Hollowmell

CHAPTER IV.

They were led by Mabel into another apartment, where accommodation was provided for those who desired to improve their toilet with such additions as soap and water and a certain amount of vigorous brushing could afford. These arrangements completed, they were marshalled into the largest room the house contained, where it was found that, although an apartment of no mean dimensions, it was still hardly large enough to accommodate the throng comfortably. However, by dint of squeezing and crushing, and amid not a little noise and merriment, they were at last all wedged in, "like figs in a box," as Minnie humourously remarked thinking she was saying quite a smart thing, out of which delusion she was at once awakened by one of the smallest and most ragged of the urchins present, who promptly suggested "herring" as a more appropriate simile. This view of the case being evidently a popular one, and, moreover, being more favourably received by the assemblage, Minnie felt it to be her duty to admit the correction, and next fell to wondering how they would manage to get out again. The difficulty did not seem to strike the children as being an insuperable one, they even proposed to tackle and overcome it on the spot—merely as an experiment, in order to show that it could be done—which obliging proposal, however, was not accepted. One row of small boys, nevertheless, fired with a desire to distinguish themselves in some way or other, tilted back the bench on which they sat so far that they completely lost their equilibrium, and indubitably proved the possibility of their getting out, at least, by finding themselves on the floor in various ungraceful positions, and with several pretty hard knocks.

These had of course to be re-packed, which ceremony being accomplished, the business of eating and drinking commenced in earnest.

This occupied a considerable part of the time which was thereafter filled up with games and songs supplied by the young folks themselves, Minnie and Mabel merely superintending.

They departed about nine o'clock, all highly pleased with themselves, each other, and most of all with the young ladies who had provided for them this means of enjoyment. Each of them carried away some remnant of the feast, and better than that, all carried to their homes and scattered there all unconsciously, the seeds of kindness which had that night been scattered so freely in their own hearts; for Minnie could not let them go away, even on that first night of her experiment, without saying to them a word about the kind "Master" who had put it into her head to give them this pleasure, and offering up a short and simple petition that her efforts might be attended with the result she aimed at, namely, the winning of these young souls for the Master's service.

There were no murmurings as they ran home about their fun being turned into a prayer-meeting, as would doubtless have been the case had the Missionary or the Curate tried such a plan, but none of those who were likely to give the matter a second thought suspected a girl not much older than themselves of such a thing, and the younger ones did not trouble themselves with motives, but thought it nice to have the young lady speaking so sweetly and gently to them, with tears in her eyes too, and determined firmly, though they were scarcely conscious of the determination, to please her by every means in their power, and from that moment were her devoted champions.

Mabel and Minnie had had a slight difference of opinion on the subject of allowing the children to provide the games and songs entirely themselves. Mabel thought it likely they would introduce rather rough games, and possibly rude songs, and that it might be better if they themselves suggested the games, and allowed only such songs to be sung as should be approved by them.

"Because," she remarked, "We mean to educate them to something better than what forms their enjoyment at present, and this ought to be a beginning."

The latter part of Mabel's suggestion was received by Minnie with some favour, and at length, indeed, admitted as a rule of the house, but the first clause she resolutely objected to as too decided an invasion, and Mabel was obliged to yield.

"It is quite true that we mean to educate them to something better, but we must not frighten them away at the beginning with stringent regulations. If we do, we shall have no opportunity of educating them at all."

And so it was settled, and as it happened, they had no cause to regret their decision, for many of their little friends confessed long afterwards, that it was the complete freedom from restraint and from any attempt to introduce other than their customary forms of enjoyment, that induced them to return again and again when the plan was almost wholly changed.

Next morning Minnie rose with a light heart, feeling that she was better as well as happier for her last night's exertions, and during the whole of that week things went smoothly with her, for the spell of a sacred charge was upon her, and its influence mellowed and subdued her native sweetness, till it seemed to those about her something unearthly, and the girls regarded her with something like awe, all but Mona Cameron, who, if she noticed any difference, would not acknowledge it, and laughed at the others for their absurdity.

"I'll show you," she said, as they were talking about it one afternoon after Minnie had gone home, "How far her saintliness will carry her. You all say that she never gets provoked except with me. Well, I promise you, I'll provoke her; I know her, and exactly how long any impression lasts with her. I suppose she's been attending some revival meeting and got this wonderful sweetness there, but I'll scatter it, I promise you."

