enough world to me when +she died. And then my aunt came to live with us, and she was so +different. And by and by we came to Canada, and then everything was +changed. I mind, sometimes, if a body only looked at me I was in a pet. +I was not well, for one thing, and I used to fancy that my aunt liked +me less and had less patience with me than with the rest; and no wonder, +when I think of it. Effie was good and kind to me always, though I must +have tried her many a time." + +"Well," said Miss Gertrude, "but you don't tell me what changed you." + +"Well, I can't tell. I believe I was never quite so bad after the time +Effie gave me my Bible." And she gave Miss Gertrude the history of the +miserable day with which our story commenced--of her trying to pray +under the birch-tree by the brook, of Effie's coming home with the +book-man, and of their walk to the kirk and the long talk they had +together. + +"And it was soon after that that my father was hurt and my aunt grew ill +again. We had a very sorrowful winter. But there is one good thing in +having real trouble to bear; one doesn't fret so much about little +things, or about nothing at all, as I used to do. I think that winter +was really happier to me than any time I had had since my mother's +death. I was with my father a great deal towards the end; and though he +was so ill and suffered so much, he was very kind and patient with me." + +There was a long pause before Christie could go on again, and she rather +hurried over the rest of her tale. + +"After he died we left the farm. I came here with Annie. I was very +home-sick at first. Nothing but that I couldn't bear to go home and +depend on Aunt Elsie kept me here. I thought sometimes I must die of +that heart-sickness, and besides, I made myself unhappy with wrong +thoughts. In the spring Annie went away. I couldn't go, because Mrs +Lee and the children were ill; you mind I told you about that. I was +unhappy at first; but afterwards I was not, and I never was again--in +the same way, I mean." + +The work she had been busy upon dropped from her hands, and over her +face stole the look of peace and sweet content that Gertrude had so +often wondered at. For a little while she sat quite still, forgetting, +it seemed, that she was not alone; and then Gertrude said, softly. + +"Well, and what then?" + +Christie drew a long breath as she took up her work. + +"Well, after that, something happened. I'm afraid I can't tell it so +that you will understand. It seems very little just to speak about, but +it made a great difference to me. I went to the kirk one day when a +stranger preached. I can't just mind the words he said, at least I +can't repeat them. And even if I could I dare say they would seem just +common words to you. I had heard them all before, many a time, but that +day my heart was opened to understand them, I think. The way that God +saves sinners seemed so plain and wise and sure, that I wondered I had +never seen it so before. I seemed to see it in a new way, and that it +is all His work from beginning to end. He pardons and justifies and +sanctifies, and keeps us through all; and it seemed so natural and easy +to trust myself in His hands. I have never been very unhappy since that +day, and I don't believe I shall ever be very unhappy again." + +There was a long silence. Miss Gertrude was repeating to herself, over +and over again: + +"His work, from beginning to end! He pardons, justifies, sanctifies, +and saves at last." + +So many new and strange thoughts crowded into the young girl's mind that +for the moment she forgot Christie and her interest in all she had been +saying. Word by word she repeated to herself, "pardons," "justifies," +"sanctifies," "saves." + +"I cannot understand it." And in a little while, bewildered with her +own speculations, she turned from the subject with a sigh. + +"Well, and what else?" she said to Christie. + +"Oh, there is no more. What were we speaking about? Oh, yes; about +having patience. Well, when one has a great good to fall back upon, +something that cannot be changed or lost or taken from us, why, it is +easy to have patience with common little things that cannot last long +and that often change to good. Yes, I do think I am more patient than I +used to be. Things don't seem the same." + +It filled Gertrude with a strange unhappiness to hear Christie talk in +this way. The secret of the little maid's content appeared so +infinitely desirable, yet so unattainable by her. She seemed at once to +be set so far-away from her--to be shut out from the light and pleasant +place where Christie might always dwell. + +"I don't understand it," she repeated to herself. "If it were anything +that could be reasoned out or striven for, or even if we could get it by +patient waiting. But we can do nothing. We are quite helpless, it +seems." + +In her vexed moments Gertrude sometimes took pleasure in starting +objections and asking questions which Christie found it difficult to +answer. + +"It is all real to her, though. One would think, to see her sitting +there, that there is nothing in the world that has the power to trouble +her long. And there really is nothing, if she is a child of God--as she +says. What a strange thing it is!" + +She sat watching the little absorbed face, thinking over her own vexed +thoughts, till the old restless feeling would let her sit no longer. +Rising, she went to the window and looked out. + +"What a gloomy day it is!" she said. "How low the clouds are, and how +dim and grey the light is! And listen to the wind moaning and sighing +among the trees! It is very dreary. Don't you think so, Christie?" + +Christie looked up. "Yes, now that you speak of it, it does seem +dreary; at least, it seems dreary outside. And I dare say it seems +dreary in the house to you. Have they all gone out?" + +"Yes; and there is to be no six o'clock dinner. They are to dine in +town and go to some lecture or other. I almost wish I had gone." + +"I promised Claude that if he was very good he should go down to the +drawing-room, and you would sing to us," said Christie. "We must air +the nursery, you know." + +"I have been very good, haven't I, Tudie?" said the little boy, looking +up from the pictures with which he had been amusing himself. + +"Very good and sweet, my darling," said Gertrude, kneeling down by the +low chair on which her little brother sat. She put her arms around him, +and drawing his head down on her breast, kissed him many times, her +heart filling full of tenderness for the fragile little creature. The +child laughed softly, as he returned her caresses, stroking her cheeks +and her hair with his little thin hand. + +"You won't be cross any more, Tudie?" he said. + +"I don't know, dear. I don't mean to be cross, but I dare say I shall +be, for all that." + +"And will you sing to Christie and me?" + +"Oh, yes; that I will--to your heart's content." + +She had taken him in her arms, and was sitting with him on her lap, by +this time; and they were silent, while Christie moved about the room, +putting things away before they should go down-stairs. + +"Christie," said Gertrude, "do you know I think Claude must be changed +as you say you are? He is so different from what he used to be!" + +Christie stood quite still, with the garment she had been folding in her +hands. + +"He is much better," she said. "He does not suffer as he used to do." + +"No. Well, perhaps that is it. Do you think he is too young to be +changed? But if the change is wrought by God, as you say it is, how can +he be too young?" + +Christie came and knelt beside them. + +"I don't know. I suppose not. You know it is said, `Suffer the little +children to come unto Me.'" + +The little boy looked from one to the other as they spoke. + +"It was Jesus who said that--Jesus, who opened the eyes of the blind +man. And He loved us and died for us. I love Him dearly, Tudie." + +The girls looked at each other for a moment. Then Christie kissed his +little white hands, and Gertrude kissed his lips and his shining hair, +but neither of them spoke a word. + +"Now, Tudie, come and sing to Christie and me," said the child, slipping +from her lap, and taking her hand. + +"Yes; I will sing till you are weary." And as she led him down-stairs +and through the hall, her voice rose clear as a bird's, and her painful +thoughts were banished for that time. + +But they came back again more frequently and pressed more heavily as the +winter passed away. She put a restraint on herself, as far as Christie +and her little brothers were concerned. When she felt unhappy or +irritable, she stayed away from the upper nursery. She would not +trouble Christie any more with her naughtiness, she said to herself; so +at such times she would shut herself in her room, or go out with her +mother or Miss Atherton to drive or pay visits, so as to chase her +vexing thoughts away. But they always came back again. She grew silent +and grave, caring little for her studies or her music, or for any of the +thousand employments that usually fill up the time of young people. + +Even Clement was permitted to escape from the discipline of lessons to +which he had been for some time condemned during at least one of Miss +Gertrude's morning hours. She no longer manifested the pride in his +progress and in his discipline and obedience which had for some time +been a source of amusement and interest to the elder members of the +family. Master Clement was left to lord it over Martha in the lower +nursery as he had not been permitted to do since his mother's visit to +the sea-side. + +"What ails you, Gertrude?" said Mrs Seaton, one Sabbath afternoon. +"Are you not well? What are you thinking about? I declare, you look as +if you had not a friend in the world!" + +Gertrude was sitting with her chin leaning on her hand and her eyes +fixed on the grey clouds that seemed to press close down on the tops of +the snow-laden trees above the lawn. It was already growing dark, and +the dreariness of the scene without was reflected on the girl's face. +She started at the sound of her mother's voice. + +"I am quite well," she said, coming towards the fire, slightly +shivering, "but somehow I feel stupid; I suppose just because it is +Sunday." + +"That is not a very good reason, I should think," said Mrs Seaton, +gravely. "What were you thinking about?" + +"I don't know; I have forgotten. I was thinking about a great many +things. For one thing, I was thinking how long the winter is here." + +"Why, it is hardly time to think about that yet," said Miss Atherton, +coming forward from the sofa where she had been sitting; "the winter is +hardly begun yet. For my part, I like winter. But," she added, +pretending to whisper very secretly to Miss Gertrude, "I don't mind +telling _you_ that I get a little stupid on Sunday myself." + +"Frances, pray don't talk nonsense to the child," said Mrs Seaton. + +"It is not half so much of a sin to talk nonsense as it is to look glum, +as Gertrude does. What ails you, child?" + +Gertrude made no answer. + +"Are you unwell, Gertrude?" asked Mrs Seaton. + +"No, mother; I am perfectly well. What an idea!" she said, pettishly. + +"She looks exactly like her Aunt Barbara," said Miss Atherton. "I +declare, I shouldn't be surprised if she were to turn round and propose +that I should read that extraordinary book I saw in her hand this +morning! She looks capable of doing anything in the solemn line at this +moment." + +Gertrude laughed, but made no answer. + +"You do not take exercise enough," said Mrs Seaton. "You have not been +like yourself for a week." + +"I dare say that is it, mamma." + +"Of course she is not like herself!" said Miss Atherton. "She is +exactly like her Aunt Barbara. Gertrude, my dear, you're not thinking +of growing good, are you?" + +"Don't you think it might be of some advantage to the world if I were to +improve a little?" asked Gertrude, laughing, but not pleasantly. + +"Well, I don't know. I am afraid it would put us all out sadly. Only +fancy her `having a mission,' and trying to reform me!" + +"Pray, Frances, don't talk that way," said Mrs Seaton; but she could +not help laughing at the look of consternation the young lady assumed. + +"Ah, I know what is the matter with her!" exclaimed Miss Atherton, just +as the gentlemen came in. "It is your fault, Mr Sherwood. You are +making her as wise as you are yourself, and glum besides. It is quite +time she were done with all those musty books. I think for the future +we will consider her education finished." + +"What is the matter, young ladies? You are not quarrelling, I hope?" +said Mr Seaton, seating himself beside them. + +"Oh, no! It is with Mr Sherwood I am going to quarrel. He and his big +books are giving Gertrude the blues. It must be stopped." + +"I am sorry Miss Gertrude is in such a melancholy state," said Mr +Sherwood, laughing; "but I am quite sure that neither I nor my big books +have had anything to do with it. I have not had an opportunity to +trouble her for a week, and I doubt whether she has troubled herself +with any books of my selection for a longer time than that." + +"Oh, well, you need not tell tales out of school," said Miss Atherton, +hastily, noticing the look of vexation that passed over Gertrude's face. +"I am going to take the refractory young lady in hand. I think I can +teach her." + +"I don't doubt it," said Mr Sherwood, with a smile and a shrug; "but if +I were to be permitted to name a successor in my labours, it certainly +would not be you." + +"Hear him!" exclaimed Miss Atherton, with indignation which was only +partly feigned. "As if I were not to be entrusted with the instruction +of a chit like you! Gertrude, can't you think of something terribly +severe to say to him? Tell him you are to have nothing more to do with +him." + +Gertrude shook her head and laughed. + +"I am very well content with my teacher," she said. + +"And as a general thing, I have been very well content with my pupil," +said Mr Sherwood, looking grave. "I should like nothing better than to +teach her still." + +"Charles, is it decided? Are you going away?" asked Mrs Seaton. + +"Yes, I am going; and the sooner the better, I suppose." + +"If one could really be sure that it is best for you to go," said Mrs +Seaton, with a sigh. "But it is sad that you should go alone, perhaps +to be ill among strangers." + +"By no means. I have no thought of being ill," said Mr Sherwood, +cheerfully. "My going is not altogether, nor chiefly, on account of my +health. This is the best season for my long-talked-of Southern trip, +and I dare say the milder climate will suit me better than the bitter +Canadian winds." + +There was a great deal more said about his going which need not be +repeated. Gertrude listened to all, sadly enough. + +"I know how it will end," she said to herself; "I shall have to go to +school after all." + +She thought at first this was her only cause of regret. But it was not. +Mr Sherwood and she had become much better friends within the last few +months than they used to be. As a general thing, the lessons had been a +source of pleasure to both, and of great profit to Gertrude. In his +capacity of teacher, Mr Sherwood never teased and bantered her as he +had been apt to do at other times. Indeed, he had almost given up that +now; and Gertrude thought it much more pleasant to be talked to +rationally, or even to be overlooked altogether, than to be trilled +with. Besides, though he put a cheerful face on the matter of leaving, +he was ill, and sometimes despondent; and it seemed to her very sad +indeed that he should go away among strangers alone. + +"Will you answer my letters if I write to you? Or will you care to hear +from me?" asked Mr Sherwood, as he bade her good-bye. + +"Oh, yes, indeed! I should care very much. But I am afraid you would +think my letters very uninteresting--such letters as I write to the +girls at home. You would not care for them?" + +"I shall care very much for them. Promise me that you will tell me +everything--about your reading, and your visits, and about your little +brothers, and their nurse even. I think I shall wish to hear about +everything here, when I am so far-away." + +Gertrude promised, but not very eagerly. An impulse seized her to ask +him to forgive all her petulant speeches and waywardness, but when she +tried to do it she could not find her voice. Perhaps he read her +thought in her tearful eyes and changeful face, and grew a little +remorseful as he remembered how often he had vexed her during the first +months of their acquaintance. At any rate, he smiled very kindly as he +stooped to kiss her, and said, earnestly: + +"We shall always be good friends now, whatever happens. God bless you, +my child! and good-bye." + + + +CHAPTER NINETEEN. + +MORE CHANGES. + +But I must not linger with Miss Gertrude and her troubles. It is the +story of Christie that I have to