Hollowmell

"Gladly," replied Minnie, as she put it into his hand, then hurriedly taking it again she found and turned down the page at the fourteenth chapter of St. John, and directed him to read that to her.

"I will," he said, "and I'll give you the book to-morrow when—" but his emotion choked him and he could not proceed.

"Never mind," said Minnie, "Keep it for my sake and hers."

He thanked and blessed her again and again, and declared he would never part with it till the last day of his life, though the priest burned him for it, and then Minnie ran out to find Charlie and Mabel waiting for her in the rain.

They did not speak at all, till they reached the Kimberly's home, when Charlie said he would see Mabel home, and explain the cause of her absence to her friends, and Minnie bade her friend good-night with a very tired but happy face. Charlie came up the steps to open the door to her with his latch-key, and as she went in he stopped suddenly and kissed her on the forehead and then was gone.

Minnie did not sleep till she heard him come in softly and go into his room, and even after that she lay for hours thinking of all she had seen that night and rejoicing with the angels over the sinner who had during its early watches returned to her Saviour's arms.

Mabel, too, lay long awake that night, but her thoughts were very different from Minnie's. She was pondering over the spectacle of a soul entering into that peace from which she felt herself by some mysterious means shut out.

CHAPTER VI.

He had really loved his wife with all the fervour of his passionate Irish nature, and the remembrance that but for his intemperance, and his cruelty to her, when under the influence of drink, she might have still been alive and happy, had overcome him to such an extent that he had fallen into a half unconscious state, and did not seem to be able to realise anything except that she would speak to him no more.

Minnie could not wait then, so she ran into another cottage a little way further on, the door of which was already open, and finding the object of her search (Molly Gray) engaged in the preparation of her own breakfast, she told her of the calamity which had befallen the Malones, and begged her to go in and help them.

Molly only waited to refill her kettle that she might find it ready for any emergency, and carrying her own tea with her in a can wherewith to refresh the worn-out watcher, she at once repaired to the bereaved home.

Greatly relieved to be able to leave them under efficient care, Minnie hastened home, having first seen the grief-stricken husband swallow some tea, and a few mouthsful of bread, but she had no appetite for her own breakfast, though she made a pretence of eating to escape comment, and rose to prepare for church without having tasted a morsel.

None knew of her last night's visit except her father and Charlie, and as her father did not mention it and Charlie had not yet appeared, she was not annoyed with the questions and expressions of wonder which she had hardly hoped to elude. Mabel was not at church, neither was she at school next day, an excuse being sent for her absence, stating that she was confined to the house with a slight attack of influenza. Minnie's excitement of Saturday night, thus augmented by anxiety on her friend's behalf, now began to tell upon her, so much, indeed, that before the work of the school was over, every one observed its effect in her heightened colour, and the unnatural brightness of her eyes round which dark circles had formed. They all attributed it to Mabel's illness and did not think it necessary to enquire into the cause of her apparent feverishness, so that she got away from school also without being embarrassed by troublesome explanations.

She went straight from school to Mabel's, running all the way in her anxious haste. The fresh wind and the exertion of running had a beneficial effect upon her, both physically and mentally, for by the time she arrived at Mr. Chartres' door, the feverish flush was replaced by a healthy glow, and the strange, indefinable feeling of restlessness which had all day possessed her, seemed to have been swept away by the breath of the wind.

Mabel was still in bed, her aunt informed Minnie, though in her opinion, she was considerably better, and requested her to go up herself to Mabel's bedroom.

Minnie needed no second invitation, but immediately flew upstairs, and opening the door softly, peeped in before she entered. She was lying with her eyes closed, but the opening of the door, quietly though it was done, caused her to unclose them again just as Minnie looked in. She looked very pale and exhausted, but brightened up wonderfully under the influence of Minnie's cheerfulness, and was altogether so much better by the time for her departure, that she felt persuaded she would be able to attend school again on the morrow.

"That notion about influenza, you know," she remarked confidentially to Minnie, "was nothing more than a delusion on aunt's part. I have really no more influenza than she as herself, but she must have some reason for my being ill, and there would be no use contradicting her, unless I could supply a reason myself, which I can't. I thought it just as well to let it be influenza as anything else."

Minnie agreed that perhaps it was, and conjuring her to "shake herself up" and be out to-morrow, departed.

That night, after tea she was sitting in the parlour with her two brothers, Archie and Seymour, the one of whom, Seymour, was older than she, and the other, Archie, a year younger.

"I say, Min," began Archie, "aren't you going to tell us what the row was on Saturday night? What mysterious traffic is going on between you and Charlie? I was teasing him to tell me yesterday, but he was as silent as the Sphinx."

"And what if I intend to be as silent as that famous monument also?" Asked Minnie.

"O, come now!" Replied he, in a coaxing tone, "you couldn't, you know, you're just dying to tell, as much as I am to hear what before-unheard of circumstance induced him to turn out on a Saturday night, and a wet and stormy one too."

"Am I?" She asked, looking at him with a provokingly doubtful expression, but feeling rather nervous all the time. "Then I must congratulate you on being a great deal better acquainted with my state of mind than I am myself. I don't know how it is, but for my own part, I confess that I cannot find any indication of such a condition as you describe."

Here Seymour looked up.