"Well, I don't think that fair any way you look at it," remarked another girl, who was standing by. "It can't be right to try and make anybody sour just for spite, and as for Minnie, you can't make her sour whatever you do, so it is only lost time. She's just sweetness itself always, though she has a quick temper, and lets it get roused very easily now and then. But it can't be right to make any one worse, we are all bad enough for that matter, and should have enough to do to look after ourselves."

"I'm glad you have the candour to confess it, Agnes, but speak for yourself another time, please, it's quite enough responsibility for a young lady of your age," replied Mona with asperity, "Your notions of what is right or wrong are of no consequence to me whatever."

After that none dared to add a word, for they were, one and all, afraid of Mona's sharp tongue; nevertheless, they felt the injustice of her attack, and resented it in their hearts, for Minnie was their favourite, and they all knew that Mona was jealous of Minnie's position as such, no less than of her rivalry in other matters. However, though she did her best by long-successful methods, to upset Minnie's tranquillity next day she found it of no use. Minnie was living in another world just then, and the sound of strife could not come near her.

Mabel noticed these efforts on the part of Mona with growing indignation, but seeing they fell harmless, judged it best to be silent on the subject. There was also another eye which saw and noted these things—that of Miss Elgin, the English governess, who was more among the girls than any of the other teachers, and she kept a vigilant watch, determined to check Mona's tactics whenever they should go too far.

But Minnie was all unconscious of these things, and in this way Saturday arrived, and the two girls again held their simple entertainment.

At the close of the evening, before the children left it was announced from the chair, which was occupied by Mabel, that a prize would be given at the end of a stated time to whichever of the young people then present could show the best kept garden.

This was the first step towards the improving of the place outwardly, which they both considered their plain duty to begin at the very outset, seeing it was with this view they had obtained the use of the house.

Minnie arranged with the gardener to procure the necessary implements for those who had not already got them. These were partially supplied by him out of a hoard of old ones which he was very glad to be rid of, and partially through the co-operation of a friend of his who also obtained permission so to dispose of his superfluous stock, leaving only a few to be provided out of the "Exchequer," as Minnie stated at next meeting with due gravity and importance.

It was necessary to exercise a little diplomacy in the distribution of these, as they were a little afraid there might be some dissatisfaction felt about some getting new spades and rakes, and others not. This difficulty they soon disposed of, however, by the new ones being bought of a smaller size than usual, and only the youngest being supplied with these.

Thus the minds of the two girls were occupied during their leisure time in devising new schemes for the furtherance of the good work they had originated, and were so kept free from the morbid and unhealthy train of thought into which girls of their age with nothing better to interest them are so apt to fall. And thus their work went on, and the month of probation for which Minnie had asked was nearly at an end.

Some fruits of their labours were already beginning to make themselves visible. The children always made it a point to appear on Saturdays, at least, with clean faces and neatly-combed hair, and altogether as tidy generally as circumstances would permit; and were to be found, on other afternoons, instead of lying about the little gardens, enhancing their disorder, hard at work with their spades and other implements, engaged in weeding them and setting them in order; so that the outward aspect of Hollowmell was being improved at any rate, upon which indication of success the two friends congratulated themselves much, and felt more than repaid for their efforts and sacrifices both of time and money.

Mr. Kimberly had not given much thought to Minnie's freak, as he called it, after consenting to it, and had in fact dismissed it from his mind and forgotten all about it, when Minnie informed him one evening that it was now a month since they commenced their work, and as they had obtained his permission to use the house for only that length of time, she begged him to continue it if the house were still unlet.

"O, yes, I remember now," he said. "The house at the end of the hollow. No, it is not let to anybody but you. I had almost forgotten that it was you who occupied it till this moment. I was just remarking to Menzies, the manager down at the pit, the other day that it was by far the most respectable house in the place."

"I suppose that is because we keep the windows clean," laughed Minnie.

"Well, as you seem to be such good tenants—you and your friend—I don't think I can do better than give you another lease of it," remarked Mr. Kimberly, smiling at her delighted face. "By the way, I suppose that is some of your work—the general improvement in the grass plots?"

"O, no, papa, that is what the children do themselves. And what do you think, papa, one of the little fellows actually comes regularly and weeds our beds, because we haven't time to attend to them ourselves. He did it at first without any prompting but that of gratitude, and now some of the others help him, and so they keep our garden tidy as well as their own."

"Yes, yes, Slyboots, but who put the idea of keeping their own tidy, into their heads? It didn't grow there, I am sure of that."