tell. They went the same way for a +little while, but their paths were now to separate. + +For that came to pass which Gertrude had dreaded when Mr Sherwood went +away. It was decided that she should go to school. She was too young +to go into society. Her step-mother, encouraged by Miss Atherton, might +have consented to her sharing all the gaieties of a rather gay season, +and even her father might have yielded against his better judgment, had +she herself been desirous of it. But she was not. She was more quiet +and grave than ever, and spent more time over her books than was at all +reasonable, as Miss Atherton thought, now that no lessons were expected +from her. + +She grew thin and pale, too, and was often moody, and sometimes +irritable. She moped about the house, and grew stupid for want of +something to do, as her father thought; and so, though it pained him to +part with her, and especially to send her away against her will, he +suffered himself to be persuaded that nothing better could happen to her +in her present state of mind than to have earnest occupation under the +direction of a friend of the family, who took charge of the education of +a few young ladies in a pleasant village not far from their home. + +It grieved her much to go. She had come to love her little brothers +better than she knew till the time for parting drew near. This, and the +dread of going among strangers, made her unhappy enough during the last +few days of her stay. + +"I can't think how the house will seem without you," said Christie to +her, one night, as they were sitting together beside the nursery fire. + +Gertrude turned so as to see her as she sat at work, but did not answer +her for a minute or two. + +"Do you know, I was just thinking whether my going away would make the +least bit of difference in the world to you?" she said, at last. + +There was no reply to be made to this, for Christie thought neither the +words nor the manner quite kind, after all the pleasant hours they had +passed together. She never could have guessed the thoughts that were in +Gertrude's mind in the silence that followed. She was saying to +herself, almost with tears, how gladly she would change places with +Christie, who was sitting there as quietly as if no change of time or +place could make her unhappy. For her discontent with herself had by no +means passed away. It had rather deepened as her study of the Bible +became more earnest, and the strong, pure, unselfish life of which she +had now and then caught glimpses seemed more than ever beyond her power +to attain. When she tried most, it seemed to her that she failed most; +and the disgust which she felt on account of her daily failures had been +gradually deepening into a sense of sinfulness that would not be +banished. She strove to banish it. She was indignant with herself +because of her unhappiness, but she struggled vainly to cast it off. +And when to this was added the sad prospect of leaving home, it was more +than she could bear. + +She had come up-stairs that night with a vague desire to speak to +Christie about her troubles, and she had been trying to find suitable +words, when Christie spoke. Her ungracious reply did not make a +beginning any easier. It was a long time before either of them said +another word, and it was Christie who spoke first. + +"Maybe, after all, you will like school better than you expect," she +said. "Things hardly ever turn out with us as we fear." + +"Well, perhaps so. I must just take things as they come, I suppose." + +The vexation had not all gone yet, Christie thought, by her tone; so she +said no more. In a little while she was quite startled by Miss +Gertrude's voice, it was so changed, as she said: + +"All day long this has been running in my mind: `Whosoever drinketh of +the water that I shall give him shall never thirst.' What does it +mean?" + +"Jesus said it to the woman at the well," said Christie. And she added: +"`But the water that I shall give him shall be in him as a well of water +springing up to everlasting life.'" + +"What does it mean, do you think--`shall never thirst'?" + +Christie hesitated. Of late their talks had not always been pleasant. +Gertrude's vexed spirit was not easy to deal with, and her questions and +objections were not always easily answered. + +"I don't know; but I think the `living water' spoken about in the other +verses means all the blessings that Christ has promised to His people." + +She paused. + +"His people--always His people!" said Miss Gertrude to herself. + +"God's Spirit is often spoken of under the figure of water," continued +Christie. "`I will pour water on him that is thirsty!' and in another +place Jesus Himself says, `If any man thirst, let him come unto Me and +drink.' Such an expression must have been very plain and appropriate to +the people of that warm country, where water was necessary and not +always easily got." + +Christie had heard all this said; and she repeated it, not because it +answered Miss Gertrude's question, but because she did not know what +else to say. And all the time she was trying to get a glimpse of the +face which the young lady shaded with her hand. She wanted very much to +say something to do her good, especially now that they were about to +part. The feeling was strong in Christie's heart, at the moment, that +though Miss Gertrude might return again, their intercourse could never +be renewed--at least not on the same footing; and though it hurt her +much to know it, her own pain was quite lost in the earnest desire she +felt in some way or other to do Miss Gertrude good. So, after a pause, +she said, again-- + +"I suppose `to thirst' means to earnestly desire. `Blessed are they who +hunger and thirst after righteousness,' you remember. And David says, +`As the hart panteth after the water-brook, so panteth my soul after +Thee, O God!' And in another place, `My soul thirsteth for Thee.'" + +Gertrude neither moved nor spoke, and Christie went on-- + +"And when it is said of them, `They shall never thirst,' I suppose it +means they shall be satisfied out of God's fulness. Having His best +gift, all the rest seems of little account. `Blessed is the man whom +Thou choosest, and causest to approach near unto Thee, that he may dwell +in Thy courts: he shall be satisfied with the goodness of Thy house, and +of Thy holy temple.' And in another place, `My soul shall be satisfied +as with marrow and fatness, and my mouth shall praise Thee with joyful +lips.'" And then, as she was rather apt to do when deeply in earnest, +breaking into the old familiar Scottish version, she added-- + + "`They with the fatness of Thy house + Shall be well satisfied; + From rivers of Thy pleasures Thou + Wilt drink to them provide. + Because of life the fountain pure + Remains alone with Thee; + And in that purest light of Thine + We clearly light shall see.'" + +She stopped, partly because she thought she had said enough, and partly +because it would not have been easy just then to have said more. Her +face drooped over her work, and there was silence again. + +"Well," said Miss Gertrude, with a long breath, "it must be a wonderful +thing to be _satisfied_, as you call it." + +"Yes," said Christie, softly; "and the most wonderful thing of all is +that all may enjoy this blessedness, and freely, too." + +"I have heard you say that before," said Miss Gertrude; "but it is all a +mystery to me. You say all who will may have this blessedness; but the +Bible says it is the man whom God chooses that is blessed." + +"Well," said Christie, gravely, "what would you have? `By grace are ye +saved through faith, and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God.' +`The gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.' There +is nothing in all the Bible clearer than that. And surely eternal life +is a gift worthy of God to give." + +"But He does not give it to all," said Miss Gertrude. + +"To all who desire it--to all who seek for it in Jesus' name," said +Christie, earnestly. + +"But in another place it says, `No man can come unto Me, except the +Father, who hath sent Me, draw him.'" + +Gertrude did not speak to-night, as she had sometimes done of late, in +the flippant way which thoughtless young people often assume when they +talk on such subjects. Her voice and manner betrayed to Christie that +she was very much in earnest, and she hesitated to answer her; not, as +at other times, because she thought silence was the best reply, but +because she longed so earnestly to say just what was right. + +"This change which is so wonderful must be God's work from beginning to +end, you once said," continued Gertrude. "And since we have no part in +the work, I suppose we must sit and wait till the change comes, with +what patience we may." + +"It is God's work from beginning to end," repeated Christie, +thoughtfully. "We cannot work this change in ourselves. We cannot save +ourselves, in whole or in part. Nothing can be clearer than that." + +"Well?" said Gertrude, as she paused. + +"Why, it would be strange indeed if so great a work was left to +creatures so weak and foolish as we are. None but God could do it. And +if a child is hungry or thirsty or defiled, what needs he to know more +than that there is enough and to spare for all his wants in the hands of +a loving Father? There would be no hope for us if this great change +were to be left to us to work. But the work being God's, all may hope. +I suppose I know what you mean," she added. "I have heard my father, +and Peter O'Neil, and others, speak about these things. Peter used to +say, `If God means to save me He will save me; and I need give myself no +trouble about it.' That is true in one sense, but not in the sense that +Peter meant. I wish I could mind what my father used to say to him, but +I cannot. Somehow, I never looked at it in that way. It seemed to me +such a wonderful and blessed thing that God should have provided a way +in which we could be saved, and then that He should save us freely, +that, it never came into my mind to vex myself with thoughts like these. +I was young, only a child, but I had a great many troubled unhappy +thoughts about myself; and to be able to put them all aside--to leave +them all behind, as it were, and just trust in Jesus, and let Him do all +for me--oh, I cannot tell you the blessed rest and peace it was to me! +But I did not mean to speak about myself." + +"But I want you to tell me," said Gertrude, softly. + +"I cannot tell you much," said Christie, gravely. "I am not wise about +such things. I know there are some who make this a stone to stumble +over--that we can do nothing, and we must just wait. But don't you +remember how it is said, `Seek ye the Lord while He may be found; call +ye upon Him when He is near.' `They that seek Me early shall find Me.' +And in the New Testament, `Ask, and ye shall receive; seek, and ye shall +find.' And Jesus Himself said, `If any man thirst, let him come unto Me +and drink.' And in another place it is said, `The Spirit and the bride +say, Come. And let him that heareth say, Come. And let him that is +athirst come. And whosoever will, let him take the water of life +freely.' + +"Surely all this means something. God would never bid us come unless He +was willing to receive us. Having given His Son to die for us, how can +we doubt His willingness to receive us? Surely no one who is weary and +heavy-laden need stay away, when He bids them come. He says, `I will +heal your backslidings; I will receive you graciously; I will love you +freely. A new heart will I give to you, and a right spirit will I put +within you.' Ah, that is the best of all!" + +There was a pause again, and then Christie added-- + +"I can't say all I wish to say. Though I see all this clearly myself, I +haven't the way of making it clear to others. But there is one thing +sure. It is just those who feel themselves to be helpless that have +reason to hope. `For while we were yet without strength, in due time +Christ died for the ungodly.' Why need any one hesitate after that?" + +Little more was said; but if ever Christie prayed earnestly she prayed +for Gertrude at that hour. And afterwards, when they met again, in +circumstances well calculated to dispel all foolish shyness in speaking +about such things, Gertrude told her that she too was praying as she had +never prayed before. And the happy tears that stood in their eyes as +they spoke afforded good evidence that these petitions, though silent, +had not ascended in vain. + +The days that followed the departure of Gertrude were uneventful ones. +Only one thing happened before spring came to break the quiet routine of +Christie's life. The little boy Claude loved her better every day, but +no better than she loved him. And as time passed on, and his health, +notwithstanding the frequent recurrence of bad days and sudden turns of +illness, continued steadily to improve, the influence for good which his +little nurse and her simple teachings had over him became more apparent +to all the household. + +She was treated by Mrs Seaton with a consideration which she had not +been in the habit of showing her servants. Hitherto the daily drives of +the little invalid had been shared by his mother or Gertrude, while +Christie was expected during their absence to perform such duties in the +nursery as could not well be attended to while the children were with +her. But after Gertrude went away it was usually so arranged that +Christie should go with him. She was growing tall, but she was very +slender; and though she never complained of illness, it was easy to be +seen that she had not much strength to fall back upon. Grateful for her +loving care of her helpless little boy, Mrs Seaton spared her all +possible labour, while she trusted her implicitly in all that concerned +both children. + +"If she were only a little stronger, I should consider myself very +fortunate in having a nurse in every way so suitable for my little boy," +said Mrs Seaton many a time. And many a time, as the spring +approached, Christie said to herself: + +"If I were only a little stronger!" + +The one event that broke the monotony of her life after Miss Gertrude +went away was a visit from her sister Effie. The visit was quite +unlooked for. Christie returned from a walk with Claude one day, to +find her sister awaiting her in the upper nursery. To say that the +surprise was a joyful one would be saying little, yet after the first +tearful embrace, the joy of both sisters was manifested very quietly. +The visit was to be a very brief one. Two days at most were all that +Effie could spare from home and school. But a great deal may be said +and enjoyed in two days. + +"How tall you have grown, Christie!" was Effie's first exclamation, when +she had let her sister go. "But you are not very strong yet, I am +afraid; you are very slender, and you have no colour, child." + +"I am very well, Effie. You know I was always a `white-faced thing,' as +Aunt Elsie used to say. But you-- John was right. You are bonnier than +ever." + +Effie laughed a little, but she looked grave enough in a minute. + +"Are you lame still, Christie? I thought you were better of that." + +"Oh, it is nothing, Effie. It is not the old lameness that used to +trouble me. I fell on the stairs the other day, and hurt my knee a +little, that is all. It is almost well now." + +I could never tell of all the happy talk that passed between the sisters +during those two days, and if I could it would not interest my readers +as it interested them. Indeed, I dare say some of it would seem foolish +enough to them. But it was all very pleasant to Christie. Every +incident in their home life, everything that had taken place in their +neighbourhood since her departure, was fraught with interest to her. +She listened with delight to the detailed account of circumstances at +which Effie in her letters had only been able to hint; she asked +questions innumerable, and praised or blamed with an eagerness that +could not have been more intense had all these things been taking place +under her eyes. + +The sunny side of their home life was presented to Christie, you may be +sure. The straits to which they had sometimes been reduced were passed +lightly over, while the signs of brighter days, which seemed to be +dawning upon them, were made the most of by Effie's hopeful spirit. The +kindness of one friend, and the considerateness of another in the time +of trouble, were dwelt on more earnestly than the straits that had +proved them. "God had been very good to them," Effie said many times; +and Christie echoed it with thankfulness. Nor is it to be supposed that +Effie listened with less interest to all that Christie had to tell, or +that she found less cause for gratitude. + +At first she had much to say about Miss Gertrude and the little boys, +and of her pleasant life since she had been with them. But by