"I think," he remarked, quietly. "That I might give you a little further information on the subject, since you seem so very much interested in it. Minnie was along with Charlie on Saturday night, on his interesting errand, and also Miss Chartres."

Archie gave a low whistle of surprise, and stared at Seymour, as though expecting him to say more, but if such was his expectation, he was doomed to disappointment, for Seymour having delivered in these few words the full extent of his information on the topic under discussion, closed his lips and turned his attention to his book again.

Minnie looked distressed, but Archie did not notice it in his astonishment and eagerness to know more about this mysterious proceeding.

"Is it true, Minnie?" he demanded. "Seymour, who told you that?—I declare I don't believe a word of it."

"Edward Laurence told me," replied Seymour, without looking up. "His mother was down there at Hollowmell yesterday, and came home full of it. I did not know before to-day that I had a saint for a sister; and as for not believing it, if you don't, just look at her and you soon will."

And sure enough her face was dyed with a hot flush that mounted even as he spoke to the roots of her hair, though he could only have been instinctively aware of her confusion, for his head was still bent over his book.

Archie looked from the one to the other in open-mouthed astonishment for a minute or two, and then it dawned upon him that Minnie looked, to say the least of it, uncomfortable, and stifling his curiosity, which was by this time greater than ever, as best he could, suddenly relapsed into silence.

Soon afterwards Seymour left the room, and Minnie resolved to seize this opportunity of telling Archie the real facts of the case.

"It was so kind of you," she commenced rather confusedly, "to help me as you did just now. I could not tell you about it while Seymour was here, for you know very well how he laughs at religion, and says it is all done for show, and that there is no heart in it at all. I don't mean that I should have told you if Seymour had not been here, for I wouldn't have mentioned it if he had not—"

"Never mind about that," interrupted Archie, impatiently, "proceed with the story—or," he hastily interrupted himself, "not if it bothers you to talk about it. I don't mind much, you know."

Minnie smiled, knowing well how much he did mind, and assured him that it would not bother her at all to tell him, as she knew he would listen patiently, and not ridicule anything she might say.

She then proceeded to tell him in as few words as possible, what had taken place at Hollowmell on Saturday night, and how it came about that Mabel happened to be there at such a late hour.

"Why," exclaimed Archie, when he had listened with an interest, which surprised himself as entirely as it surprised Minnie; for though of an unusually curious disposition, he invariably found his interest flag after drinking in the first few details of anything. "Why, if you aren't a party of complete 'bricks—' Seymour called you a saint, but I say a 'brick,' and if you aren't content with that, I don't know what will content you." And he stared at her with an expression of intense approval that was irresistible.

"But what I want to know is this," he continued in a tone of confidential deliberation, when her amusement had subsided. "However did you manage to get Charlie into such a pie? He and Seymour go together in these affairs; I should have considered Ned a more suitable subject for a purpose of that kind."

"O, I hadn't time to think, I suppose, I was in too great a hurry to get away—and besides I wasn't sure whether Ned was in or not. I'm glad now it was Charlie, for I don't think he'll look on these things with the same eyes now, as he used to, after what he saw of their value and necessity when nothing else could avail."

"Ah, well, I don't know much about it myself, but I suppose we must attend to them some time, though there's no particular hurry at present for any of us that I can see."

"Oh, but there is!" cried Minnie anxiously, "don't you see that the end may come any day, and that though we are young, we haven't any guarantee that we will live even one day more—there are so many ways we may die, and just consider that one of them might overtake us within an hour."

"O, yes, of course, it might," was his light reply, "but that's very unlikely. It's a rather dull sort of subject this—I think I'll run round to Jack Durnard's for a map I lent him yesterday."

He walked out unconcernedly, and Minnie made no effort to stop him, knowing how useless further remonstrance on this point would be.

Next day Mabel was allowed to come to school, greatly to Minnie's delight, and was not worse on that account contrary to her aunt's confident expectation, indeed the life and activity with which she found herself surrounded there, and into which she was ere long sucked, seemed to raise and disperse the cloud of depression which had enveloped her, so that in a few days she was her old self again.

The examination in which Mona and Minnie were to take part, was now drawing near, and both were very hard at work in consequence. Minnie, who never did anything by halves, wrought with all her energy, and denied herself the pleasure of being at Hollowmell as often as usual, that she might keep herself in right working order.

Not that she hoped to stand first on the list, for that hope she had abandoned when she resolved to keep back her Latin translation, but there were candidates from other schools in the neighbourhood, and the honour of the school was as much a consideration with her as any individual honour could be.

They were both too busy just at that time to indulge in any of their usual skirmishes, even if they had been particularly inclined, which, singularly enough, neither happened to be. Mona, to do her justice, had not, since the day on which she had been so ignominiously defeated about the Hollowmell scheme, troubled Minnie with any of her ordinary most provoking remarks; she held aloof, it is true, in a way which many considered to bode no good to their future peace when she would once more be at liberty to resume her attacks.

In this, however, they were mistaken, for matters remained "in statu quo" after the examination was over, and the school had fallen into its usual routine again.

There was a good deal of speculation as to which would stand highest, but as it would be some time before the result could be communicated, these speculations were soon allowed to die away, and be replaced by objects of more immediate interest.