"Well, I'm not quite so sure of that," replied Minnie, shaking her head wisely. "Perhaps it has been there a long while, and only required some one to tap it out."

"Well, well," returned Mr. Kimberly with an amused expression, "as you have been so clever as to tap this one out, who knows how many more you may tap out before long, so go on and prosper, and remember if you run short of funds you may draw on me, because I should like to see my work-people in a better condition, though I haven't time to attend to it myself, and they wont. They don't seem to see the good of spending money on anything but drink, and that is how it is, though they have good houses and fair pay, they are always dirty and miserable and discontented." And a weary look took the place of his former amused one, as he turned again to the heap of papers on his desk.

Minnie saw that he was busy, and though she would have liked to stay and cheer him up, she thought it better to retire, her request being granted.

"He sees I am in earnest, anyhow," she observed to herself as she closed the door softly behind her, "and he sees too that we are doing something. Oh, I will be so glad if I can do anything to make it easier for him. These people try him so—I suppose they have been threatening another strike." And she went to bed, her head full of plans for getting further into the hearts of these rough miners, and drawing them to better things.

CHAPTER V.

She was not naturally malicious, nor did it afford her any sort of pleasure to rouse and anger Minnie as she so often did, neither did she dislike the girl herself; but circumstances had been too much for her in the beginning, and her nature was such that now it seemed to her almost impossible to change her policy and adopt any other line of conduct. She sometimes rebelled against the rivalry which, she considered, stood between them and any possibility of friendship, but was still firm in her belief, that it was a difficulty which could not be bridged, and the subject had not hitherto been considered by Minnie at all; she simply accepted it, as she did most other things, as it stood, and it had not yet occurred to her that it could or should be changed.

One afternoon, Minnie stood at the outer door of the schoolroom waiting on Mabel coming down stairs from the music-room. There were perhaps a dozen girls inside, but she stood just where they could not observe her—at least, with the exception of Mona Cameron—who seemed much too intent upon her work to notice anything. At last, however, she appeared to have got over the part which demanded such urgent attention, and began to talk.

"I say, girls!" She said in an animated tone, which instantly secured the attention of every one present, at the same time moving nearer the window for the purpose, as it seemed, of obtaining better light. "Have you heard the news?"

"What news?" eagerly exclaimed a dozen voices.

"Why, that Minnie Kimberly has turned Methodist."

Minnie started, scarce knowing whether to leave immediately or return and proclaim her presence.

"What?" cried the girls, not quite understanding what Mona meant to convey by that appellation.

"Methodist," repeated Mona, quite enjoying their mystification. "One of those people who profess to go about continually doing good with tracts in their pocket—though it's my private opinion they usually contrive to do the very opposite. That's the sort of thing Minnie's going in for just now, though I really think she is a little ashamed of it, she keeps it so well hidden. You see my penetration was not at fault—I said it was revival meetings or something of that sort."

Minnie turned, and with a firm step and fast beating heart walked back into the schoolroom.

Mona did not seem to notice her but went on.

"Yes, isn't it fun! Quite a romance I'm sure! A sort of juvenile Mrs. Fry or some person of that stamp, converting the heathen down in Hollowmell."

"O, hush!" whispered some one, as Minnie walked straight into their midst, her eyes flashing, but her cheeks pale as marble.

"I do not know what you may mean to insinuate by calling me Methodist as you did just now. It may either be that you intend it as a term of reproach to me, or as a mark of disrespect to the worthy body of people who bear that name—"

"You hear her!" Interrupted Mona with a laugh, "you hear her defending them. Didn't I tell you so?"

"I mean to say," continued Minnie, ignoring the interruption, "that if you mean by calling me Methodist that I profess to go about continually doing good, you are mistaken. Until now, I have not as you hinted, made any profession at all, but I am not ashamed to own that I consider it the noblest thing in life, to be good and to do good, and if by taking the name of Methodist I might the better attain that object I should be happy to do so."

"Ah!" replied Mona with a sneer, as no one else spoke, "it is quite affecting I'm sure, to hear you say so. I should not be at all surprised if that good-looking Methodist Minister from Canningate, had something to do with these novel notions. I heard he had evinced great interest in the heathen of Hollowmell."

Minnie's pale cheeks flushed with indignation, and for a moment she forgot everything but Mona's cruel insinuation.

"It is certainly flattering to know you take such an interest in my proceedings," she began, angrily, then checking herself hastily, she continued in a softer tone: "I don't know why you should say such a thing of me, Mona. What I have done (and the motive I had for keeping it secret, was because it was so little), I have done from a simple wish to make my life of some use, and benefit my father's tenants."