little +and little Effie led her to speak of her first months in the city, and +of her trials and pleasures with the little Lees. She did not need much +questioning when she was fairly started. She told of her home-sickness +at first, her longings for them all, her struggles with herself, and her +vexing thoughts about being dependent upon Aunt Elsie. Of the last she +spoke humbly, penitently, as though she expected her sister to chide her +for her waywardness. + +But Effie had no thought of chiding her. As she went on to tell of Mrs +Lee's illness and of her many cares with the children, she quite +unconsciously revealed to her interested listener the history of her own +energy and patience--of all that she had done and borne during these +long months. + +Of Mrs Lee's kindness she could not speak without tears. Even the +story of little Harry's death did not take Christie's voice away as did +the remembrance of her parting with his mother. + +"I am sure she was very sorry to part with me," she said. "Oh, she had +many cares; and sorrows too, I am afraid. And you may think how little +she had to comfort her when she said to me that I had been her greatest +comfort all the winter. She was very good and kind to me. I loved her +dearly. Oh, how I wish I could see her again!" + +"You _will_ see her again, I do not doubt," said Effie, in a low voice. +Christie gave her a quick look. + +"Yes, I hope so--I believe so." + +After a little while, Effie said: + +"If I had known how unhappy you were at first, I think I would have +called you home. But I am not sorry that you stayed, now." + +"No; oh, no. I am very glad I came. I think after Annie went away I +was worse than I was at first for a little while; but I was very glad +afterwards that I did not go with her, very glad." + +"Yes," said Effie, softly. "You mind you told me something about it in +a letter." + +So, shyly enough at first, but growing earnest as she went on, Christie +told her about that rainy Sabbath morning when she went to the kirk, +where Jesus, through the voice of a stranger, had spoken peace to her +soul. + +"I couldna see him with my blind eyes from where I sat. I shouldna ken +him if I were to see him now. But what a difference he made to me! +Yes, I know; it wasna he, it was God's Holy Spirit; and yet I would like +to see him. I wonder will I ken him when we meet in heaven?" + +Effie could not find her voice for a moment, and soon Christie went on: + +"After that everything was changed. It seemed like coming out of the +mist to the top of the hill. Do you mind at home how even I could get a +glimpse of the sea and the far-away mountains, on a fair summer morning? +Nothing was so bad after that, and nothing will ever be so bad any +more. I don't think if even the old times were to come back I should +ever be such a vexation to you again, Effie." + +"Would you like to go home with me, Christie?" said Effie. Christie +looked up eagerly. + +"Yes; for some things very much, if you thought best. I am to go in the +summer, at any rate. Would you like me to go now, Effie?" + +"It is not what I would like that we must think about. If I had had my +way, you would never have left home. Not that I am sorry for it now, +far from it; and though I would like to take you with me--indeed, I came +with no other thought--yet, as there is as good a reason for your +staying as there ever was for your coming, and far better, now that you +are contented, dear, I am not sure that I should be doing right to take +you away before summer. They would miss you here, Christie." + +"Yes," said Christie, with a sigh, "I dare say they would. But I must +go home when summer comes, Effie. Why, it is more than a year and a +half since I have seen any of them but Annie and you." + +"Yes," said Effie, thoughtfully. She was saying to herself that for +many reasons it was better for Christie to stay where she was, for a +time at least. She had kept the sunny side of their home life in +Christie's view since she had been there. But it had another side. She +saw very plainly that Christie was more comfortably situated in many +ways than she could possibly be at home, to say nothing of the loss of +the help she could give them, and the increase of expense which another +would make in their straitened household. + +Yet there was something in Christie's voice that made her heart ache at +the sad necessity. + +"I don't believe it will grieve you more to stay than it will grieve me +to go home without you," she said, at last. "I have been trying to +persuade myself ever since I came here that I had better take you home +with me. But I am afraid I ought to deny myself the happiness." + +It was not easy to say this, as was plain enough from the tears that +fell on Christie's head as it sank down on her sister's breast. +Christie had rarely seen Effie cry. Even at the sad time of their +father's death, Effie's tears had fallen silently and unseen, and she +was strangely affected by the sight of them now. + +"Effie," she said, eagerly, "I am quite content to stay. And I must +tell you now--though I didna mean to do so at first, for fear something +might happen to hinder it--Mrs Seaton said one day, if Claude still +grew better, she might perhaps send him with me for a change of air, and +then I should be at home and still have my wages to help. Wouldna that +be nice? And I think it is worth a great deal that Mrs Seaton should +think of trusting him with me so far-away. But he is better, and I have +learned what to do for him; and he is such a little child we need make +no difference for him at home. Would you like it, Effie?" + +Yes, Effie would have liked anything that could bring such a glow to her +sister's face; and she entered into a discussion of ways and means with +as much earnestness as Christie herself, and they soon grew quite +excited over their plans. Indeed, all the rest of the visit was passed +cheerfully. Mrs Seaton, after seeing and talking with Effie, confirmed +the plan about sending Claude with Christie in the summer, provided it +would be agreeable to them all. + +"He has become so attached to her, I hardly know how he could do without +her now," said Mrs Seaton. "And I suppose nothing would make Christie +willing to forego her visit at home when summer comes." + +To tell the truth, Mrs Seaton was greatly surprised and pleased with +the sister of her little nurse. She knew, of course, that Christie had +been what her country-people called "well brought up," and she had +gathered from some of Gertrude's sayings that the family must have seen +better days. But she was not prepared to find in the elder sister that +Christie had mentioned, sometimes even in her presence, a person at all +like Effie. + +"She had quite the appearance of a gentlewoman," said Mrs Seaton. "She +was perfectly self-possessed, yet simple and modest. I assure you I was +quite struck with her." + +The brief visit came to an end all too quickly. The hope of a pleasant +meeting in summer made the parting comparatively easy, and helped +Christie to feel quite contented when she found herself alone. She was +in danger sometimes of falling into her old despondent feelings, but she +knew her weakness and watched against it, and made the most of the few +pleasures that fell to her lot. + +"I won't begin and count the weeks yet," she said to herself. "That +would make the time seem longer. I will just wait, and be cheerful and +hopeful, as Effie bade me; and surely I have good cause to be cheerful. +I only wish I were a little stronger." + +The winter seemed to take its leave slowly and unwillingly that year, +but it went at last. First the brown sides of the mountains showed +themselves, and then the fields grew bare, and here and there the water +began to make channels for itself down the slopes to the low places. By +and by the gravel walks and borders of the garden appeared; and as the +days grew long, the sunshine came pleasantly in through the bare boughs +of the trees to chequer the nursery floor. + +The month of March seemed long; there were many bleak days in it. But +it passed, as did the first weeks of April. The fields grew warm and +green, and over the numberless budding things in the fields and garden +Christie watched with intense delight. The air became mild and balmy, +and then they could pass hour after hour in the garden, as they used to +do when she first came. + +But Christie did not grow strong, though often during the last part of +the winter she had said to herself that all she needed to make her well +again was the fresh air and the spring sunshine. Her old lameness came, +or else she suffered from a new cause, more hopeless and harder to bear. +The time came when a journey to or from the upper nursery was a +wearisome matter to her. Wakeful nights and languid days became +frequent. It was with great difficulty sometimes that she dragged +herself through the duties of the weary day. + +She did not complain of illness. She hoped every day that the worst was +over, and that she would be as well as usual again. Mrs Seaton +lightened her duties in various ways. Martha, the nurse in the lower +nursery, was very kind and considerate too, and did what she could to +save her from exertion. But no one thought her ill; she did not think +herself so. It was the pain in her knee, making her nights so sleepless +and wearisome, that was taking her strength away, she thought; if she +could only rest as she used to do, she would soon be well. So for a few +days she struggled on. + +But the time came when she felt that it would be vain to struggle +longer. After a night of pain and sleeplessness she rose, resolved to +tell Mrs Seaton that she feared she must go home. She was weak and +worn-out, and she could not manage to say what she had to say without a +flood of tears, which greatly surprised her mistress. She soothed her +very kindly, however, and when she was quiet again, she said-- + +"Are you so ill, Christie? Are you quite sure that you are not a little +home-sick with it, too? I do not wonder that you want to see that kind, +good sister of yours, but if you will have patience for a week or two, I +will send Claude with you." + +But Christie shook her head. "I am not at all home-sick," she said. +"And I don't think I am very ill either; but the pain in my knee is +sometimes very bad. It grows worse when I walk about, and then I cannot +sleep. I am afraid I must go home and rest awhile." + +"Is it so very bad?" said Mrs Seaton, gravely. "Well, the doctor must +see it. You shall go to him this very afternoon--or we may as well have +him here. If he thinks there is anything serious the matter, something +must be done for it, whether you go home or not. Don't be anxious about +it. I dare say you will be as well as ever in a day or two." + +But the doctor looked grave when he examined it, and asked some +questions about it, and the fall on the stairs, which seemed to have +brought on the trouble. To Christie he said nothing, but his grave +looks did not pass away when she left the room. + +"She must go home, then, I am afraid," said Mrs Seaton. "I am very +sorry to lose her. I don't know what Claude will do without her." + +The doctor looked grave. + +"Where is her home? Far-away in the country, is it not? It will never +do to let her go away there. She must go to the hospital." + +"The hospital!" exclaimed Mrs Seaton. "Is it so very serious?" + +"It may become very serious unless it is attended to. No time ought to +be lost. Could she go to-day, or to-morrow morning?" + +Mrs Seaton looked very troubled. + +"Must she go? She was brought up in the country. It seems necessary +she should have fresh air. I am afraid her health would suffer from +confinement. Could she not remain here? Of course, if she needs advice +she must not think of going home. But could she not stay here?" + +"It is very kind in you to think of such a thing, but I am afraid she +will need more attention than she could possibly get at this distance +from town. She will be very comfortable there. Indeed, it seems to me +to be her only chance of a speedy recovery." + +"But it seems unkind to send her out of the house, now that she is ill. +I can't bear to do it," said Mrs Seaton. + +"Not at all, my dear madam. It is done every day; and very well it is +that there is a place where such people can be received when they are +ill." + +"But Christie is very unlike a common servant. She is such a gentle, +faithful little thing; the children are so fond of her too." + +"No one knows her good qualities better than I do, after what I saw of +her last winter. But really it is the very best thing that could happen +to her in the circumstances. Shall I tell her? Perhaps it would be as +well." + +Christie was greatly startled when they told her she must go to the +hospital. Her first thought was that she could not go--that she must +get home to Effie and the rest before she should grow worse. But a few +words from the doctor put an end to any such plan. A little care and +attention now would make her quite well again; whereas if she were to go +home out of the reach of surgical skill, she might have a long and +tedious season of suffering--if, indeed, she ever fully recovered. She +must never think of going home now. She must not even think of waiting +till she heard from her sister. That could do no possible good, and +every day's delay would only make matters worse. + +He spoke very kindly to her. + +"You must not let the idea of the hospital frighten you, as though one +ought to be very ill indeed before they go there. It is a very +comfortable place, I can tell you. I only wish I could get some of my +other patients there. They would stand a far better chance of recovery +than they can do with the self-indulgence and indifferent nursing that +is permitted at home. You will be very well there; and if you have to +look forward to some suffering, I am quite sure you have patience and +courage to bear it well." + +Courage and patience! Poor little Christie! The words seemed to mock +her as she went about the preparations for her departure. Her heart lay +as heavy as lead in her bosom. She seemed like one stunned by a heavy +blow. It destroyed the pain of parting with the little boys, however. +She left them quietly, without a tear, even though poor little Claude +clung to her, weeping and struggling to the very last. But her face was +very pale, and her hands trembled as she unclasped his arms from her +neck, and hurried away, saying to herself "Shall I ever see his face any +more?" + + + +CHAPTER TWENTY. + +NEITHER FORGOTTEN NOR FORSAKEN. + +Her first night in the hospital was very dreary. No one can be +surprised to hear that she shed some sorrowful tears. She was not taken +into a public ward, the kindness of Mrs Seaton procured for her a +private room while she should be there. There were two beds in it, but +the other was unoccupied, and after the first arrangements had been made +for her comfort, she was left alone. + +How solitary she felt as she sat listening to the street-noises, and to +the voices and footsteps that came from other parts of the house. The +street was so narrow and so far beneath that she could see nothing that +was passing in it. The weather-beaten roofs and glimpses of dusty +tree-tops that formed the view reminded her of the sorrowful days she +had passed in Mrs Lee's attic-nursery, and a feeling very like the old +miserable home-sickness of that time made her close her eyes and drop +her face upon her hands. + +Poor Christie! She had never prayed half so earnestly that she might be +strong and well again as she now prayed that she might not be left to +fall into an impatient, murmuring spirit. She shrank from the thought +of a renewal of these heart-sick longings as she had never shrunk from +the thought of enduring bodily pain. She prayed with all her heart +that, whatever suffering lay before her, God would give her strength and +patience to bear it--that she might be made willing to abide His time, +with no impatient longings as to what the end might be. + +God has many ways in which He comforts His children. Leaning her tired +head on the low window-sill, Christie slept and dreamed, and in her +dream, peace came to her spirit. A strange, soft light spread around +her, like the gleam she had once seen fall on the sea in the early +morning. Only the sea seemed near now, and there were strange, bright +forms flitting over it, and on the other side, far-away yet near, her +mother beckoned to her. She knew it was her mother. Her smile was the +very same, and the loving look in her eyes. But, oh, she had grown so +beautiful! Gazing and stretching her arms towards her, she seemed +conscious of a sweet and awful Presence, before which the shining sea +and the bright forms, and even her mother's glorified face, vanished. + +_have called thee by thy name. Thou art Mine_. + +_I go to prepare a