CHAPTER V.
LILLA MAKES A NEW ACQUAINTANCE.
"Lo here hath been dawning
Another blue day;
Think, wilt thou let it
Slip useless away?
Out of eternity
This new day is born,
Into eternity
At night will return."
THOMAS CARLYLE.
WHEN Lilla reached her room, the first words which came into her head were—
"'Do the thing that lies the nearest.'"
"I wonder if that is what I have been doing to-day," she said to herself. And, setting her candle down, she drew aside the blind to look at the stars.
They were wonderfully bright in the clear, keen air. But Lilla remarked that those constellations which had been on the horizon when she looked out some hours earlier were now high in the heavens, whilst others had crept up to take their places.
"They never appear to hurry," she said to herself, as her eyes wandered from one to another, "yet the morning never comes before they are ready. I suppose they are different from human beings. I haven't done a scrap more for hurrying up this morning. But it isn't my fault, because I helped grandmother dust, and then she was ill. And, after all, it was a good thing I learnt my vocabulary before breakfast, or I shouldn't have had time for it at all. I must make haste into bed, so as to wake early again. Perhaps I shall succeed better to-morrow."
And Lilla came away from the window, and was soon in bed and fast asleep.
When she awoke next morning, she knew by the position of the sunlight on the wall that it was even earlier than on the preceding day, but she jumped up immediately, and, without losing time over looking out of window, at once began to dress.
Her grandmother's door was still ajar when she opened hers; her heavy breathing told that she was still asleep.
"Now I shall have nice time," she said to herself. "Perhaps I can learn double vocabulary. I ought to be getting on now."
But something else came into her head at that moment, and she stopped short, half-way down the stairs. Then, turning back, she tip-toed into her grandmother's room, found her large apron and gloves, and crept out.
"Grandmother will be glad to find the kettle ready," she said to herself. "And it is a shame she should do everything now that I am old enough to help, especially as she is not well."
So Lilla noiselessly opened the shutters, and then, collecting her materials, set to work to kindle a fire—for the first time in her life.
Now fires are like most other things, very easy to manage if you know the right way, but Lilla having had no experience, did not go about her task in the very best method. The consequence was that, after poking and puzzling between the bars for a considerable length of time, and striking lucifers enough for a dozen fires, she succeeded in getting the coals to catch, just as a step in the doorway made her turn. There, to her dismay stood her grandmother.
"Oh! Grandmother," she exclaimed, in a disappointed tone of voice. "You 'are' early!"
Mrs. Eden smiled. "Not so early as you think, my dear," she said. "Time passes quickly when you are trying to do anything you are not used to. I am half-an-hour later than usual."
"And I meant to have had the water boiling by the time you came down," cried Lilla.
"Ah! You mustn't expect to do wonders all at once," said Mrs. Eden. "You have managed very well for a first attempt. But I suppose you would like to finish, as you have begun," she added, looking down at the hearth, which had yet to be cleared and brushed up.
Lilla went down on her knees again, feeling a certain sort of comfort in being permitted to retrieve her honour. And in course of time, the stove was tidy, and she had carried away her brushes and shovel. There was no chance for the vocabulary, however, for almost as soon as she had washed her hands, breakfast was ready, and she was glad to sit down, feeling an unusually good appetite.
Lilla was rather silent for the first few minutes, thinking how another morning had gone without the accomplishment of her resolve to devote it to her studies. Still, she could not help feeling that she had done her duty. And a word from her grandmother made her quite happy.
"Many hands make light work, Lilla," Mrs. Eden said, as she sipped her coffee. "You have been a very good girl this morning."
Lilla's eyes brightened. "I meant to do my lessons when I got up, grandmother," she said, "but this seemed to come between me and them, so I suppose it was 'the thing that lay the nearest.'"
"Well, if we are successful in our search after a maid," returned her grandmother, "neither of us will have to do it. Meanwhile, it is useful experience for you, for every woman—lady or not—ought to be 'able' to light her own fire and brush her own stove."
"I suppose a lady ought to be able to do anything that a servant can do, grandmother, or else she cannot really be the greatest."