Mona smiled derisively but did not speak.

"I do not fear to say I am a Christian," continued Minnie, turning to the other girls after a short pause. "Even in spite of Mona's sarcasm, and though I do often come short of what one bearing that name should be, I am not the less determined to persevere in my endeavours to make these failures as few and far between as possible; and that any one here will intentionally attempt to frustrate these efforts I cannot believe."

"That is a challenge directed to me, I suppose," observed Mona laughing disagreeably.

"For shame, Mona!" cried one of the girls with warmth. "Your sharpness is no match for Minnie's earnestness, I am sure all here think so!" and she turned to the rest for confirmation.

"Yes, yes!" cried several voices enthusiastically.

"And I, for one," continued the young lady who had spoken, "though I cannot give as good an account of myself, either in words or actions as Minnie can, would have no objection to doing some good too, and if she will accept my help, I shall be glad to render it such as it is."

Minnie thanked her with tears in her eyes, and accepted her offer with simple gratitude, whereupon several of the others also volunteered their aid, and some who lived too far away to render actual assistance begged to know if there was no way in which they could help.

Minnie had by this time explained the plan of working adopted by Mabel and herself, which was received with expressions of unmixed approval by all, with the exception of Mona, who sat silently during their conversation with her head bent over her work.

Mabel appeared in the midst of their discussion, and was greatly surprised to learn the subject of it. She, however, entered heartily into the debate, and a plan was quickly sketched out whereby the eager desire displayed by all present to join in the work was to be satisfied.

Mabel was all this while wondering how their doings at Hollowmell had come to be known among the girls, but no one explained, and even after Minnie and she were on their way home, Minnie spoke no word in explanation of this strange circumstance.

On the following day, of course, she received a full account from one of those who had been present, and her love and respect for her friend increased tenfold on becoming acquainted with the part she had played on the occasion.

"She is a true heroine," thought Mabel when left to herself again, "I don't understand how she can do things like that. I am sure if they were required of me I could not do them. Why is there such a difference between us? She seems to do everything so well, though she is just newly conscious that there are things like this to do, and I have been acquainted with the fact all my life. I am distracted by doubts and fears—I, who have known the reality of God's love and goodness so long, and she, who only a few weeks ago wakened up to that reality, is able to rest in it without question or misgiving. Ah! that is the difference, I only know of its existence, while she feels it—breathes it—lives in it."

Just then her meditations were broken in upon by Minnie herself who ran in, exclaiming breathlessly, "O, I am so glad you're here early, I did so want to have a chat with you before the school commenced!"

"All right," replied Mabel, who had been occupied during her reflections in slowly unlacing her boot. She now set about the task with right good will, and was soon ready; but Minnie was quicker, and was already in the inner room, depositing the books of both in their respective desks when Mabel came in. Minnie turned to address some remark to her on the subject of her dilatoriness, and then for the first time her eye was caught by a paper fastened upon the opposite wall with a pin. It was a large paper, and had notice printed in large capitals on the top.

Beneath was written in Mona Cameron's beautiful writing the following advertisement:—

Minnie's exclamation brought all the girls then in the room to the spot, and great was the indignation of those who had been witnesses of the scene on the preceding evening, but some who as yet knew nothing about it laughed and thought it rather clever.

Minnie's first impulse was to tear down the obnoxious notice and burn it before them all, but fortunately her better sense prevailed, and after a momentary struggle with her angry feelings, and also with her keen personal distress, she looked up and read it aloud, omitting the objectionable parenthesis, and said with a smile to those who were in the secret:

"It is a very good joke, I daresay, so we'll make it a true one," and then, with their permission, she told all about their proposed plan, and how Mona had laughed at it, and ended by inviting them all to attend the meeting advertised from so unexpected a quarter, in the Hollowmell Hall. "Only," she added, "we will hold it on Friday evening instead of Wednesday as Mona suggests—not considering, I apprehend, our onerous duties in the matter of lessons on that evening."

The teachers entered the room at this juncture, and consequently the curiosity of many who had come in during Minnie's speech was left unsatisfied except for various disconnected whispers which were exchanged during the morning with such as were better acquainted with the matter, and these, it may be supposed, were not of the most satisfactory character.