place for you_. + +Whether the words were spoken, or whether she read them as in a book, or +whether it was only a remembrance of what she knew to be true, she could +not tell, but it brought peace ineffable. + +She woke at the touch of the nurse, with a start and a sigh of +disappointment. But there was more than patience in the smile with +which she answered her kind chiding; and the woman, looking in her face, +kept silent, feeling vaguely that words of encouragement, such as she +spoke often, as mere words of course, to patients under her care, were +not needed here. + +So when Christie rose to a new day in this strange, sad place of +suffering, it was with an earnest desire to be contented and hopeful +during the few weeks she expected to spend in it. It was by no means so +difficult a matter as she at first supposed. She was not confined to +her room, but was permitted at stated times to go with the nurse into +the public wards; and though the sights she saw there saddened her many +a time, she was happy in having an opportunity of now and then doing a +kindness to some poor sufferer among them. Sometimes it was to read a +chapter in the Bible, or a page or two in some book left by a visitor; +sometimes she had the courage to speak a word in season to the weary; +once or twice she wrote a letter for some patient who could not write +for herself. All this did her good; and the sight she had of the +sufferings of others did; much to make her patient in bearing her own. + +Then, too, she could work; and Mrs Seaton had kindly supplied her with +some of the pretty materials for fancy work which Effie and Gertrude had +taught her. In this way many an hour, which would otherwise have been +very tedious, passed away pleasantly and even quickly. She had books +too; and once, during the first month of her stay, Mrs Seaton visited +her, and several times proved her kind remembrance of her by sending her +some little gift--as a bunch of flowers, a book, or some little delicacy +to tempt her variable appetite. Martha came almost every Sabbath, and +from her she heard of the little lads and sometimes of Miss Gertrude. +So the first few weeks passed far more pleasantly and rapidly than she +had thought possible. + +When the doctor decided that she must not wait to hear from her sister +before placing herself under surgical care in the hospital, Christie +intended to write immediately to tell her of her changed prospects, but +when she thought about it again she hesitated. + +"It will only be for a little while," she said. "I will wait for a week +or two at least. A month, or even six weeks, will soon pass; and if I +can write and tell them I am almost well again, it will not be half the +vexation to Effie and the others to know that I am here. I will wait a +little while at least." + +She waited a month and then wrote--not that she was nearly well again, +but hopefully, more hopefully than she felt, for she could not bear that +Effie and the rest at home should be made unhappy about her. So she did +not tell them that she had been there a whole month, and that she was no +better, but rather worse. She told them how kind everybody was to her, +and how the doctor gave her good hopes of soon being as well as ever and +able to get home again. + +"Oh, how glad I shall be when that time comes!" wrote poor Christie. +"But you must not think, Effie, that I am fretful or discontented. +There are many things to make it pleasant for me here that I cannot +write to you about, and the doctors tell me that when I get over this I +shall very likely be better and healthier than ever I was; and whatever +happens, we are quite sure that this trouble was sent to us by One who +cares for us. He has not forsaken me and never will, I am very sure of +that." + +If Effie could have known of all the tears that fell before that letter +was fairly folded and sent away, she would hardly have taken all the +comfort from it that Christie intended she should; for notwithstanding +the doctor's frequent and kind assurances that her knee was doing well, +and that she soon would be as well as ever again, her heart sometimes +began to fail her. She did not think that she was in danger, she did +not doubt but that she should see the green leaves and the wheat-fields +at home. It never came into her mind that month after month, each +growing longer and more painful, might pass before a change should come. +And she never, even in the dreariest days, doubted that all would be +well in the end. + +But six weeks, two months passed, and she grew no better, but rather +worse. The active measures thought necessary to check the progress of +the disease in her limb caused her often great suffering. Her rest was +uncertain, and broken by troubled dreams. It was only now and then that +she was at all able to interest herself in the work that at first gave +her so much pleasure. Even her books wearied her. She was quite +confined to her room now, and, of course, left the greater part of the +time alone. She was not often obliged to keep her bed all day, but +being moved to her chair near the window, she could not leave it again +but with the help of the nurse. Hour after hour she used to sit, +leaning back wearily, listening to the distant sounds in the house or +the street, watching the clouds or the rain-drops on the window if the +day was overcast, or the motes dancing in the sunshine if it were fair. + +Oh, how long these days seemed to her! The leaves were not fully out +when she came in, and now summer was nearly over. She used to think how +the harvest-fields were growing yellow, and how busy all the people at +home would be at work gathering in the grain. The roses had come and +gone. The numberless blossoms of the locust-tree had nodded and +breathed their fragrance in at the nursery window, and faded, and it was +almost time for the few late blossoms whose coming had so surprised her +last year. + +Was it any wonder that many a time her pillow was wet with tears? She +tried not to murmur. The nurse and the doctors, too, thought her very +patient and quiet, and praised and encouraged her, telling her their +hopes that her suffering would not last much longer. But still she grew +weaker every day, far weaker than she knew, for she could not try her +strength now by walking in the hall or climbing the broad stairs that +led to the wards. Yes, she grew weaker. Her appetite quite failed, and +except when the doctor gave her something to ease the pain and soothe +her restlessness, she slept little at night, but dozed in her chair +through the day, starting many a time from a dream of home, or of the +days when she was so happy with Gertrude and little Claude, with a pang +which was always new and hard to bear. + +Thus awaking one day, she opened her eyes to see a grave, kind face +bending over her. She did not recognise it immediately, but raised +herself up to look again, as it was withdrawn. She knew the voice, +though, which said so kindly: + +"My poor child, I fear you have suffered much." + +With a flow of tears such as no one had seen her shed since she came, +she grasped the kind hand that was held out to her. It was only for a +moment, however. + +"I beg your pardon, sir," she said; "I couldn't help it. I am so glad +to see you." + +It was of no use to try to check her tears. They must flow for a minute +or two. + +"You remind me so much of Miss Gertrude and my little lads," she said at +last, with a smile, which was sadder to see than her tears, her +much-moved visitor thought. "I don't often cry, but I couldn't help +it," and her voice broke again. + +"I have just seen them all," said Mr Sherwood. "They are all at the +sea-side, as you know. They are all well; at least little Claude is no +worse than usual. Miss Gertrude made me promise to come to see you. +She never knew, till she joined Mrs Seaton at the sea-side, how it was +with you. And see, she sent you this." + +"I thought she had forgotten me," said Christie, faintly, as she took, +with trembling fingers, a little note he held out to her. She did not +read it, however, but lay quite still with her eyes closed, exhausted +with her tears and her surprise. + +"Mrs Seaton thought you might have gone home by this time," said Mr +Sherwood. "I suppose she did not know you had been so ill. I hope I +may tell Miss Gertrude, when I write, that you will soon be well again." + +"I don't know," said Christie, slowly. "I hope I am not any worse. I +must have patience, I suppose." + +"I have no doubt you are very patient," said Mr Sherwood, hardly +knowing what else to say. + +"I try to be patient, but I am restless with the pain sometimes, and the +time seems so long. It is not really very long. I came in May, and now +it is August; but it seems a long time--longer than all my life before, +it sometimes seems." + +Mr Sherwood did not often find himself at a loss for something to say, +but he sat silent now. There came into his mind what Christie had said +to little Claude in the cedar walk that day, about all things happening +for good, and how Jesus, if He saw that it would be best for him, could +make the little boy strong and well with a word, as He did the blind +man. But it would have seemed to him like mockery to remind her of that +now. + +For in truth the first sight of the girl had startled him greatly. He +had come to the hospital more than half believing that he should find +that she had gone home to her friends well. She was greatly changed; he +would not have known her if he had met her elsewhere. Her face was +perfectly colourless, after the flush which her surprise at seeing him +had excited, had passed away; her eyes seemed unnaturally large, and her +brow far higher and broader than it used to be; and her hand, lying on +the coverlid, seemed almost as white as the little note she held in it. +What could he say to her? Not, surely, that she would soon be well +again, for it seemed to him that she was past any hope of that. + +"You have not read your letter," he said. + +"No; I shall have that afterwards; and it is so long since I saw any one +that I ever saw before. Did Miss Gertrude like her school?" + +"Yes; I think she liked it. She has grown, I think, and she is greatly +improved in many ways." + +"She was always good to me," said Christie, softly. + +"Well, I don't know. She told me she was often very cross and +unreasonable with you," said Mr Sherwood, smiling. + +"Well, sometimes, perhaps. But I loved her. I sometimes wonder if I +shall ever see her again." + +"As soon as she comes home you may be sure of seeing her, and that will +not be long now--unless, indeed, you are better, and should go home +before she comes," he forced himself to add. + +Christie made no reply to that, but in a little while she asked about +the children; and though Mr Sherwood was surprised, he was not sorry +that she did not speak any more about herself till he rose to go away. + +"Must you go?" she asked, wistfully. "When you hear from Miss Gertrude +again, perhaps you will come and tell me about her?" + +"That I will," said Mr Sherwood, heartily; "and I would come before +that if I could do you any good I am sure I wish I could." + +"Oh, you have done me good already. I shall have something to think +about all day--and my letter, besides. I thank you very much." + +Just then her eyes fell on a flower in his button-hole. He took it out +and offered it to her. + +"Oh, I thank you! I didn't mean to ask for it. It will be company for +me all day." + +"Are you quite alone from morning till night? Poor child! No wonder +that the time seems long!" + +"The nurse comes in as often as I need anything. But she thinks, they +all think, it would be better if I were to go into one of the wards. I +can work or read very little now, and the time would not seem so long +with faces to see, even if they are sad faces." + +Mr Sherwood still lingered. + +"Do your friends know that you are here? Do they know how ill you are?" +he asked. + +"Oh, yes; they know I am in the hospital. I have been waiting till I +should be a little better, to write again to Effie. I must write soon. +She will be anxious about me, I'm afraid." + +Her face looked very grave in the silence that followed. Mr Sherwood +would fain have spoken some hopeful words, but somehow they did not come +readily into his mind; and when the nurse at the moment came into the +room, he withdrew. + +But he did not forget the wan face of that suffering child. It followed +him into the sunny street and into the quiet library. Alone and in +company, all day long, he was haunted by the wistful eyes of that +patient girl as no sorrowful sight had ever haunted him before. + +Mr Sherwood was not what could be called a benevolent man, a lover of +his kind. He enjoyed doing a kind act when it came in his way--as who +does not? But that he should go out of his way to do kind things for +people in whom he had no special interest, only that they were in +trouble and needed help, he had not thought his duty. He had had +troubles of his own to bear, but they had not been of a kind that other +people could help much. At any rate, people had not helped him; he had +not sought help. Possibly he would have resented the idea of any one's +bearing his burdens for him, and no doubt he thought that in this sad, +disappointing world, each one must bear his own. He had called at the +hospital because Miss Gertrude had asked him to call, and hoping that he +should find the little nurse already safe at home with her friends; but +however this might be, he had no thought of anything but pleasing his +little cousin in the matter. + +Yet he had borne great and sore troubles in his lifetime--sickness and +sorrow and disappointment. He carried the marks of those troubles +still, perhaps because he had never learned that the way to heal one's +own sorrows is to do what may be done for the healing of the sorrows of +others. Certainly no such thought had ever come into his mind, and he +was quite surprised to find that the pale face and wistful eyes of +Christie still followed him. He did not try to banish the thought of +her as he sometimes tried to banish painful thoughts. He felt deeply +for her. There were few days after that in which Christie did not have +some token of his remembrance. Sometimes it was a bunch of flowers or a +little fruit, sometimes a book or a message from Gertrude. Sometimes he +sent, sometimes he went himself, for the sake of seeing the little pale +face brighten at his entrance. + +After a little time he found her no longer in her solitary room, but in +one of the wards. It was not very large or very full. Many of the +white beds, that stood in rows against the walls, were unoccupied; and +most of the patients seemed not very ill, or on a fair way to recover. +But it seemed to Mr Sherwood a very sad thing indeed that the eyes +which shone with such eager longing when he spoke of the fields and +gardens, or of the hills and valleys that he had seen in his wanderings, +should open day after day upon a scene so dreary. + +What a strange, sad picture of life it seemed to him. There were old +faces and young--faces on which years of sin and sorrow had set their +seal, young faces that looked old, and faces old and worn and weary, yet +growing slowly back into the look they must have had as little children, +as the end drew near. + +There were a few bright faces even there. A young servant-girl occupied +the bed next to Christie on one side. She had been burned severely, but +not dangerously, in saving a child committed to her care from a serious +accident. She suffered much at first, but quite patiently, and in a day +or two was cheerful, even merry, at the thought of getting away to the +country, where her home was. She went away soon, and so did others-- +some joyfully, with recovered health and hope, others to be seen no more +among the living. + +"Do you like this better than to be quite alone?" asked Mr Sherwood one +day, as he sat by Christie's bed, watching the strange, painful scenes +around him. She did not answer for a moment, and her face saddened as +her eye went down the long ward, thinking of the peculiar sorrow of each +of the suffering inmates. + +"For some things I like it better. It is less trouble to the nurse, and +the time does not seem so long. It is very sad, though," she added. +"Even when I am free from pain myself, there is sure to be some one +suffering near me. But I am getting used to it. Folk get used to +anything in time, you know." + +Almost always he left her cheerful, and though her recovery seemed day +by day no nearer, she never seemed to doubt that she would soon be well, +at least she never expressed any doubt to her kind friend till one day +after he had been many times to see her. + +September had come in more sultry and warm than August had been; even +out in the open streets, towards the mountain, the motionless air