About this time the girls were making preparations for a grand floral demonstration which was to take place at the end of June, for their work had been going on now for four months. It was still almost a month till then, but the hearts of these youthful missionaries were already growing troubled as they contemplated the ambitious nature of their undertaking, when an incident occurred which, not in itself having any connection with their project, yet grew into a solution of their difficulty, or rather out of it grew the solution.

They had thought of asking the parents and friends of the boys and girls to be present and share in the festivity, but found that their limited space forbade the carrying into effect of this amiable project. They were very loath to abandon it, however, as at that time there was great discontent among the miners, and indeed a strike was threatened.

They were not vain enough to imagine that the result of this scheme would be to avert the impending catastrophe, but they had such faith in the soothing effect of good-natured social intercourse with them, and a display of real and unaffected interest in them and all concerning them, that they hoped at least to lessen in some degree the spirit of disaffection that pervaded the district.

Some one suggested that they should hire a hall which stood at that end of the town, erected for temperance purposes but seldom used, and this suggestion, being favourably received, would have been carried out at once, but for the unfortunate reason that the hall was engaged for every Saturday up to that time and several weeks beyond it for meetings of the miners.

There was no other place at all suitable to be had, and so they found their good intentions frustrated at the very outset.

"I am afraid we shall have to give it up," sighed Bessie Raynor, one of the most energetic and indomitable among them in the pursuit of anything on which she had set her heart; and on the carrying out of this scheme she had set her heart, as its success involved a private one of her own.

Her father was also a coal-master like Minnie's, but his works were in quite a different part of the country so that they were inaccessible to her at present. They had a house there, though, just outside the little mining village, and there they usually removed during the Summer months. Fired by Minnie's example, Bessie had formed the resolution of initiating something of the same kind among her father's work-people when she should be among them again in a few weeks' time at most; accordingly, she was anxious to acquire as much experience as possible in the different sections of the work set on foot by the "Hollowmell Mission," and their varied results.

The case was felt to be hopeless indeed when Bessie gave in, and as nothing further could be done, and no fresh idea was promulgated, the meeting separated with the intention of giving the matter a careful re-consideration in case any solution might present itself hitherto unthought of.

Minnie was in very low spirits indeed, for her father was looking more care-worn and troubled every day, and was even now away attending one of those meetings from which he usually returned only to shut himself up in his study without seeing or speaking to any one.

Mabel was not out that day, she was naturally rather delicate, and had drooped very much of late, indeed, she had not been right since the night of Mrs. Malone's death, and this added a new cause for anxiety to Minnie's already troubled mind.

She walked slowly home trying to think of a way of bringing their plan to a successful issue, and so doing something, at least, towards the diffusion of a better spirit among the people. She could not bear the thought of being idle while there was a vague possibility of the slightest improvement being made in the present aspect of affairs. But her brain seemed willing to turn to anything but that, and she found herself as far off as ever from any settlement by the time she reached home.

Her father had not yet returned, and the boys were out, so she sat down in the window to await their arrival. She had fallen into a sort of dream, and was performing all sorts of impossible feats before an admiring audience, composed for the most part of miners, but among whom she could distinguish the faces of her father, Mabel, Charlie, and a certain Mr. Laurence, the identical good-looking Methodist minister to whom Mona Cameron had on one occasion alluded.

Strangely enough, or rather, not strangely at all, for what impossible thing is not possible in a dream, Mona was her fellow-actor in this vision, and the two were in the midst of some wonderful acrobatic display, when they happened to touch each other and the result was a sudden "phiz," not a moral "phiz," such as the pupils of Miss Marsden's school were in the habit of witnessing, but a real, or rather what seemed to her a real chemical "phiz" in which both were involved, and without much surprise she beheld herself seethe and bubble "just like lemonade," as she afterwards described it, and finally vanish into viewless vapour.

Just at that moment a sharp report in her ear caused her to start and wake, and there, sure enough, was her father in the act of drawing the cork of a lemonade bottle, while Archie poured out the contents of another, which must by some mysterious means or other have got into her dream.

"Well, sleepyhead!" exclaimed Archie, "did you condescend to wake at last? Do you know how long you have been sleeping?"

Minnie looked round in half-awakened surprise.

The curtains were drawn, the gas-jets lit, and the supper on the table, nearly finished too.

"Why did you allow me to sleep so long?" asked Minnie in rather an injured tone.

"As to that," replied Archie, "I'd have wakened you fast enough—you know my usual accommodating spirit—but papa would not hear of it."

"And really you did look so uncommonly tired," added Ned, "that we all thought it a charity to let you go on. I hope it was a pleasant dream—you seemed to do a great deal of talking during it."

Minnie laughed, and taking her seat at the table proceeded to entertain them with an account of it, and its absurd termination, which was received with shouts of laughter, and Minnie was glad to observe that her father joined them in their merriment without the appearance of force or strain, which she had noticed on similar occasions during the last few weeks.

"But what put the miners in your head?" He enquired curiously, when they were at last sober again.

"I suppose it must have been with hearing so much about them for some time back, and we were talking about them down in the Hollow this afternoon. I knew you were trying to satisfy them, and I was bothering myself because I could do nothing when things were going wrong."

"Well, if all that was on your mind, I hardly wonder at your dreaming of miners," remarked Mr. Kimberly smiling.