There was quite a sensation created in Minnie's favour when the girls were free again at the mid-day recess, and the whole story came out; Mona had to endure, as best she could, the spectacle of Minnie elevated to the pedestal of heroism, and finding herself all but sent to Coventry. As may be imagined, this state of affairs did not tend to soothe her already ruffled feelings, but rather the opposite, so that, by the time school was dismissed she was in no enviable frame of mind.

She did not sit at her work chatting and laughing with the others who remained behind, long after school hours, but immediately left the schoolroom, and proceeded to don her hat and ulster in haste, lest any one should come out before she could leave. Just as she lifted her glove she noticed something white on a table in one corner, and notwithstanding her haste she was moved by a strong desire to go over and look at it. It turned out to be a heap of manuscript.

"Why, it's Minnie Kimberly's," she said to herself. "Her Latin translation for the examination! just like her to leave it about in this manner!" she ran her eye over several lines.

"How beautiful!" she exclaimed, under her breath, "I could do nothing like it if I tried a hundred years. I am not afraid of her in anything else, but if she sends this, I may give up hope."

Then a strong temptation seized her to hide the manuscript, and so not only be revenged on Minnie for her humiliation, but also secure the certainty of her success in the examination.

"Why should she have everything?" she asked petulantly, "Is it not enough for her that she has sweet temper, and popularity, and—Christianity," and her lip did not curl at the word now that she was alone as it certainly would have done had there been others by. An expression of deep pain came into her beautiful face, and putting down the manuscript where she had found it, she laid her head on the dusty table and something like a sigh escaped her.

"No!" she said, in her excitement speaking aloud. "Minnie shall have the prize. She deserves it as she does all the gifts my selfish heart so wickedly envies her; we may not be friends, but at least we can be fair rivals."

A step was heard in the room, and without looking round to ascertain whose it might be, Mona snatched up her gloves and disappeared.

Minnie, for it was she, stood staring in a dazed sort of way at the place where Mona had been, not a moment before, in such an attitude of dejection as no one had ever believed her capable of yielding to, and thoroughly mystified by her last words which had reached her ears. All at once she noticed the paper on the table, and recognised it at once as her Latin translation.

"So that was it," she soliloquised. "Poor girl, she isn't happy, I am afraid. I wish we could be friends. Mab and I would soon manage to get her into a more cheerful frame of mind. If she would only join the Mission, she was the unintentional means of forming, she would find a great deal more satisfaction in her life. However, she need not be afraid of this," and she touched the pages of her work lovingly. "I don't think I will send it after all."

The meeting, so strangely convened, was held as agreed, and was numerously attended by those young ladies who lived within a convenient distance. Many who did not, sent letters expressing regret for the same, and sympathy for their object, some also sending subscriptions, and offering any other kind of aid it might be in their power to bestow.

This was all very encouraging, and the girls in a flutter of delighted excitement formed themselves into a society which was to be known to future generations as the "Hollowmell Mission." There was a great deal of laughing, and talking, and fun, many of them looking on it as a new, and accordingly, agreeable source of amusement, but there was also a great deal of simple, unaffected earnestness which kept the work alive when these butterfly supporters, who hailed it as a new excitement, wearied of it and one by one dropped off.

The company was divided into committees who presided over the different branches of the work, and were, moreover, charged with the conduct of the Saturday evening entertainments, over which each committee presided in rotation, thus relieving Mabel and Minnie of a great deal of labour, and leaving them free to apply themselves to the extension of the work.

Prizes of various descriptions were offered, the competition lists being open to all. At first these were entirely in connection with work which could be shown out-doors, as the girls did not consider themselves warranted to go any further at present. The competition for the best-kept garden has already been mentioned. Another was shortly announced for the best-cleaned and tidiest windows. Many of the gates and little wooden railings which separated the different plots of ground were in very bad repair, the paint being in many cases completely rubbed off, and the wood-work broken. At Minnie's request these places were mended, and Mr. Kimberly himself, who began to be quite interested in the work, supplied a certain quantity of paint to every house, while the young ladies offered a prize for its most successful use.

Although there were children in almost every house in the hollow, there were two or three where there were not any, and some also where the children were too young for work of this kind. These were consequently alloted to any who should volunteer their services for the purpose. Some one proposed that this competition should be open to boys alone, but Minnie stood up bravely for the girls, declaring that they could do this kind of work as well as the boys, and should not be shut out from it, as the boys had not been shut out from the window-cleaning.

This was considered only fair, and it was also thrown open to all who cared to compete.