was +hot and stifling. It was a trying day in the narrow alleys and in the +low parts of the city, where many an invalid lay moaning and wishing for +the night to come. + +In the ward where Christie lay the windows were darkened, and coming out +of the glare of the sun, for a moment Mr Sherwood thought it cool and +pleasant there. It was close and unwholesome, however, as it was +everywhere, and Christie was more restless and feverish than he had ever +seen her. She was now very often that way in the afternoon, she told +him; but when his eyes were accustomed to the dim light, he saw that +there were traces of tears on her flushed cheek, and he noticed that +even now it was all that she could do to keep her voice steady as she +spoke. + +He did not ask her what troubled her; he had an instinctive feeling that +the question would bring back her tears, but he said, cheerfully: + +"You look as if you needed a good sleep. Suppose I read to you a +little?" + +Her Bible lay on the pillow, and he took it up. She laid herself down +wearily, and rested her cheek on her hand. The book opened most readily +at the Psalms, and he read what first met his eye. + +"`They that wait on the Lord shall be as Mount Zion, that cannot be +removed. As the mountains are round about Jerusalem, so the Lord is +round about His people, from henceforth even for ever.'" + +Christie's countenance lighted up with pleasure as he read, and the +tears that had been close at hand flowed freely. It was only a summer +shower, however, and they were soon dried, but the smile remained. Mr +Sherwood looked at her a little surprised. + +"`They that wait on the Lord shall be as Mount Zion, that cannot be +removed,'" she repeated. "Surely that ought to be enough to make me +content." + +"And was it because you had forgotten it that I found you with such a +sad face to-day?" he asked, gravely. + +He read on, while Christie lay quite still, her eyes closed, and Mr +Sherwood thought she slept; but when he stopped reading she opened her +eyes, and thanked him gratefully. She was evidently soothed and +comforted, and Mr Sherwood could not help wondering at the change. + +"I had a letter from my sister Effie, since you were here," said she. + +"I trust you had no bad news? Are all well at home?" + +"They are all well now, but little Will had the scarlet fever, and Effie +couldn't leave him; and now her holidays are over, and she cannot come +to see me." + +"Did you expect her?" + +"I did not expect her; but now her holidays are over, she cannot +possibly come, I know." + +"I fear you must be greatly disappointed!" said Mr Sherwood, kindly. + +"Yes, at first. For a little while I felt as though no one cared for +me, but that was foolish and wrong. If Effie had known how ill I am, +she would have come, though it is such a long way. I am afraid I have +not done right in not telling her." + +"But you cannot mean that your sister does not know that you are here, +and that you are very ill?" said Mr Sherwood, in some surprise. + +"She knows I am here, but she does not know all. I had just written to +her when the doctor told me I must come here for a while, so I waited +till I should be able to tell her I was better. When I wrote I did not +tell her how long I had been here; there was no use in troubling them +all at home, for it would make them very sorry to know I was suffering +all alone, and they cannot spare either time or money to undertake the +journey here. I kept hoping I should soon be better. She thinks, I +suppose, that I am quite well and at my work in the nursery again. But +I am afraid she ought to know just how I am. I am not better, and if +anything were to happen--" + +If any one had asked Mr Sherwood if he thought Christie was likely to +recover, he would hardly have said that her case was a very hopeful one. +But when he heard Christie speaking in this way, his impulse was (as it +too often is in such circumstances) by cheerful and hopeful words to put +the too probable event out of her thoughts, and he said: + +"But you are not to think anything is to happen. Why, we shall have you +ready for a race with Master Claude in the cedar walk before the winter +sets in. At the same time, I do not wonder you are anxious to see your +sister. I wish for your sake she were here." + +Christie shook her head. + +"I am not better, and I don't know what to do. Effie couldn't very well +come, even if I were to ask her; and it would only trouble them all to +know that I am no better after all this time. Still, they would think-- +if anything were to happen--" but she could not finish her sentence. + +Mr Sherwood was much-moved. It seemed only natural to him that the +poor young girl should shrink from the thought of a fatal termination of +her sufferings, though he felt sure that, as far as any one could be +prepared for the mysterious change, Christie was prepared for it. He +longed to say something to soothe and comfort her, but no words came to +his mind. Taking up the Bible, he read the very same portion again: + +"`They that wait on the Lord shall be as Mount Zion, that cannot be +removed;'" and then he added, softly: + +"You are in good hands." + +Christie's face brightened as she turned her bright, tearful eyes upon +him. + +"I know it, I am quite sure of it; and Effie too. I don't know why I +should be anxious and troubled when I have so sure a promise. I am not +strong. I suppose that makes a difference. But I _know_ all will come +out right." + + + +CHAPTER TWENTY ONE. + +THE NIGHT GROWS DARKER. + +But the thing which "might happen," and at the thought of which Christie +shuddered and turned pale, was not what Mr Sherwood supposed it to be. +It was not the natural shrinking from death which all must feel when it +is first impressed upon the mind not only that it is inevitable, but +that it is near. Christie knew that she was very ill. She knew that +she was not growing better, but rather worse. Yet it had never entered +into her mind that possibly she was to die soon. The dread that was +upon her was not the dread of death. I think if she had suddenly been +told that she was going to die, the tidings might have startled her, +because not anticipated; but believing, as she did, that death could not +separate her from her chief treasure, she would not have been afraid. +It was of something else that she was thinking, when she said to her +kind friend that Effie would be shocked if it came to pass. + +She had awakened one day from a momentary slumber into which she had +fallen to hear some very terrible words spoken beside her. She thought +she had been dreaming till she heard them repeated, and then she opened +her eyes to see the kind faces of the attending physician and another +looking at her. + +"You have been asleep," said one of them, kindly and Christie thought +again she must have been dreaming, for they spoke to her just as usual, +praising her patience and bidding her take courage, for she would soon +be well again. She must have been dreaming, she said to herself, twenty +times that day. Nothing so terrible as the dread that was upon her +could possibly be true; and yet the thought came back again and again. + +"I am afraid she must lose it," she thought she heard one of them say. + +"Yes; it looks like that now," as it seemed to her was the reply. + +She could not forget the expression; and during the days and nights that +followed, the remembrance of the words came back, sometimes as a dream, +sometimes as a certainty. Had she been asleep, or was it true that she +must be a cripple all her life? Must she henceforth be helpless and +dependent, when her help was so much and in so many ways needed? Had +her terrible sufferings been all in vain? Were all these restless days +and nights only to have this sorrowful ending? How could she ever bear +it? How could she ever tell Effie and the rest at home? + +Many times in the day, when there was no one near, she determined to ask +the doctor, that she might know the worst or have her fears set at rest, +but she could not find the courage to do so. She did speak to the +nurse, but she knew nothing about the matter, or said she did not, and +quite laughed at her fancies, as she called them. But the fancies still +lingered, and for a week or two the face she turned to meet her friend +was grave and anxious enough. + +He came almost every day now, he hardly knew why. Whatever the cause +might be, he could not but see that his coming was always hailed with +delight. Wherever the charm might be, whether in his voice or in the +words he read, he could not tell; but he saw that his visits soothed her +restlessness, and helped to banish the look of doubt and pain that too +often saddened her face. + +Sometimes he read the Bible, and stranger as he had for many years been +to its sacred pages, he could not help yielding himself to the charm +which the wonderful words he read there must ever have to a thoughtful +mind. But the charm which the words had for his patient listener was +something quite different from this. It was not the grandeur or +sublimity of the style, or even the loftiness of the thought, that made +her listen with such interest. She liked the simplest passages best. +The simple narratives of the evangelists never lost their power to +please her. Some word or promise, in which he saw little beauty, had +often power to excite her deepest emotion, and he could not but wonder +as he saw it. + +He read other books too--little books left by visitors; very foolish +little books he thought them often, and he could not but smile as he +marked the interest with which she listened; but he never by smile or +word intimated to her that he thought them trifling, at least he was +never conscious of doing so. But he sometimes read in the grave, +questioning eyes which Christie turned on him, a doubt whether that +which was so real and so comforting to her was of any value to him. + +He could not but confess to himself that, seen from Christie's point of +view, the subjects discussed in them must seem of grave importance; and +he never lost the feeling, as he sat by her bed, that they had a meaning +to her that was hidden from him. + +Very few words were spoken between them at such times. When Christie +asked a question or made a remark, there was a clearness and simplicity +in her way of speaking, a strength and freshness in what she said, that +often surprised as well as interested him. He did not always understand +her, and yet he could not believe that she was speaking of things too +high for her. + +The thought flashed upon his mind one day, as he sat by her bed. What +if among these things which were revealed to her but hidden from him, +lay the secret of the happiness he had been so long and so vainly +pursuing? There are things hidden from the wise and prudent, and +revealed only to babes--even to such little ones as this suffering +child. + +Looking up as the thought passed through his mind, he met her eyes fixed +wistfully upon him. She withdrew the gaze quickly, in some confusion, +but in a moment looked up again. + +"What is it, Christie? You looked as though you were afraid. I would +read your thoughts. What grave question are you meditating now?" + +Christie smiled. + +"No, I was not afraid. I was wondering what could make you so kind to +me. I need not have wondered, though. I know quite well why it is." + +"Do you? Well, suppose you tell me what you mean by `so kind,' and then +why it is that I am `so kind' to you. I should really like to know," +said Mr Sherwood, laughing. + +"I need not tell you the first," she said, with a smile. "You know that +very well, and it would take me too long to tell all. I think the +reason of your kindness is because God has put it into your heart to be +so. It is one of the ways He takes to help me to bear my troubles." + +The last words were spoken very gravely. + +"Then it seems you don't think I am one of the good people who take +delight in kind offices." + +"I am sure no one could be kinder than you have been to me," she said, +eagerly. + +"But you don't think it is my way to be kind to people generally; I am +not a philanthropist. Is that it?" + +Christie looked puzzled and a little anxious. "Nay, you are not to look +disconsolate about it," said Mr Sherwood, laughing. "It is quite true. +I am not at all like a benevolent person in a book. I was kind to you, +as you call it, first to please my little cousin Gertrude, and then to +please myself. So now you have the secret of it all." + +"Oh, but it is true for all that that God put it into your heart to come +so often," said Christie, with glistening eyes. "Your kindness gives me +double pleasure when I think of it in that way." + +"Well, it may be so," said Mr Sherwood, gravely; "but I don't think it +is generally supposed that God chooses to comfort His little ones by +means of such a person as I am." + +Christie's eyes were fixed wistfully upon him again. + +"Such as you!" she exclaimed, quite unconsciously, as Mr Sherwood +thought, for she said no more just then. + +"I was writing to Effie to-day, and I tried to tell her how good you +have been to me. But I could not. I could never make her understand +it, I know. She would need to see it for herself." + +"My poor child," said Mr Sherwood, smiling, "do you know you are +talking foolishly? and that is a thing you seldom do. You are making a +great deal out of a very little matter. The chances are that you do +quite as much good to me as I shall ever do to you." + +"Oh, I wish I could think so! If I could get my wish for you--" She +paused suddenly. + +"Well, what would you wish for me?" asked Mr Sherwood, still smiling at +her eagerness. "I dare say I should have no more trouble in this world +if you could have your wish." + +Christie shook her head. + +"I don't think I ever wished that for you, and yet I have, too, in a +way; for if that which I ask for you every day were to come to pass, you +_might_ have trouble, but it would never seem like trouble to you any +more." + +"Well, I suppose that would answer every purpose of not having any more +trouble, and you are very kind to wish it. But you say `_ask_'; so I +suppose it is something which is in the giving of your Friend above?" + +"Yes," said Christie, softly; and then there was a pause. + +"And what is it? Is it the `new heart and the right spirit' we were +reading about the other day? That seems to be the very best blessing +that one can have, in your opinion. And do you really think I shall +ever get it?" + +"I hope you will," she answered, eagerly. "I believe you will, if you +only ask for it." + +"Ah, well, I don't know. I have a fancy that your asking will be more +to the purpose than mine." + +"I shall never forget to ask it for you. I have never forgotten it +since--" she hesitated. + +"Since when?" asked Mr Sherwood. + +"Do you remember the day you came into the cedar walk, when I was +telling little Claude the story of the blind man, and what you said to +me that day? I don't think I have ever forgotten since to pray the +blind man's prayer for you." + +Mr Sherwood was greatly surprised and touched. That was long ago. He +had been far-away since then. Once or twice, perhaps, in connection +with the remembrance of his little cousins, the thought of their kind, +quiet nurse had come back to him. And yet she had never in all that +time forgotten to ask for him what seemed to her to be the best of all +blessings. + +"And do you do that for all your friends?" he said. "How came you to +think of doing this for me?" + +"You did not seem very happy, I thought. You seemed like one searching +for something that you could not find; and so I asked that your eyes +might be opened." + +"Well, some day you must tell me how your eyes were opened, and perhaps +that may help me." + +"Oh, no. I have nothing to tell, only I was very miserable often and +discontented and troublesome. Afterwards it was all changed, and I was +at peace." + +She lay quite still, as if she were weary, and when Mr Sherwood spoke +again it was only to say good-bye. + +But afterwards, at different times, she told him of the great happiness +that had come to her through the grace of God, and he listened with an +interest which sometimes increased to wonder. He mused on the simple +recitals of the young girl with an earnestness which he could not +explain to himself, and read the chapters which she pointed out as +having done her good, partly for the pleasure of talking them over with +her, and partly, too, because he began to see in God's Word what he had +never seen in it before. + +But I had no thought of saying all this about Mr Sherwood. It was of +the sad, yet happy days that Christie passed in the hospital that I +wished to write, and they were drawing to a close now. But let me say +just one word more about her friend. It all came to pass as Christie +had been sure it would. The day came when, earnestly