"And highly complimented the miners may think themselves," put in Archie.

"Well, as it turns out," continued Mr. Kimberly, "you needn't have worried yourself quite so much about your inability, seeing you have already accomplished a very great deal—you and your young friends who help you."

"How?" exclaimed Minnie, eagerly, "we seem to be able to do nothing just now—the only time we could do any real good—"

"Never mind that at the present moment," interrupted Archie, "let us hear papa's story."

"Then you must know in the first place that the discontent among the miners is stirred up by a few men who, not content with bringing poverty and hardship upon themselves, seek to draw others into it also, and seem never to be so happy as when raising strife of one kind or another. I know that the most of my men, are perfectly well aware that they receive good wages for their work, and would be content enough if it were not for these vampires—for they seem liker that than anything else. Though I have been at many of their meetings I have never had an opportunity of speaking until to-day, and you may be sure I made the most of it, laying before them a plain statement of the case, and asking them if, in their hearts, they did not endorse every word of it.

"I may as well say that I had very little faith in anything resulting from this appeal, and was therefore not surprised when I sat down, to see that the stolid indifference with which they had received me was still unbroken; but I was surprised at what followed.

"A great burly Irishman—one Malone—who has been working in the pit for half-a-year or so, stood up and spoke.

"He did not say much, but every word told. He retailed the story of his wife's death-bed, and how the master's daughter had come, undeterred by wind and rain, and brought with her the comfort and hope which had made his wife's last moments the happiest she had ever known. I cannot bring before you the grandeur of simplicity which carried such weight with it, nor the terrible sincerity of the rugged giant, as he stood with tears in his eyes and his voice husky with emotion, but it is a scene I will never forget as long as I live, and I don't think any one who witnessed it will ever forget it either.

"He reminded them too, how the master's daughter and her friends had wrought and thought for their children's good and theirs, and how there was scarcely one present who had not reaped the benefit of their labours in comfort and cleanliness alone, not to mention other and better things.

"In conclusion, he proposed that they should all go back to their work, after they had given three cheers in honour of the young ladies, for the sake of whose goodness alone, they should be willing to do much more than this.

"He sat down amid a perfect burst of cheering, and when that was subdued, another miner rose and seconded him, and the resolution was carried by acclamation.

"Some one tried to oppose it, but he was effectually shouted down in less time than it takes to tell it; and so the dispute was settled, and my men go back to work on Monday in perfect good humour with themselves and all the world."

Nobody spoke when he had finished his recital, the minds of all being intensely occupied, each with its individual reflections on the scene just described.

"And that man," continued Mr. Kimberly after a long pause, "was, not two months ago, the most malignant malcontent in Hollowmell."

Still no one else seemed to care about giving expression to any thoughts they might have on the subject, and in silence they separated for the night.

CHAPTER VII.

"Why, this is the idea!" exclaimed Ned, as he settled himself comfortably in his chair, and began on the apples which Archie piled upon the table. "I never imagined a kitchen was such a jolly place before—upon my word, I didn't. It fairly beats anything in the way of drawing-rooms, dining-rooms, or parlours that ever occurred in my experience, at least. Why did not we think of this before?" he demanded, as he stretched out his long legs before the fire with an air of intense satisfaction.

"O, we've often thought of it before, and done it too," answered Minnie laughing. "Only you see it isn't always possible, as we can only do it when the servants are out."

"Ah—um—just so," remarked Ned in a ruminating voice, "that's it, is it? Well, couldn't we have another kitchen for them, and keep this one for ourselves? I don't see any good reason why the best apartment in the house should be expressly constructed and designed for the particular delectation of the servants. I say it's a shame.'"

"You'd better enjoy it while you may," advised Seymour amid the laughter of the other two. "And not spoil your digestion by grumbling. When you have a house I have no doubt you will sit in the kitchen, and allow the servants to occupy the drawing-room."

Ned viewed this new proposition with grave and philosophic aspect, for the space of two minutes, and then gave it as the result of his cogitation that he "didn't know but he should prefer that arrangement after all."

Just then Charlie, guided by their laughter, came blundering down the stairs, and not being familiar with the way, took a wrong turning, and much to his astonishment found himself in an apartment, which was evidently a store-room of some description. Hastily groping his way back, he made an essay in another direction, and dived into a passage which ultimately landed him in a coal-cellar. On returning from this second unsuccessful expedition he discovered a door in the passage which he opened. Merely pausing to assure himself that it wasn't a cupboard, he stepped confidently out, and was precipitated into the kitchen, in a manner more expeditious than dignified, or even comfortable.

"Good gracious! Whatever can that be!" exclaimed Minnie, starting up, and running to the rescue, while the others followed with various appropriate and characteristic remarks of an ejaculatory description.

"O, don't disturb yourselves for the world—it isn't worth your while—now!" they were assured in the familiar tones of Charlie. "A nice set of people, you," he continued, when he had seated himself in the chair Ned had vacated in his astonishment. "To sit here comfortably and listen to a fellow searching about for the kitchen till it might as well be in the North West Passage for all the chance he has of finding it."

"We heard you come down stairs," explained Minnie when she could speak again, the rest were too much overcome with amusement to offer any observations whatever. "But we thought you had changed your mind and gone back when you didn't make your appearance." And she went off into another fit of merriment.