But though the young reformers did not think it right to go further than the outsides of the cottages in their endeavours after improvement, their influence began to assert itself within also. They were so young themselves that they considered it would be an arrogant and presumptuous proceeding on their part to attempt anything that would look like dictation, or interference, and might materially injure their work in directions wherein it had been successful heretofore. They contented themselves therefore with working among the young people, relying on the natural development of that work, and were encouraged to find, that such reliance was by no means misplaced, for, besides the improvements effected by the youthful competitors in the outward appearance of the cottages, a further improvement was observable in the comparative absence of drunken men and untidy women.

The entertainments on Saturday afternoons had also somewhat changed in their nature by this time. The social element was still preserved, but instead of the riotous fun and hilarity of the opening meeting, a quieter mode now prevailed. After tea, there was usually a game, then all sat down, and the girls drew forth their sewing with which they proceeded while the boys sat quietly in their places, all listening eagerly to some entertaining book read by one of the young ladies till about half-an-hour before the usual hour for dispersion which was given up to general conversation, and the singing of a few hymns.

One night, during this half-hour, one of the young ladies, Agnes Summers by name, the same Agnes who had defended Minnie on a former occasion, began to wonder if there was nothing the boys could do while the reading was going on.

Nobody could suggest anything at first, but at length one boy volunteered the information that he could knit; other two professed the same accomplishment, and, encouraged by this example, several voices expressed their willingness to learn.

"The very thing!" exclaimed Mabel, "we might have thought of that sooner."

"O, but," objected Minnie, "wouldn't it be too ridiculous to see boys sitting knitting."

"Not at all," asserted Mabel. "I once knew a family of Germans, rich people too, who had all their knitting done by the young men, and anyhow it won't matter if it is ridiculous, it's useful, and nobody will laugh when they remember that. I thought at first it would have been rather ridiculous to see the girls painting the gates and palings, but it turned out quite the opposite. It is wonderful how earnestness beautifies the most commonplace things, and reconciles us to the most incongruous."

"Well, I see you are right, and I suppose I must give in," answered Minnie, "We can give it a trial at any rate, though it will justify its existence, in my eyes, I am afraid, only by its success, as papa said our undertaking had in his,—oh, that's a dreadfully narrow way to look at it, no, I'll give the plan my unqualified support."

"That's more like you," said Mabel, smiling at her impulsive afterthought, "it isn't your way to be half-hearted in anything. Now, I'll tell you what I propose should be done about this. We must supply ourselves with a quantity of worsted, and a sufficient number of knitting-needles, and set all the boys at once to knit stockings and socks for their own winter wear. I propose that they shall, every pair as it is finished, be put into a box with the maker's name attached to it, and be kept there for distribution in the cold weather."

This motion meeting with general approval, was forthwith adopted, and the conversation for that evening ended. The boys, as a rule, were greatly delighted with the proposed change, for they did not find it by any means an easy matter to sit quite still, doing nothing, even while listening to the most interesting story, and thus it promised to be a comfortable, as well as a useful arrangement all round.

That night as Mabel was locking the door preparatory to going home, she noticed a little boy who usually attended the Saturday evening meeting, but who had that night been absent, waiting outside the gate. As soon as he saw her come out, he ran up the path, and eagerly caught by her dress, begging her to come to his mother.

She inquired what the matter was, but he could do nothing but sob and cry to her to make haste. She hesitated for a moment. She was already later than usual and the night was rather stormy, but the little creature's distress moved her to go with him.

He led her into one of the cottages where, in the kitchen, lay a woman evidently in the last stage of consumption. The house was in a terrible state of disorder, having, apparently, never been touched since its mistress lay down, which Mabel learned was about three weeks ago.

Her husband was away at the pit, she said, and the little boy who had brought Mabel was her eldest child. An infant of about four months old slept beside her, and two other children of about two and three years of age respectively sprawled on the floor, screaming with all the strength of their united lungs.

After speaking for a few minutes to the poor woman, Mabel decided that she could do nothing until the noise was stopped, and after many unsuccessful efforts, at last had the satisfaction of seeing the two drop off to sleep, thoroughly exhausted with crying. She then turned her attention to the sick woman, whom she found to be in a very weak state indeed. She told Mabel that the doctor had visited her that morning, and had thought it his duty to tell her that she had only a very few days more to live.

Mabel hardly knew what to do, or what to say, but at last suggested, that perhaps she would like to see Mr. Chadwell or the missionary, as she gathered from her conversation that she was in great spiritual distress.