as blind +Bartimeus, he prayed, `Lord, that mine eyes may be opened!' And He who +had compassion on the wayside beggar had compassion on him, and called +him out of darkness into His marvellous light. I dare say she knows the +glad tidings now. If she does not, she will know them soon, on the +happy day when the friends shall meet "on the other side of the river." + +One day when Mr Sherwood came, he brought Gertrude with him. She had +been prepared to find Christie very ill, but she had no thought of +finding her so greatly changed. She was scarcely able to restrain her +emotion at the sight of the pale, suffering face that told so sad a +tale, and she was so much excited that Mr Sherwood did not like to go +away and leave them together, as he had at first meant to do. She tried +to say how grieved she was to see Christie so ill, but when she began to +count how many months she had been lying there, her voice suddenly +failed her. + +"Yes; it is a long time," Christie faintly said. But she thought +herself no worse for a few days past. She had suffered much less with +her knee of late, and she was beginning to hope that the worst was +passed. She did not say much more about herself, except in telling how +kind Mr Sherwood had been to her; but she had a great many questions to +ask about the little boys, especially Claude, and about Gertrude +herself, and all that she had been doing since they parted. + +What a contrast they presented, these two young girls. There stood the +one, bright and strong, possessing all that we are wont to covet for +those we love--health and beauty, home and friends, and a fair prospect +of a long and happy life. Sick and sorrowful and alone lay the other, +her life silently ebbing away, her hold on the world and all it has to +give slowly but surely loosening. Yet, in the new light which was +beginning to dawn upon him, Mr Sherwood caught a glimpse of a contrast +more striking still. On the couch before him lay a little suffering +form, wasted and weary, soon to be hidden from the light, little to be +mourned, quickly to be forgotten. But it soon vanished as from that +lowly cot there rose before his gaze a spirit crowned and radiant and +immortal. + +Which was to be pitied? which to be envied? Before one lay life and its +struggles, its trials and its temptations. With the other, these were +past. A step more and the river is passed, and beyond lies a world of +endless glory and bliss. + +They did not linger very long. Promising to bring her back soon, Mr +Sherwood hurried Gertrude away. + +"Cousin Charles," said she, eagerly, as they went down the long passage +together, "we must take her away from this place. Nay, don't shake your +head. Mother will listen to what you say, and she will be willing to do +much for one who did so much for her little boy. Only think of her +lying all these months in that dreary room! Did you not hear her say +she had not seen a flower growing all the summer? Oh, Cousin Charles, +you will surely help me to persuade mother?" + +"My dear," said Mr Sherwood, gravely, "I fear she is not well enough to +be moved. I do not think the physicians would consent to let her be +taken away." + +"But are they making her better? I am sure the fresh air of the country +would do her more good than all their medicines. Oh, such a suffering +face! And her hands, Cousin Charles--did you notice her hands? I am +afraid I have come too late. But she will surely grow better again when +she is taken away from this place. It would kill any one to lie there +long in that great room among all those poor suffering creatures. If I +could only get her away! It would not cost much to take her, with a +nurse, to some quiet place, if we could not have her at the house. I +shall have money of my own some time. Cousin Charles, will not you +speak to mother for me?" She was growing very eager and excited. + +"Hush!" he said, gently. "Nothing but the impracticability of it could +have prevented me from removing her to her own home, for which she has +been pining so sadly. Have patience, and we will try what can be done. +We will speak to the doctor about it." + +The physician was, fortunately, disengaged, and the subject of +Christie's removal suggested to him. But he objected to it more +decidedly now than he had when Mr Sherwood had spoken of it some time +before. It was doubtful whether in her present weak state she could +bear removal, even if she could be as well cared for elsewhere. It was +becoming doubtful whether her constitution could hold out much longer. +Indeed, it could hardly be said to be doubtful. There was just one +chance for her, he said; and then he spoke low, as though he did not +wish Miss Gertrude to hear--but she did. + +"You do not mean that her knee is never to be well again?" she asked, +with a shudder. + +"We have for some time feared so," said the doctor. "Within a day or +two symptoms have appeared which seem to indicate an absolute and speedy +necessity for amputation. Poor little thing! It is very sad for her, +of course." + +"Does she know it?" asked Miss Gertrude, steadying her voice with a +great effort. + +"I think she is not altogether unprepared for it. She must know that +she is not getting better, and I fancy she must suspect the necessity +from something she once said to the nurse. Poor girl! she seems to +grieve quite as much on account of her friends as on her own." + +"Have they been informed of this--of the possible result of her +illness?" asked Mr Sherwood. + +"She has written to them several times during the summer, I believe. +They seem to be very poor people, living at a distance--quite unable to +do anything for her." + +They were soon on their way to meet Mrs Seaton, who had made an +appointment with them, but Miss Gertrude was quite overcome by what she +had seen and heard. + +"Poor Christie! To think that all these weary months of waiting must +end thus! I cannot help thinking we have been to blame." + +"My child, why should you say so?" + +"To think of it coming to this with her, and her friends not knowing it! +Her sister never would have left her here all this time, if she had +thought her in danger. She ought to know at once." + +"Yes; they must be told at once," said Mr Sherwood. "But I fancy, from +what the doctor said, they can't do much for her; and from the poor +little thing herself I have gathered that the only one who could come to +her is her elder sister, on whom the rest seem to be quite dependent." + +"But she must come, too," said Gertrude, eagerly. "That is Effie. +There is no one in all the world like Effie, Christie thinks. Oh, +Cousin Charles, they have not always been poor. And they have suffered +so much--and they love each other so dearly!" + +"Gertrude, my child, there is a bright side even to this sad picture. +Do you think that the suffering little creature, lying there all these +months, has been altogether unhappy?" + +Gertrude struggled with her tears, and said: + +"She has the true secret of happiness." + +"Yes, I am sure of it. Seeing her, as I have, lying on that bed of +pain, I have felt inclined rather to envy than to pity her. She has +that for her own that a kingdom could not purchase--a peace that cannot +be taken from her. I do not believe that even the sad necessity that +awaits her will move her much now." + +His first words had stilled Miss Gertrude quite, and soon she found +voice to say: + +"Not for herself, but for her sisters. I am afraid they will think we +have been very cruel. But it will be well with Christie, whatever +happens." + +"Yes; it will be well with her, I do believe," said Mr Sherwood, +gravely; and neither spoke again till they reached home. + + + +CHAPTER TWENTY TWO. + +A CLOUD WITH A SILVER LINING. + +The shadows were lengthening one September afternoon, when Effie Redfern +closed behind her the door of her school-room, and took her way along +the shady road that led to the cottage which for more than two years had +been her home. The air was mild and pleasant. The leaves on some of +the trees were changing. Here a yellow birch and beech, and there a +crimson maple betrayed the silent approach of winter. But the saddest +of the autumn days had not come. Here and there lay bare, grey fields +and stubble land, with a dreary wintry look; but the low pastures were +green yet, and the gaudy autumn flowers lingered untouched along the +fences and waysides. + +It was a very lovely afternoon, and sending on the children, who were +inclined to lag, Effie lingered behind to enjoy it. Her life was a very +busy one. Except an occasional hour stolen from sleep, she had very +little time she could call her own. Even now, her enjoyment of the +fresh air and the fair scene was marred by a vague feeling that she +ought to hasten home to the numberless duties awaiting her. + +These years had told on Effie. She was hopeful and trustful still, but +it was not quite so easy as it used to be to throw off her burden, and +forget, in the enjoyment of present pleasure, past weariness and fears +for the future. No burden she had yet been called to bear had bowed her +down; and though she looked into the future with the certainty that +these would grow heavier rather than lighter, the knowledge had no power +to appal her. She was strong and cheerful, and contented with her lot. + +But burdens borne cheerfully may still press heavily; and quite +unconsciously to herself, Effie wore on her fair face some tokens of her +labours and her cares. The gravity that used to settle on it during the +anxious consideration of ways and means was habitual now. It passed +away when she spoke or smiled, but when her face settled to repose +again, the grave look was on it still, and lay there like a shadow, as +she passed along the solitary road that afternoon. Her thoughts were +not sad--at least, they were not at first sad. She had been considering +various possibilities as to winter garments, and did not see her way +quite clear to the end of her labours. But she had often been in that +predicament before. There was nothing in it then to make her look +particularly grave. She had become accustomed to more perplexing +straits than little Will's jacket could possibly bring to her, and she +soon put all thoughts of such cares away from her, saying to herself +that she would not let the pleasure of her walk be spoiled by them. + +So she sent her glance over the bare fields and changing woods and up +into the clear sky, with a sense of release and enjoyment which only +they can feel who have been kept close all day and for many days at a +task which, though not uncongenial, is yet exhausting to strength and +patience; but the shadow rested on her still. It deepened even as her +eye came back from its wanderings, and fell on the dusty path she was +treading. + +Amid all the cares and anxieties of the summer--and what with the +illness of the children and their narrow means they had not been few nor +light--there had come and gone and come again a vague fear as to the +welfare of her sister, Christie. Christie's first letter--the only one +she had as yet received from her--did not alarm her much. She, poor +child, had said so little that was discouraging about her own situation, +and had spoken so hopefully of being out of the hospital soon, that they +had never dreamed that anything very serious was the matter with her. +Of course, the fact of her having to go to the hospital at all gave them +pain, but still it seemed the best thing she could have done in her +circumstances, and they never doubted but all would soon be well. + +As the weeks passed on with no further tidings, Effie grew anxious at +times, and wondered much that her sister did not write, but it never +came into her mind that she was silent because that by writing she could +only give them pain. They all thought she must be better--that possibly +she had gone to the sea-side with the family, and that, in the bustle of +departure, either she had not written, or her letter had been mislaid +and never been sent. + +But somehow, as Effie walked along that afternoon, the vague fear that +had so often haunted her came back with a freshness that startled her. +She could not put it from her, as she might have tried to do had she +been speaking to any one of it. The remembrance that it was the night +of the mail, and that, if no letter came, she must endure another week +of waiting, made her heart sicken with impatient longing. And yet, what +could she do but wait and hope? + +"And I must wait cheerfully too," she said to herself, as she drew near +home and heard the voices of the children. "And after all, I need not +fear for Christie. I do believe it will be well with her, whatever +happens. Surely I can trust her in a Father's hands." + +"How long you have been, Effie!" cried her little sister, Kate, as she +made her appearance. "Mrs Nesbitt is here, and Nellie and I have made +tea ready, and you'll need to hasten, for Mrs Nesbitt canna bide long; +it is dark so soon now." + +Effie's face brightened, as it always did at the sight of a friend, and +she greeted Mrs Nesbitt very cheerfully. + +"Mrs Nesbitt has a letter for you, Effie," said Aunt Elsie; "but you +must make tea first. The bairns have it ready, and Mrs Nesbitt needs +it after her walk." + +Effie fancied that the letter Mrs Nesbitt had brought came from some +one else than Christie, or she might not have assented with such seeming +readiness to the proposal to have tea first. As it was, she hastened +Nellie's nearly-completed arrangements, and seated herself behind the +tray. Mrs Nesbitt looked graver than usual, she thought; and as she +handed her her cup of tea, she said, quietly: + +"You have had no bad news, I hope?" + +"I have had no news," said Mrs Nesbitt. "Alexander told me there were +two letters for you in the post, so I sent him for them, and I have come +to you for the news." + +As she spoke she laid the two letters on the table. One was from +Christie, but she broke the seal of the other one first. It was very +short, but before she had finished it her face was as colourless as the +paper in her hand. + +"Well, what is it?" said her aunt and Mrs Nesbitt, in the same breath. +She turned the page and read from the beginning: + + "My dear Miss Redfern,--I have just returned from visiting your sister + at the hospital. I do not think you can have gathered from her + letters how ill she is, and I think you ought to know. I do not mean + that she is dangerously ill, but she has been lying there a long time; + and if you can possibly come to her, I am sure the sight of you would + do her more good than anything else in the world. Christie does not + know that I am writing. I think she has not told you how ill she is, + for fear of making you unhappy; and now she is troubled lest anything + should happen, and her friends be quite unprepared for it. Not that + you must think anything is going to happen,--but come if you can. + + "My dear Miss Redfern, I hope you will not think me impertinent, but + father wishes me to say to you that we all beg you will let no + consideration of expense prevent your coming. It will be such a + comfort to Christie to have you here." + +There was a postscript, saying that the poor girl had been in the +hospital since the end of April. + +"The end of April!" echoed Aunt Elsie and Mrs Nesbitt at once. Effie +said nothing, but her hands trembled very much as she opened the other +letter. I need not copy Christie's letter, we already know all she had +to tell. Effie's voice failed her more than once as she read it. + +Fearing to make them unhappy at home, yet desiring to have them prepared +for whatever might happen to her, the letter had cost Christie a great +deal of anxious thought. One thing was plain enough to all; she was +very ill and a little despondent, and longed above all things to see +Effie and get home again. The elder sister having read it all, laid it +down without speaking. + +"Effie, my dear," said Aunt Elsie, "you will need to go." + +"Yes; I must go. How I could have contented myself all this time, +knowing she might be ill, I am sure I cannot tell. My poor child!" + +Mrs Nesbitt looked at her anxiously, as she said: "My dear bairn, you +have nothing to reproach yourself with. You have had a very anxious +summer, what with one care and another." + +Effie rose with a gesture of impatience, but sat down again without +speaking. She blamed herself severely; but what was the use of speaking +about it now? She took up Christie's letter and read again the last +sentence. + +"It grieves me to add to your burdens, Effie. I hoped to be able to +lighten them, rather. But such is not God's will, and He sees what is +best for us all. I do so long to see you again--to get home. But I +must have patience." + +"Have patience!" she repeated aloud. "Oh, poor child! To think of her +lying there all these weary months! How can I ever