"Well, now that I am here at last—my dangers and perils at an end—won't any of you show your charity to a poor shipwrecked and tempest-tossed mariner, by pitching over half-a-dozen of those apples? Remarkably snug quarters these, to be sure! Quite worth the trouble I had in finding them."

"No doubt," returned Ned, finding himself deprived of his comfortable position, "when you manage to usurp another fellow's place. Remarkably snug, indeed!"

"Glad to find you're of the same opinion, old fellow, I rather imagined you wouldn't be so enthusiastic for a minute or so," and he settled himself down in a still more comfortable position yet, and seemed to enjoy himself greatly.

Ned, seeing that remonstrance was altogether useless, was forced to hold his tongue, and hunt up another chair with the best grace he could assume, after which Charlie gave an interesting account of his adventures.

Then they conversed on different subjects, and soon their conversation turned on the miner's dispute, and the scene their father had described to them on the preceding evening.

"I'm sure I said Min was a brick all along. I said they were all bricks, didn't I?" exclaimed Archie, appealing to Minnie.

"To be sure you did," she corroborated. "But I don't know that they would have regarded it as any great compliment, if indeed they would have understood it as such at all, so I didn't apprise them of your delicate attention—the girls, I mean." Archie pondered over this for several minutes, and seemed to come to the conclusion that perhaps it was better as it was, at any rate, he did not pursue the subject further.

"Well, I must confess," remarked Ned, "that I never half believed there was any practical use in Christianity till now."

"Practical use of Christianity," repeated Seymour, disdainfully, "the commonest charity would have had the same result."

"And what is the commonest charity but the essence of Christianity?" asked Minnie.

"Fiddlestick!" replied Seymour, irreverently. "Religion is based upon the difference, in an ecclesiastical sense, 'twixt tweedledum and tweedledee."

"Not the true religion of Christ," asserted Minnie, "not my religion."

"Then what is your definition of religion?" asked Charlie, who had been silent hitherto on the subject. "It deserves a voice, you know, since it has 'justified its existence by its success' in the words of father's favourite maxim."

"The religion of Christ does not justify itself by success," corrected Minnie, "since it is in itself the fountain of justice as well as of mercy, it requires no justification, but its adoption justifies all who receive it."

"Well, but tell us what it is, according to your interpretation?"

"According to my interpretation, which is also that of the New Testament," answered Minnie, "Pure religion and undefiled, is to visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction, and to keep one's self unspotted from the world."

"Well, that's simple enough at any rate. Is that your whole confession of Faith?"

"Yes, those are what I consider the duties of religion, but no one who has really felt its power, could ever think of them merely as duties."

"You have shown us beyond dispute that you are capable of acting up to the first proposition. Even I, who know little about it, can see that is the easier of the two, how about the second?"

"There is only one way I know of fulfilling that requisition—I can't help it if it seems absurd to you—to me it is the true and only one, and that is by following closely the footsteps of that One who alone trod the world without being corrupted by its evil."

Charlie considered a minute.

"Well, after all," he said, "there must be something in it. No amount of reasoning, however sound, would have moved the turgid intellects of those miners. I suppose that as long as minds of that calibre exist, there must also exist a means of influencing them for good, which must of necessity be the extreme antipodes of their own inclinations."

"I think I don't understand you very clearly," returned she, "but if you mean, as I think you do, that Christianity is only to be tolerated for what it can do in the way of working on the emotions of those who are altogether governed by them, you are wrong. Its purpose is a far higher one, that of awakening the conscience, and enlightening the darkened understanding of such as these."

"And of what use is it to those who are already freed by other means from that benighted condition?"

Minnie looked perplexed, and the tears began to gather slowly in her eyes. It pained her to find her knowledge on the subject so limited.

"Charlie," she said tremulously, "I am but newly awakened myself out of what you call 'that benighted condition,' through the influence of the Gospel of Christ, and I don't know anything of the other means you talk about. You know I am not much given to thinking, and I have never tried to argue out these matters. I only know what it has done for me."

"And what is that?" asked Charlie.

"It has saved me from a frivolous, unprofitable life on earth, and a death beyond the grave," replied Minnie, solemnly, "and what it has done for me, it can do for all who are willing."

She paused a moment, but as nobody spoke, went on: "I don't imagine that it has the same effect on everybody, it can't, of course, as everybody isn't alike, but it must make a change of some kind, even in people who live the best lives outwardly, before they realize the power of religion, live only half-filled lives, however much work they may do—as Mrs. Browning says—'Nor man, nor nature satisfies whom only God created.'"

"That's just where Minnie has us, I think," put in Seymour at this juncture, "If you all feel as I do, you must acknowledge that there is something within us which isn't of a piece with the corruptible part of our nature—something that craves for an object to worship and pour itself out to, and yet nothing on earth is perfect enough to satisfy."

"I suppose you mean the soul," observed Ned.

"Nay," replied Seymour, "that is what I would call the spirit, and if so, it cannot be of the earth—it must be supernatural. It cannot be a substance, and therefore it cannot be killed or subjected to any of the forms of corruption or extinction to which mundane objects are liable."