"Oh, no," sighed the poor creature, "I daren't have any of them here. The missionary was here once, and it was the words he spoke that first set me thinking. He left me a book too, that was full of good things, but my husband burned it when he came home, and the priest said if he ever came here again my eyes would never look on the blessed Virgin." She was stopped by a hollow cough that completely racked her wasted frame, and then went on in a faint voice:

"I couldn't rest, though, and the priest did not give me any comfort. Then I heard Willie there tell what the kind young ladies said about going to Heaven directly we die, and never a word of purgatory, and I thought maybe one of you could tell me something to ease my heart."

"What can I do?" Asked Mabel of herself—"What can I say? My heart seems frozen, and my lips powerless to tell her what she is dying to hear. How can I tell her what I have never experienced? How can I comfort her with words that have never comforted me?"

She laid her head down on the torn coverlet, and prayed for strength and wisdom—but no strength—no wisdom seemed to come—the Heavens seemed as brass above her—she felt nothing but a dreary blank.

And yet the woman was dying, she must do something.

For a brief moment—like a flash—she pictured herself in the dying woman's place, and felt the horror of being there without hope. With a convulsive shudder she rose and sitting down by the bedside, she took the woman's thin wasted hand in hers, and asked her if indeed she had no hope.

"Hope!" she repeated. "I read in that book—he called it the word of God—that the wages of sin is death. The priest said it was only purgatory, but I know more than he thinks I do—and I know what death that means—No, I have no hope. I know what a sinner I have been, and I know what the wages of sin are."

"But," said Mabel, gently, "we are all sinners. We cannot—even the best of us—hope for anything but the wages of sin, except through the death of Christ, who died to save sinners—even the chief."

"O, you know nothing of sin," said the woman in an agonised voice. "Here it has not been so bad, but if you had seen the place we came from you might know something of it." And the remembrance seemed to completely overcome her, for she lay moaning and crying in a perfect agony of despair.

Mabel talked and argued, but felt she was not making any impression. Finally she rose and said, speaking in a hurried whisper, "I spoke to you of hope—of hope that I myself know not. I am in as great darkness as you, and therefore I cannot give you the help you need."

The woman stared at the girl in a strange, uncomprehending sort of way, but she was by this time too weak to make any comment.

"But," continued Mabel, "I know of one who has felt the power of salvation, may I bring her to you?"

She nodded assent, and Mabel hastened away.

It was now nearly ten o'clock, but she felt that the patient would not see the light of day, and that every consideration must give way before the desperate nature of this case. She almost felt inclined to fetch Mr. Chadwell, instead of disturbing Minnie at this unseasonable hour, but feared it might have a fatal effect on the dying woman.

She quietly tapped at the back door, fearing to alarm the family by ringing, and asked to speak to Minnie privately. Minnie took her into her own room, where she related the circumstance in a few hurried words.

As soon as she had taken in the meaning of Mabel's words she ran off without uttering a word, to beg her father's permission to undertake this errand of mercy. He was very reluctant, naturally, but at last yielded, on condition that she could get one of her brothers to accompany her.

They were all in the parlour, from which apartment the sounds of their laughter and merriment proceeded, as Minnie opened the door rather hesitatingly, and asked Charlie to come out and speak to her a moment.

"Why can't you come in here and speak to me?" He asked, "I feel so comfortable, I don't care about moving."

"Oh, do come quickly!" entreated Minnie. "You don't know what may be the consequence of a minute's delay."

Charlie rose, a good deal surprised, and the others enquired rather anxiously if there was anything wrong, she looked so terribly in earnest.

She hastily assured them that it was nothing wrong at home, and drawing Charlie into the hall, told him what she wished to do, and begged him to accompany her, forgetting in her eagerness the dread of his ridicule, which at any other time would have overpowered her.

"Nonsense," he said when he had heard her out, "I really thought you had more common sense, Minnie, than to bother your head with things of that description. Are there not enough fanatics paid for doing these things? The girl must be a fool, and has no business to be out at this hour alone. Her people must be crazy too, to allow it."

"Oh, Charlie!" exclaimed Minnie, wringing her hands in her distress. "Do, please come. You can't think how much it may mean. Think if you were dying, and had no one to say a kind word!—Think if it was me! And this woman's soul is as immortal and as precious as yours or mine."

He looked at her a moment, as if he had fallen into a dream, and then without a word, took down his coat, and bidding her wrap well up, prepared to accompany her.