forgive myself!" + +She rose from the table hastily. Oh, how glad she would have been to go +to her that very moment. But she could not, nor the next day either. +There were many things to be considered. They were too dependent on her +school to permit her to give it up at once. Some one must be found to +take her place during her absence. Sarah must be sent for at the +neighbouring village, where she had been staying for the last month. +The children and Aunt Elsie must not be left alone. There were other +arrangements to be made, too, and two days passed before Effie was ready +to go. + +She saw Mrs Nesbitt again before she went, and her kind old friend said +to her some of the things she had meant to say that night when the +letters were read. She was able to hear them now. They would have done +no good in the first moments of her sorrow, as Mrs Nesbitt very well +knew. + +"Effie, my bairn," said she, gravely, "you have trouble enough to bear +without needlessly adding to it by blaming yourself when you ought not. +Even if you had known all, you could not have gone to your sister, +except in the sorest need. Has there been a single day when you could +have been easily spared? And you could have done little for her, I dare +say, poor lassie. And you may be sure the Lord has been caring for her +all this time. He has not forgotten her." + +"She says that in her letter many times," said Effie. + +"My dear, there is a bright side to this dark cloud, you may be sure. +Whichever way this trouble ends, it will end well for this precious lamb +of Christ's fold. And you are not to go to her in a repining spirit, as +though, if you had but known, you could have done other and better for +her than the Lord has been doing. We cannot see the end from the +beginning, and we must trust the Lord both in the light and in the +darkness." + +Effie made no answer for a moment. She then said, in a low voice: + +"But I never felt sure that it was right for her to go from home. She +never was strong." + +"But you were not sorry, when you saw her in the winter, that she had +gone. You mind you told me how much she had improved?" + +"Yes; if I had only brought her home with me then. She must have been +worse than I thought. And it must seem to her so neglectful in us to +leave her so all the summer." + +"My dear lassie," said Mrs Nesbitt, gravely, "it is in vain to go back +to that now. It has been all ordered, and it has been ordered for good, +too. The Lord has many ways of doing things; and if He has taken this +way of quickly ripening your little sister for heaven, why should it +grieve us?" + +"But," said Effie, eagerly, "you did not gather from the letter that she +was so very ill? Miss Gertrude said not dangerously, and oh, I cannot +but think she will be better when we get her home again." + +"That will be just as God wills. But what I want to say is this. You +must go cheerfully to her. If, by all this, God has been preparing her +for His presence, you must not let a shadow fall on her last days. It +is a wonderful thing to be permitted to walk to the rivers brink with +one whom God has called to go over--an honour and blessing greatly to be +coveted; and you must not lose the blessing it may be to you, by giving +way to a murmuring spirit. Not that I am afraid for you," she added, +laying her hand on Effie's arm. "All will be well; for I do believe +you, and your sister too, are among those whom God will keep from all +that can really harm. Don't vex yourself with trying to make plain +things which He has hidden. Trust all to Him, and nothing can go far +wrong with you then." + +But it was with an inexpressible sinking of the heart that Effie, when +her hurried journey was over, found herself standing at the door of the +hospital. It was the usual hour when the patients are visited by their +friends; and the servant, thinking she was some one sent by the Seatons, +sent her up to the ward at once, without reference to the doctor or the +matron of the institution. Thus it was that with no preparation she +came upon the changed face of her sister. + +If Effie should live to be a hundred years old, she would never forget +the first glimpse she had of that long room, with its rows of white beds +against the wall. Every one of the suffering faces that she passed +stamped itself upon her memory in characters that can never fade; and +then she saw her sister. + +But was it her sister? Could that face, white as the pillow on which it +lay, be Christie's? One thin, transparent hand supported her cheek; the +other--the very shadow of a hand--lay on the coverlet. Was she +sleeping? Did she breathe? Effie stooped low to listen, and raising +herself up again, saw what almost made her heart cease to beat. + +That which Christie had dreaded all these weary weeks, that which she +could find no words to tell her sister, had come upon her. "I shall be +a cripple all my life," she had written; that was all. Now the thin +coverlet betrayed with terrible distinctness her mutilated form. Effie +saw it, and the sight of it made the row of white beds and the suffering +faces on them turn round. She took one step forward, putting forth her +hands like one who is blind, and then fell to the floor. + +The shock to Effie was a terrible one. For a while she struggled in +vain with the deadly faintness that returned with every remembrance of +that first terrible discovery. She was weary with her journey, and +exhausted for want of nourishment, having eaten nothing all day. Her +very heart seemed to die within her, and the earth seemed to be gliding +from beneath her feet. She was brought back to full consciousness with +a start, as she heard some one say: + +"She ought not to have seen her. She must not see her again to-night. +She must go away and come again in the morning." + +With a great effort she rose. + +"No," she said, quietly and solemnly; "I cannot go away. I shall never +leave her again, so help me God!" + +She rose up, and with trembling fingers began to arrange her hair, which +had fallen over her face. Some one gently forced her into a chair. + +"You are not able to stand. It is in vain for you to make the effort," +said the doctor. Effie turned and saw him. + +"I am tired with my journey," she said, "and I have eaten nothing all +day; but I am perfectly well and strong. I cannot go away. I must see +my sister to-night. It was the surprise that overcame me, but I shall +not be so again." + +There is not more than one woman in a thousand whose words the doctor +would have heeded at such a time. Effie was that one. Instead of +answering her, he spoke to the nurse, who left the room and soon +returned with a biscuit and a cup of warm tea. Effie forced herself to +take the food, and was refreshed. In a little while she was able to +follow the nurse to the ward, and to seat herself calmly by her sister's +bed. + +Christie was still asleep, but happily for Effie she soon awoke. She +could not have endured many minutes of that silent waiting. There was +pleasure, but scarcely surprise, in the eyes that opened to fix +themselves on her face. + +"Have you come, Effie? I was dreaming about you. I am very glad." + +Effie kneeled down and kissed her over and over again, but she could not +speak a word. Soon she laid her head down on the pillow, and Christie +put her arms round her neck. There was a long silence, so long that +Effie moved gently at last, and removing her sister's arms from her +neck, found her fast asleep. The daylight faded, and the night-lamps +were lighted in the room. There was moving to and fro among the beds, +as the preparations for the night were made. But Effie did not stir +till the nurse spoke to her. + +"Your sister is still under the influence of the draught the doctor gave +her. But we must waken her to give her some nourishment before she +settles down for the night." + +The eyes, which Effie thought had grown strangely large, opened with a +smile. + +"Will they let you stay, Effie?" said she. + +"Nothing shall ever make me leave you again." + +That was all that passed between them. Christie slept nearly all night, +but to Effie the hours passed slowly and sorrowfully away. There was +never entire quiet in the ward. There was moaning now and then, and +feverish tossing to and fro on one or another of those white beds. The +night-nurse moved about among them, smoothing the pillow of one, holding +a cup to the lips of another, soothing or chiding, as the case of each +required. To Effie the scene was as painful as it was strange. She had +many unhappy and some rebellious thoughts that night. But God did not +forsake her. The same place of refuge that had sheltered her in former +times of trouble was open to her still, and when Christie awoke in the +morning it was to meet a smile as calm and bright as that she had often +seen in her dreams. For a little while it seemed to her she was +dreaming now. + +"If I shut my eyes, will you be here when I open them again?" she asked. +"Oh, Effie, I have so longed for you! You will never leave me again?" + +"Never again," was all that she had the power to answer. + +That day they removed her from the public ward to the room she had at +first occupied, and Effie became her nurse. They were very quiet that +day. Christie was still under the influence of the strong opiate that +had been given her, and worn-out with anxiety and watching, Effie +slumbered beside her. + +On the second day they had a visit from Gertrude, and Christie quite +roused herself to rejoice with her over Effie's coming. When the young +lady declared, with delighted energy, that all Christie wanted to make +her quite well again was the face of her sister smiling upon her, all +three for a moment believed it. She was to have a week, or perhaps two, +in which to grow a little stronger, and then she was to go home with +Gertrude till she should be strong enough to go to Glengarry with Effie. +No wonder she had been ill and discouraged, so long alone, or worse +than alone, surrounded by so much suffering. Now she would soon be well +again, Gertrude was quite sure. + +And she did seem better. Relieved from the terrible pain which her +diseased limb had so long caused, for a time she seemed to revive. She +thought herself better. She said many times a day that she felt like a +different person, and Effie began to take courage. + +But she did not grow stronger. If she could only be taken out of town, +where she could have better air, Effie thought she might soon be well. +But to remove her in her present state of weakness was impossible. And +every day that followed, the doubt forced itself with more and more +strength on Effie that she would never be removed alive. The daily +paroxysms of fever returned. At such times she grew restless, and +sometimes, when she would wake with a start from troubled and uneasy +slumbers, her mind seemed to wander. A word was enough to recall her to +herself, and when she recognised her sister's voice and opened her eyes +to see her bending over her, her look of glad surprise, changing slowly +into one of sweet content, was beautiful to see. + +She could not talk much, or even listen for a long time to reading, but +she was always quite content and at rest with Effie sitting beside her. +A visit from Gertrude or Mr Sherwood was all that happened to break the +monotony of those days to them. Once little Claude and his brother were +brought to see her. They had not forgotten her. Claude lay down beside +her, and put his little hand on her cheek, as he used to do, and told +her about the sea and the broad sands where they used to play, and +prattled away happily enough of the time when Christie should come home +quite well again. Clement was shy, and a little afraid of her altered +face, and gave all his attention to Effie. But the visit exhausted +Christie, and it never was repeated. Indeed, a very little thing +exhausted her now. + +One day Christie awoke to find her sister watching the clouds and the +autumn rain with a dark shadow resting on her face. Her first movement +sent it away, but the remembrance of it lingered with Christie. After a +little time, when she had been made comfortable, and Effie had seated +herself with her work beside her, she said: + +"Are you longing to get home, Effie?" + +"No, indeed," said Effie, cheerfully, "except for your sake." + +"But I am sure they will miss you sadly." + +"Yes, I dare say they will; but they don't really need me. Sarah is at +home, and Katie and Nellie are quite to be trusted even should she be +called away. I am not in the least troubled about them. Still, I hope +we shall soon get home, for your sake." + +"But without your wages, how can they manage? I am afraid--" + +"I am not afraid," said Effie. "I left all that in safe hands before I +came here. Our garden did wonderfully well last year; and besides, we +managed to lay by something--and God is good. I am not afraid." + +"And they have all grown very much, you say. And little Will! Oh, how +I should like to have seen them all! They will soon forget me, Effie." + +Effie started. It was the first time she had ever said anything that +seemed to imply a doubt of her recovery. Even now she was not quite +sure that she meant that, and she hastened to say: + +"Oh, there is no fear of their forgetting you. You cannot think how +delighted they all were when your letters came." + +"They could not give you half the pleasure that yours gave me." + +"Oh, yes, they did. We always liked to hear all about what you were +doing, and about the children and Miss Gertrude. Why, I felt quite as +though I had known Miss Gertrude for a long time when I first met her +here the other day. I almost think I should have known her if I had met +her anywhere. She looks older and more mature than I should have +supposed from your letters, and then I used to fancy that she might be +at times a little overbearing and exacting." + +"Effie, I never could have said that about Miss Gertrude." + +"No, you never said it, but I gathered it--less from what you said than +from what you didn't say, however. Has Miss Gertrude changed, do you +think?" + +"No, oh no! she is just the very same. And yet I am not sure. I +remember thinking when I first saw her that she was changed. She looks +older, I think. I wonder if she will come to-day? She promised." + +"But it rains so heavily," said Effie. "No, I don't think she will come +to-day. It would not be wise." + +But Effie was mistaken. She had hardly spoken when the door opened, and +Gertrude entered. + +"Through all the rain!" exclaimed Effie and Christie, in a breath. + +"Yes, I thought you would be glad to see me this dull day," said Miss +Gertrude, laughing. "I am none the worse for the rain, but I can't say +as much for the horses, however. But Mr Sherwood was obliged to leave +in the train this afternoon, and I begged to come in the carriage with +him. Peter is to come for me again when he has taken him to the +station. See what I have brought you," she added, opening the basket +she carried in her hand. There were several things for Christie in the +basket, but the _something_ which Miss Gertrude meant was a bunch of +buttercups placed against a spray of fragrant cedar and a few brown +birch leaves. + +"We gathered them in the orchard yesterday. They are the very last of +the season. We gathered them because Claude said you once told him that +they reminded you of home; and then you told him of a shady place where +they used to grow, and of the birch-tree by the burn. I had heard about +the burn myself, but not about the buttercups." + +Coming as they did, the little tuft of wild flowers pleased Christie +better than the fairest bouquet of hothouse exotics could have done. + +Effie laughed. + +"Buttercups are not great favourites with us at home," she said. "They +generally grow best on poor, worn-out land." + +"They are the very first I have seen this summer," said Christie, with +moist eyes. + +They were all silent a little while. + +"We were just speaking about you when you came in," said she to Miss +Gertrude. + +"Were you? Well, I hope you dealt gently with my faults?" she said, +blushing a little as she noticed the glance which passed between the +sisters. + +"We had not got to your faults," said Christie. + +"Well, you must be merciful when you do. See, Christie, I have got +something else for you," she added, as she drew out a little book bound +in blue and gold. "I thought of you when I read this. There is a good +deal in the book you would not care about, but you will like this." And +she read: + +"Of all the thoughts of God that are Borne inward unto souls afar Along +the Psalmist's music deep, Now, tell me if that any is, For gift or +grace, surpassing this--? He giveth His beloved sleep." + +And so on to the end. "Do you like it?" she asked. + +"Yes," said Christie. But her eyes said much more than that. + +"It reminded me of the time