Just at this point they were interrupted by the entrance of two of the servants, and they were obliged to exchange their quarters for the drawing-room, where the conversation was not resumed. On the next afternoon, however, as Minnie was alone in the parlour, Archie came in, and leaning on the back of her chair with one arm round her neck, began in his usual impulsive fashion. "I say Minnie, Ned and I were talking it over—you know, what we were talking about last night—well, we had a long talk after we went to bed and we both came to the conclusion that since we always intended to go in for it some time, and knew that we could not face death without it, it would be a mean and cowardly thing to make a rush for it just at the end, and so we're determined to try for it at once."

Minnie's heart gave a great throb of joy at these words, and a torrent of thanksgiving went out from it for this answer to her unceasing prayers on her brothers' behalf; nevertheless, she was a good deal perplexed about the queer ideas he seemed to entertain on the subject, especially as he did not seem to have the ghost of a notion as to how he was to "make a try for it," as he expressed it.

Just at this point Mabel came in, and Minnie, for the first time in her life, regretted her friend's presence, fully expecting Archie to disappear as he usually did when any of her friends visited her. But this time Archie did not move, and after a minute he said "Does not Miss Chartres go down to Hollowmell with you? I think Seymour said she was with you the night you went with Charlie?"

"Yes," answered Minnie, wondering what was coming next.

"Then she won't be annoyed if we go on with what we were talking about. You see," he said turning to Mabel, "I can't bear to leave anything half done, and I don't see how I'm to get through this without Minnie's help."

Mabel apologised for interrupting them, and begged that they would not mind her presence at all.

"O, but we shall," said Archie smiling, "for perhaps you may help us—me, at any rate, to understand what Minnie is trying to teach me."

"And what may that be?" enquired Mabel, "I am afraid there is little hope for my success if Minnie fails."

"The way to Heaven," replied Archie without a moment's hesitation. To an ordinary observer her face would not have displayed any emotion, but the boy's keen eyes noticed how the shadows deepened in hers, and that her voice trembled a little as she answered that no one was better able to do that than Minnie.

"Well, I'm not so sure of that," he remarked, "Minnie has not had any difficulties herself, you see, and she can't understand how any one else can have any either. As she says herself she just took the salvation when it was offered her and God did the rest. That's easy enough—or looks so at the first glance, but when you come to try it, why, there's nothing more difficult in the whole world. It's just like Columbus and his friends turned the other way. They said it was impossible at first, and when he showed them they cried 'How easy!' we think, 'How easy!' But when we come to try we find it almost impossible."

"And soon," interrupted Minnie, "you will be wondering at yourself because you did not see it immediately."

After this the three had a long and earnest conversation, but Archie did not seem to get any nearer a solution of his difficulties, and at last decided to go in search of Edward Laurence, who might help him he thought.

Minnie was a good deal disappointed that she could not make things clear to Archie, but feeling assured by his earnestness that he would not long remain in the dark, she brightened up, and gave Mabel an account of how the strike had been averted.

Mabel's delight at this good news was in no way less than Minnie's had been, and for the first time since its occurrence, Minnie allowed herself to taste the fruit of her labour.

"And O, Mabel!" she exclaimed when they had talked about it till she felt it was too dangerously pleasant. "I didn't think of it before, but now the hall won't be needed for any more miner's meetings, so I suppose we may have it now."

"I should think we shall be able to get it easily enough," agreed Mabel, "What a deal of good has grown out of our little venture."

"Yes, is it not splendid to think of—and oh, don't you think we might go round to Rowson's to-night and secure the hall?"

"I think we might, the sooner it's settled the better."

They were soon ready, and walked slowly along, enjoying the sweetness of the lovely evening. Not far from the door they met Archie coming at a terrible pace, his face as bright and glowing as the sunset sky; without stopping to consider that he was on the public road, or regarding the amused look of passers-by, he caught Minnie round the neck and kissed her, and would in all probability have done the same to Mabel, if Seymour had not come up at that moment, and demanded of him what he meant by "making such an ass of himself."

Unabashed by Seymour's description of his conduct, Archie replied that Minnie understood him, and did not object, which statement she instantly corroborated.

He next enquired where they were going, and on their errand being explained both boys volunteered to accompany them, being of opinion that they were better fitted to carry out arrangements of such a nature than young ladies in general—a view which Mabel and Minnie both warmly protested against.

"But I think you had better go home, Archie," said Minnie with a look which he was not slow to interpret and respond to.

"All right!" he replied cheerfully. Then in an undertone as Seymour and Mabel walked on, "you understand, Min, it is all right."

"Yes dear, I understand, and I am so glad," she returned in such an affectionate voice, that Archie was moved to kiss her again, and then she ran off after the other two, feeling that her heart was almost too full of happiness.

When the trio arrived at Mr. Rowson's he was out, but they were desired to wait for his coming as he had left word that if any of the young ladies from the Hollow called, he wished particularly to see them. Accordingly, they sat down as requested, and in the course of ten minutes the gentleman himself appeared.

"I suppose you have come about the hall," he observed, addressing Minnie, after they had exchanged greetings.

"Exactly," she replied, "we guessed it would be vacant now, as the miners' dispute is settled."

"Thanks to you and your kind-hearted friends," put in the little man, smiling at the two girls who blushed violently.