She flew upstairs again, and hastily threw a large shawl round her, insisting at the same time on Mabel enveloping herself in another of similar magnitude, and in about three minutes, the two girls were down in the hall, where they found Charlie awaiting them.

They set off at once, walking rapidly, towards Hollowmell, and only stopping for a few minutes, while Charlie left a message at Dr. Merton's directing him to follow them there.

They found the poor woman in a state of utter prostration, but she revived a little upon the administration of some cordial, which Charlie had had the forethought to slip into his pocket before coming out. She seemed to be worn out by mental, rather than by physical suffering, but Charlie would allow no word to be spoken to her, until the arrival of Dr. Merton, which took place in a very short time after they reached the cottage.

He gave it as his opinion, that she could not live many hours at most, and that if anything could be done to ease her suffering, which was altogether the effect of mental distress, most certainly it should be done.

He could do no good, so he took his departure, having other cases to see to, and Charlie withdrew to the fire at the other end of the apartment, leaving Mabel and Minnie to administer whatever remedy it might be in their power to offer.

Minnie immediately approached the dying woman, and finding her conscious bent over her, whispering softly in her ear. "God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten son, that whosoever believeth in Him might not perish, but have everlasting life."

She started up at the words, but her strength was not sufficient, murmuring to herself, "Not for me, oh, not for me."

"Yes, for you," said Minnie with a quiet confidence in her tone that carried with it a visible influence. "For every one who believes. Jesus came to call, not the righteous, but sinners to repentance. He is calling you now. Won't you answer?"

"I can't, I can't. How can I who have never spoken his name except to profane it!"

"But God will forgive all that for His Son's sake. Don't you know that Jesus died that God might be able to forgive us all our sins?"

"I know nothing but that I am a sinner, and the wages of sin is death," she moaned in a voice that was momentarily getting weaker.

"But the gift of God is eternal life," added Minnie turning to the place in her Testament which she had brought. "See, those are the words that follow, you can read them for yourself."

She took the book and spelt out the words by the light of the candle which Minnie held up for her.

"You see," continued she, "the one is what you have earned what you must get if you persist in standing on your own merits—the other is a gift. We get wages as we deserve them, but a gift has nothing to do with deserving. God gives us eternal life, not because we are worthy, but because Christ, our Saviour, has asked it for us—has earned it for us. It is His wages—the price of His work. All we have got to do is to take it and trust Him for the rest."

There was nothing wonderful in the words Minnie used, they were at times a little disconnected, but they came straight from her heart with such evident conviction of their truth that they struck her hearers with a force that astonished them.

"Trust Him for the rest," repeated the dying woman. "Trust Him for the rest. Yes I will. You trust Him, I see that, and why should not I? I don't understand it quite yet, but He has said it, and I will believe it."

After that she lay still for a long time, neither moving nor speaking, and scarcely seeming to breathe.

"Mabel," whispered Minnie, "I think we may leave her now. She seems at peace. I'll run in to Molly Gray's, and ask her to stay here with her during the night. Molly lives all alone since her father died, so it won't disturb any one."

"No need," said a voice behind her in a gruff whisper that startled her, "I'll stay with her myself."

She turned round and found herself face to face with the woman's husband, who had returned from the pit, and entering without their knowledge, had been a silent spectator of the scene.

"Pat!" cried the dying woman joyfully, as she heard his voice, "Oh, Pat, I am so glad you've come back in time to see me die in peace. You see I can die in peace, and you need not mind the money you promised to save for masses. I won't need any, for I am going straight to my Saviour. He's waiting for me in Heaven, and He's here beside me now, and He'll be with me all the way. Oh, miss, pray for my husband and my children that they may come to know such joy as this!"

Minnie knelt down beside the bed, and involuntarily they all followed her example—the great, strong Irishman kneeling at the head beside his wife, her thin, white hands clasped in his rough brown ones. For some minutes the silence remained unbroken, and then Minnie's clear, sweet voice rose in earnest, supplicating tones for this family so soon to be bereaved.

Her prayer was short and simple, but it went straight to the hearts of her few listeners, touching and softening them with its heart-felt pathos, so that when they rose there were tears on every cheek, and even that of Charlie was not dry.

Directly after the visitors prepared to depart, Minnie promising to come down as early as possible the next morning. As they passed out, after a few more parting words with the newly-born Christian, whom they were not likely to see again alive, Patrick Malone laid his hand on Minnie's arm to stay her, saying, "Won't you leave that with her?" pointing to the Testament.