I found you sleeping among all the noises +that were going on in the ward. There was talking and groaning and +moving about, and you were quite unconscious of it all. + + "`God makes a silence through them all,'" + +she repeated: + + "`And never doleful dream again + Shall break his blessed slumbers, when + He giveth His beloved sleep.'" + +There was a silence of several minutes, and then Christie said: + +"Miss Gertrude, when you came in I was telling Effie that I thought you +had changed since I first knew you." + +"And were you telling her that there was much need of a change?" said +Miss Gertrude, with a playfulness assumed to hide the quick rush of +feeling which the words called forth. + +"Do you mind how we used to speak of the great change that all must meet +before we can be happy or safe? You don't think about these things as +you used to do. Miss Gertrude, has this change come to you?" + +"I don't know, Christie. Sometimes I almost hope it has," said she. +But she could not restrain the tears. Effie saw them; Christie did not. +Her eyes were closed, and her hands were clasped as if in prayer. + +"I was sure it would come," she said, softly. "I am very glad." + +She did not speak again during Miss Gertrude's stay, and I need not +repeat all that passed between the young lady and Effie. There were +some words spoken that neither will forget till their dying day. + +Before she went away, Gertrude came and kissed Christie; and when she +was gone Effie came and kissed her too, saying: + +"You ought to be very happy, Christie, with all your trouble. God has +been very good to you, in giving you a message to Miss Gertrude." + +"I am very happy, Effie," answered she, softly. "I almost think I am +beyond being troubled any more. It is coming very near now." + +She lay still, with a smile on her face, till she fell into a quiet +slumber; and as she sat watching her, Effie, amid all her sorrow, could +not but rejoice at the thought of the blessed rest and peace that seemed +coming so near now to her little sister. + + + +CHAPTER TWENTY THREE. + +HOME AT LAST. + +Yes, the time was drawing very near. Effie could no longer hide from +herself that Christie was no stronger, but rather weaker every day. She +did not suffer much pain, but now and then was feverish, and at such +times she could get no rest. Then Effie moved and soothed and sang to +her with patience inexhaustible. She would have given half her youthful +strength to have revived that wasted form; and one day, as she was +bathing her hands, she told her so. + +Christie smiled, and shook her head. + +"You will have better use for your strength than that, Effie. I am sure +the water in the burn at home would cool my hands, if I could dip them +in it. Oh, if I could just get out to the fields for one long summer +day, I think I should be content to lie down here again for another six +months! In the summer-time, when I used to think of the Nesbitts and +the McIntyres in the sweet-smelling hay-fields, and of the bairns +gathering berries in the woods, my heart was like to die within me. It +is not so bad now since you came. No, Effie, I am quite content now." + +Later in the day, she said, after a long silence: + +"Effie, little Will will hardly mind that he had a sister Christie, when +he grows up to be a man. I should like to have been at home once more, +because of that. They will all forget me, I am afraid." + +"Christie," said her sister, "why do you say they will forget you? Do +you not think you will live to see them again?" + +"Do you think so, Effie?" asked Christie, gravely. + +Instead of answering her, Effie burst into tears, and laid her head down +on her sister's pillow. Christie laid her arm over her neck, and said, +softly: + +"There is nothing to grieve so for, Effie. I am not afraid." + +Effie's tears had been kept back so long, they must have free course +now. It was in vain to try to stay them. But soon she raised herself +up, and said: + +"I didna mean to trouble you, Christie. I know I have no need to grieve +for you. But, oh! I cannot help thinking you might have been spared +longer if I had been more watchful--more faithful to my trust!" + +"Effie," said Christie, "move me a little, and lie down beside me. I +have something to say to you, and there can be no better time than now. +You are weary with your long watching. Rest beside me." + +Her sister arranged the pillow and lay down beside her. Clasping her +wasted arms about her neck, Christie said: + +"Effie, you don't often say wrong or foolish things, but what you said +just now was both wrong and foolish. You must never say it or think it +any more. Have I not been in safe keeping, think you? Nay! do not +grieve me by saying that again," she added, laying her hand upon her +sister's lips, as she would have spoken. "It all seems so right and +safe to me, I would not have anything changed now, except that I should +like to see them all at home. And I dare say that will pass away as the +end draws near. It will not be long now, Effie." She paused from +exhaustion, only adding: "I am not afraid." + +The much she had to say was not said that night. The sisters lay +silently in each other's arms, and while Christie slumbered, Effie +prayed as she had never prayed before, that she might be made submissive +to the will of God in this great sorrow that was drawing nearer day by +day. + +After this they spoke much of the anticipated parting, but never sadly +any more. Effie's prayers were answered. God's grace did for her what, +unaided, she never could have done for herself. It gave her power to +watch the shadow of death drawing nearer and nearer, without shrinking +from the sight. I do not mean that she felt no pain at the thought of +going back to her home alone, or that she had quite ceased to blame +herself for what she called her neglect of her suffering sister. Many a +long struggle did she pass through during the hours when Christie +slumbered. But she never again suffered a regretful word to pass her +lips; she never for a moment let a cloud rest on her face when +Christie's eyes were matching her. She had soothing words for the poor +child's restless moments. If a doubt or fear came to disturb her quiet +trust, she had words of cheer to whisper; and when--as oftenest +happened--her peace was like a river, full and calm and deep, no +murmurs, no repining, fell from the loving sister's lips to disturb its +gentle flow. + +And little by little, as the uneventful days glided by peace, and more +than peace--gratitude and loving praise--filled the heart of Christie's +sister. What could she wish more for the child so loved than such quiet +and happy waiting for the end of all trouble? A little while sooner or +later, what did it matter? What could she wish more or better for any +one she loved? It would ill become her to repine at her loss, so +infinitely her sister's gain. + +The discipline of these weeks in her sister's sick-room did very much +for Effie. Ever since their mother's death, and more especially since +their coming to Canada, a great deal had depended on her. Wise to plan +and strong to execute, she had done what few young girls in her sphere +could have done. Her energy had never flagged. She delighted to +encounter and overcome difficulties; she was strong, prudent, and +far-seeing, and she was fast acquiring the reputation, among her friends +and neighbours, of a rare business woman. + +It is just possible that, as the years passed, she might have acquired +some of the unpleasing qualities so apt to become the characteristic of +the woman who has no one to come between her and the cares of business +or the shifts and difficulties incident to the providing for a family +whose means are limited. Coming in contact, as she had to do, with a +world not always mindful of the claims of others, she found it necessary +to stand her ground and hold her own with a firmness that might seem +hardly compatible with gentleness. Her position, too, as the teacher of +a school--the queen of a little realm where her word was law--tended to +cultivate in her strength and firmness of character rather than the more +womanly qualities. It is doubtful whether, without the sweet and solemn +break in the routine of her life which these months in her sister's +sick-room made, she would ever have grown into the woman she afterwards +became. This long and patient waiting for God's messenger gave her the +time for thought which her busy life denied her. + +Now and then, during the quiet talks in which, during her more +comfortable hours, they could still indulge, there was revealed to Effie +all the way by which God had led her sister; at the same time there was +revealed all that He had permitted her to do for His glory, and at this +she was greatly moved. She had only been a little servant-maid, plain +and humble and obscure. There was nothing to distinguish her in the +eyes of those who saw her from day to day. Yet God had greatly honoured +her. He had made her a messenger of grace to one, to two--perhaps to +more. When that little, worn-out frame was laid aside, it might be, +thought Effie, that the immortal spirit, crowned and radiant, should +stand nearer to the throne than some who were held in honour by the wise +and the good of this world. + +Sitting there, listening and musing, Effie saw, more clearly than she +ever could have seen in the bustle of her busy life, how infinitely +desirable it is to be permitted to do God's work in the world. Those +were days never to be forgotten by her. She grew thin and wan with +confinement and watching, but as the time drew near when her present +care should cease and she should go home again, her face wore a look of +peace beautiful to see. + +"Effie," said Christie one day, after she had been silently watching her +a little while, "you are more willing that I should go now, I think?" + +Effie started. + +"I shall be willing when the time comes, my dear sister, I do not +doubt," she said, with lips that smiled, though they quivered too. "I +cannot help being willing, and glad, for your sake." + +"And you ought to be glad for your sake too," said Christie. "You will +have one less to care for, to be anxious about, Effie, and I shall be +safe with our dear father and mother in the better world. I never could +have helped you much, dear, though I would have liked to do so. I never +should have been very strong, I dare say, and--I might have been a +burden." + +"But if you had been running about in the fields with the bairns all +this time, who knows but you would have been as strong as any of them?" +said Effie, sadly. + +But Christie shook her head. + +"No; I have had nothing to harm me. And sometimes I used to think if I +had stayed at home I might have fallen back into my old fretful ways, +and so have been a vexation to myself and to Aunt Elsie; and to you +even, Effie, though you never used to be vexed with me." + +"No, Christie, that could never have happened. God is faithful, and +with His grace, all would have been well with you. There would have +been no more such sad days for you." + +"No such day as that when you came home with the book-man and gave me my +Bible," said Christie, smiling, "I wonder why I always mind that day so +well? I suppose because it was the beginning of it all." + +Effie did not ask, "The beginning of what?" She knew well that she +meant the beginning of the new life which God, by His Word and Spirit, +had wrought in her heart. Soon Christie added: + +"I wouldn't have anything changed now. It has all happened just in the +best way; and this quiet time will do you good too, dear." + +"I pray God it may!" said Effie, letting both tears and kisses fall upon +her sister's face. + +"And you must tell Annie and Sarah and the bairns that they must be sure +to come to us--our father and mother and me, and to Jesus--the +Mediator--of the new covenant," she slowly said; and overcome with +weariness, she sank into a quiet sleep. + +Christie grew weaker every day. She did not suffer much, and slept most +of the time. Sometimes she was feverish and restless, and then Effie +used to fancy that her mind wandered. At such times she would tell of +things that happened long ago, and speak to Effie as she might have +spoken to her mother during her childish illnesses, begging to be taken +into her arms and rocked to sleep. + +But almost always she knew her sister, even when she had forgotten where +she was. Once she said there was just one place in the world where she +could rest, and begged to be laid on the sofa in Mrs Nesbitt's parlour +at home. Often she begged her to let her dip her hands in the burn to +cool them, or to take her where it was pleasant and cool, under the +shadow of the birch-tree in the pasture at home. But a single word from +Effie was always enough to soothe her, and to call up the loving smile. + +Christmas came and went, and the last day of the old year found her +still waiting, but with many a token that the close was drawing near. +Gertrude came that day, and lingered long beside her, awed by the +strange mysterious change that was beginning to show itself on her face. +Christie did not notice her as she came in, and even Effie only +silently held out her hand to her as she drew near. + +"She will never speak again," said the nurse, who had been watching her +for several minutes. + +All pain, all restlessness, seemed past. Effie, bending over her, could +only now and then moisten her parched lips and wipe the damp from her +forehead. Poor Effie! she saw the hour was at hand, but she was very +calm. "She has not spoken since daybreak," she said, softly. "I am +afraid she will never speak again." But she did. + +After a brief but quiet sleep she opened her eyes. Gertrude knew that +she was recognised. Stooping down to catch the broken words that came +from her parched lips, she distinctly heard: + +"I was sure always--from the very first--that God would bless you. And +now--though I am going to die--you will do all for Christ--that I would +like to have done." + +Effie was refreshed and strengthened by two or three hours of quiet +sleep. The day passed, the evening came and went, and Christie gave no +sign of pain or restlessness. + +"It will be about the turn of the night," said the nurse, raising the +night-lamp to look on her face. But it was not. At the turn of the +night she awoke, and called her sister by name. Effie's face was on the +pillow beside her, and she kissed her softly, without speaking. +Christie fondly returned her caress. She seemed strangely revived. + +"Effie," she said, "do you remember something that our mother used to +sing to us--? + + "`No dimming clouds o'ershadow thee, + No dull and darksome night, + But every soul shines as the sun, + And God Himself is light.'" + +Yes, Effie remembered it well, and she went on, with no break in her +voice, as Christie ceased: + + "`No pain, no pang, no bitter grief, + No woeful night is there; + No sob, no sigh, no cry is heard; + No will-awa', no care!'" + +And many a verse more of that quaint, touching old canticle did she +sing, all the time watching the smile of wonderful content that was +beautifying the dying face. + +"You are quite willing now, Effie?" she said, softly. + +"Quite willing," said Effie, softly. + +"And it is coming very near now!" + +"Very near, love. Very near now!" + +"Very near!" She never spoke again. She lingered till the dawn of the +new year's morning, all the time lying like a child slumbering in the +nurse's arms, and then she died. + +They did not lay her to rest among the many nameless graves which had +seemed so sad and dreary to her in the beautiful burial-place one summer +day. The spotless snow near her father's grave was disturbed on a +winter's morning, and Christie was laid to rest beside him. + +There she has lain through many a summer and winter, but her remembrance +has not perished from the earth. There are loving hearts on both sides +of the sea who still cherish her memory. Gertrude--no longer Miss +Gertrude, however--in the new home she has found, tells the little +children at her knee of her little brother Claude and his nurse, who +loved each other so dearly on earth, and who now are doubtless loving +each other in heaven; and in a fair Canadian manse a grave and beautiful +woman often tells, with softened voice, the sad yet happy tale of the +sister who went away and who never came home again, but who found a +better home in her Father's house above. + +THE END. + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Christie Redfern's Troubles, by Margaret Robertson + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHRISTIE REDFERN'S TROUBLES *** + +***** This file should be named 21226.txt or 21226.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/1/2/2/21226/ + +Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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