"I am sure," he continued, turning to Seymour, "it would be quite a pleasure to let the hall to these young ladies for any purpose, but most of all for the purpose they have in view, and not to be behind hand in doing a good turn when I can, I must beg of you to accept the use of the hall for that day as a present." And he stopped breathless and perspiring from his unwonted exertion.

At first neither Mabel nor Minnie would hear of Mr. Rowson's proposal, and protested that they would rather pay for the hall, till Seymour, who had until now been a mere spectator of the proceedings, came to Mr. Rowson's aid who was by this time in a state of hopeless perspiration.

"Come, come, young ladies!" he said. "Do try to reduce yourselves to an ordinary level. Be a little more sensible, and a little less quixotic. Does it not occur to you that it is perhaps a little selfish, trying to secure the monopoly of charity to yourselves, and leaving others who too would like to do something in that way out in the cold?"

"But—" Minnie began, and then she came to a standstill, quite overcome by the last most ingenious argument.

Seymour laughed, so did Mr. Rowson, so did Mabel, and finally so did Minnie herself, and thus the matter was amicably settled.

Seymour and Minnie walked home with Mabel, and when they had left her at her own door, as they strolled slowly home, Seymour remarked, "What a quiet, sensible little woman your friend is—as different as possible from you; how comes it that two such extremes manage to get on so well?"

"Thanks for your good opinion! It's quite flattering to be classed as the extreme opposite of quiet and sensible," was the only reply vouchsafed by Minnie with a great show of offended dignity.

Seymour laughed, and remarked that often "people with a great deal more sense didn't put it to nearly such a good use."

Whereat Minnie assumed a slightly molified air, and observed that now he was disparaging himself—a piece of humility which he altogether repudiated.

Next morning there was a great deal of rejoicing among the girls, who were in early enough to hear Minnie's news, and some few, who had hitherto held back fearing public ridicule, were now eager to join them, finding they were regarded, not only with toleration, but even with approbation by the general public.

Mona Cameron was not among the number, though in her heart she would gladly have been there. She had many times longed to join them, and was even now only kept back by her pride, and the conviction that it would degrade her to place herself in the ranks and acknowledge Minnie Kimberly as her head and leader as the other girls cheerfully did, although Minnie herself had placed Mabel in the position of command, and loyally insisted on her approval being necessary to the most trivial arrangement.

On this morning it happened that Mona was in early, and was obliged to listen to the happy chatter of the girls as they discussed their plans with a zest and good-humour such as seldom prevails when a company of girls have under discussion a subject on which each has her individual and separate ideas, and is anxious to see them carried out.

Mona sat apart, feeling very much annoyed with herself for caring at all about "charity organizations," and yet caring all the more, listening eagerly to every different suggestion—rejecting this one in her own mind, and approving that, or improving it, as the case might be, by tacking on some neat little amendment evolved from her own clever brain.

All of a sudden, these several proceedings were brought to a standstill by the entrance of the Principal and teachers rather sharper to the minute than was the usual custom of the school.

Immediately after the opening exercises, Miss Marsden produced from an envelope in her hand, a large blue paper, and announced that she had that morning received the result of the examination, and would now read it to the school, as it was probably a matter of interest to all, though only two of their number had taken part in it, and might possibly act as a stimulus to others to follow their example.

She then proceeded to read the list at the head of which stood Mona Cameron, followed by Minnie Kimberly—a circumstance which was simply the fulfilment of the general expectation; but the announcement of Mona's name as the taker of the Latin prize was a matter of astonishment to all, and rather a blow to most of them, as it had been confidently expected that Minnie would take it, and to no one did it afford greater surprise than to Mona herself. The flush of triumph on her face deepened for a moment on hearing this second piece of news, but it faded quickly as she remembered Minnie's translation.

"Prize-taker or no prize-taker," she muttered to herself, "Minnie's translation was worth a dozen of mine." And her sense of justice revolted against the decision, whosever it might be; moreover, Mona did not care much about the prize she did not care to have the name of being first merely, her ambition was to be first, and feel herself first. She knew in her own heart that in this matter she was far behind Minnie, and was therefore far from being satisfied, although any of the girls would have said she certainly ought to be.

She received her music lesson from Miss Marsden herself so when the hour arrived she resolved to speak to her on the subject, and did so.

"I can't make anything of Minnie," replied Miss Marsden to her query, "she showed me her translation—one which would have been no shame to a graduate in Classics, and forgive me, Miss Cameron, greatly superior to yours.

"She said that she showed me it simply to assure me that it was not through idleness she declined to enter the Latin competition. I was naturally anxious to know what motives influenced her in this course, but she would give me no satisfaction on that point. She merely said she did not intend to send it, that was all.

"I reasoned with her," continued the Principal, "and used every argument I could think of to induce her to change her mind, and finally represented to her that it was her duty to consider the interests of the school as well as her own feelings. She became quite distressed at this, and assured me she had made every effort in her power to make a creditable appearance, but she could not alter her determination in this case.

"I saw that further remonstrance would only pain her and could not effect my purpose, so I said no more, but allowed her to have her way."

Mona looked almost incredulous for a moment, and then without a word went on with her music. She thought she had discovered Minnie's motive.

When she entered the schoolroom again, she secured a seat beside Mabel, and launched at once into the subject uppermost in her mind.

"Well, Mabel," she began, "what do you think of the result of the examination?"

"I don't know that I have thought much about it at all but I do not see how the result could have been different."

"Ah, then, I was right in supposing you to be aware of Minnie's intention not to send that Latin translation?"

"Yes, I did know of it," replied Mabel.

"And why then, in the name of justice, did you not prevent her carrying out that intention?" demanded Mona, impatiently, almost forgetting her object. "Surely you might have used your well-known influence better!"

"Nothing would have induced her to give up her determination," replied Mabel, quietly, "and I would have been the last to advise her to do so, seeing she made it a matter between herself and her conscience."

"Oh!" exclaimed Mona, recollecting herself, "That is just what I want to know about. What was her real reason? you know she did not give any to Miss Marsden. Don't be afraid to tell me, I have no sinister motive in asking it, I merely wish to do Minnie justice."

Mabel glanced at her in some astonishment before she replied. "I am not sure that the reason she gave to me was her real one," she said, "at least, I think it was only a part of it. However, I will tell you what she gave to me as such. She said that she had studied Latin so long with her brothers, that she would be able to place any one at a disadvantage who was obliged to study it alone. She considered that she occupied a rather unfair position with regard to you particularly, and probably also to many of the others who would take part in the examination.

"I think she was pretty sorry about it, for I can assure you, she spared no pains on that translation, and was very proud of it. I remember how regretfully she looked at it, when she told me she was not going to send it after all, and then laughed and said she should be satisfied with the power to do it, even if no one knew about it but herself."

"I am sure I would if I had been Minnie," remarked Mona. "No, I wouldn't either—I would have liked it to be known and appreciated—but I wouldn't have cared for the prize in comparison with the translation itself. But have you no idea about the rest of her reason? That isn't the whole of it, as you say."

"Well, I have my own ideas," admitted Mabel, "but I don't consider myself at liberty to give expression to them, even as conjectures."

"Then I am right!" exclaimed Mona, triumphantly, "I have got on to the right track at last, and you will see what I shall make of it. Mabel," she continued earnestly, "you can't think how miserable I have been all this while about my conduct to Minnie. Often I have been on the point of giving in and acknowledging how wrong it was, but my pride has always stood in the way and dared me to do it. I don't think I am a coward in most things, but I am a perfect dastard before that, my worst enemy. I think he is down now, though, and if I can help it, he'll never recover from the defeat Minnie has administered to him this morning."

Mabel did not know very well what to say in reply to this confession. She felt very much inclined to get up and embrace Mona on the spot, a most uncommon circumstance with our calm, quiet, undemonstrative Mabel, but it being within school hours, and consequently such an exhibition being altogether out of the question, she merely slipped her hand into Mona's and gave it a hearty squeeze which was cordially returned by Mona, at the same time furtively wiping some imperceptible spots of dust off her cheek, while she narrowly examined the points of her compasses which she still held in her hand.

"Don't say anything," whispered Mona, after a long pause, "I'll manage it myself."

"Very well," agreed Mabel, as she rolled up her work and went out.

Mona was determined to do what she had made up her mind to do, thoroughly, and to do it at once, before her purpose began to cool, and perhaps die out all together. Accordingly, she watched diligently for an opportunity to speak to Minnie, which seemed to be a particularly difficult matter to obtain that afternoon; but at last her perseverance was rewarded by the sight of Minnie alone in the dressing-room.

She was rummaging about in her jacket-pocket for something, and started slightly when she became aware of Mona's presence. She did not speak, but continued her search, and Mona looked at her wistfully for a moment, not knowing how to begin—her carefully prepared appeal having vanished as if by magic.

"Minnie," was all she could falter out, "I—have been so—so—unjust to you—always. Can you forgive me?"

For the space of a minute Minnie stood gazing at her in sheer amazement, and then with impulsive swiftness flung her arms round her neck, whispering, "Oh, Mona, I am so glad we may be friends at last."

Mona forgot all about the Latin translation, and Minnie's motive in connection with it—forgot everything in her new friendship, and not till many days after did she recur to the subject.

The girls were all dying of curiosity to know the history of the wonderful alliance between the quondam enemies and rivals, but neither Mona, nor Minnie, nor Mabel, who alone knew any of the circumstances connected with it, uttered a word of explanation, so they were fain to accept it as it stood.

Mona entered heart and soul into the arrangements for the floral entertainment, and won the admiration as well as the gratitude of all, by the remarkable genius she displayed in the creation of novel devices, and before unheard-of improvements in their plans.

She had evidently made good use of her time during her self-imposed banishment from their councils; she had listened to all their plans and revised and improved them in her own mind, using up every little atom of good suggestion till she had perfected and rounded them to her own satisfaction, which was a much harder matter to gain than the satisfaction of the young ladies to whom she had now the opportunity of propounding them, indeed, it was a matter of such universal congratulation when Mona Cameron joined them that, had Minnie been just a little less anxious for the good of others, and a little more desirous of her own glorification, she would certainly have become jealous of Mona's new-found popularity. But Mona was at this time a good deal softened by the ordeal of humiliation through which she had passed, albeit, the ceremony was performed before only one witness, and did not feel any great inclination for the applause with which her efforts were invariably greeted.