After dinner Mrs. Eden and Lilla set out on their expedition in search of a maid. Fortunately, however, before they started, they heard from the baker's man of a girl who seemed likely to meet Mrs. Eden's requirements. She had never been to service before, the man said, being the eldest girl of a large family, most of whom were boys. But her mother was anxious now to place her out, as some of the others were growing old enough to be left in charge when she went out for a day's charing. Accordingly, Lilla and her grandmother started for the cottage, which was about a mile and a half up the lane.
It was a pretty walk. The way lay over undulating country: sometimes between fields, over which they could see far and wide to the horizon on either hand; sometimes through roadside plantations, where the trees met overhead in graceful arches, and the underwood, already bursting into leaf, showed like a pale green veil amongst the brown trunks. It was very beautiful, and Lilla did not miss it; for, as I have already said, she had a quick eye for the beauties of nature. But she was much more quiet than usual, and seemed pre-occupied.
Presently she said, "I don't altogether like the idea of having a servant, grandmother."
"Why not?" asked Mrs. Eden, in surprise. "I thought you would be pleased."
"It will be so horrid to have a stranger always in the house. We shall never be all to ourselves, as we have been."
"Oh! Yes," replied the old lady, "she will be in the kitchen, and we in the sitting-room. Besides, it really is getting too much for me."
"I know, grandmother, but if I helped you we could manage. I should soon learn to light the fire quickly, and you need never come down till breakfast was ready."
"I am afraid you would tire of it when the novelty wore off," said Mrs. Eden, "and I don't want you to waste your time over kitchen work. I am anxious you should make the most of it for your studies now, so that when you take your finishing lessons, you may be able to profit by them."
Lilla brightened at the mention of finishing lessons. The prospect of having masters seemed such a decided advance on the road to greatness.
"Besides," continued Mrs. Eden, "it is time you made some friends now."
"I don't want any friends, grandmother," said Lilla. "You are quite enough for me."
"Aye! 'Now,'" returned Mrs. Eden. "But I am fading away, and you will want some one to take my place."
"No one can ever do that, grandmother," cried Lilla, "because we two have been so happy together, and you are all the world to me."
Just then Lilla caught sight of the bushy tail of a squirrel whisking up a tree at a little distance, and off she bounded to watch it. So the conversation dropped, and another bend of the road brought them to the cottage.
Mrs. Rust looked pleased when the old lady stated her errand.
"It's what I've been wanting for her, ma'am," she said. "We're a large family to keep, you see. And I must try and make shift without her now, though she's been a power of help to me."
Mrs. Eden then proceeded to ask several questions concerning the girl's capabilities and disposition, all of which the mother answered in a very satisfactory manner. "But I'll call her, ma'am," she added, "and then you can see her for yourself." And she forthwith went out into the kitchen, where there was a sound of children's voices and some one at work.
After a few minutes she returned, followed by a sturdy girl, whose face bore traces of having been hastily washed, and in whom we recognise the same girl whose wish that it was 'always Sunday' Mr. Munro overheard on his way to church.
She glanced from Mrs. Eden to Lilla as she came in. Then, as her mother brought her forward with the words, "This is Margie, ma'am," she advanced and stood before the old lady, with her eyes demurely cast down.
"How old are you, my dear?" asked Mrs. Eden, anxious to hear her voice. For, of all qualities, she loved cheerfulness in anyone who was to be constantly about her. And she believed very firmly that disposition generally reveals itself in the tone of the voice.
"In her sixteenth year," replied the mother, before Margie could answer.
"I was fifteen last twelfth of January," added Margie, looking up for an instant. And then, stealing another glance across at Lilla, "I'm strong for my age."
"Are you afraid of work?"
"I've never been out, ma'am," replied Margie, looking up more confidently this time, "but I'm not afraid of it at home."
"And she has plenty of it, too," added the mother, anxious to make the most of the girl's capabilities.
Mrs. Eden had already made one discovery in Margie's favour: she possessed a nice honest pair of brown eyes, which seemed to attest their owner's truthfulness when they met yours. The old lady was beginning to take a fancy to her.
"Are you a good riser?" she asked.
"I couldn't quite say, ma'am," replied Margie, candidly, "because the children always wake me. But I could get up if I was called."
"And you would be willing to learn to do your work properly? Because I shall have a great deal to teach you, if you come to be my servant."
"I 'want' to learn, ma'am," answered Margie, quickly. "That's just what I've longed to do, ever since my cousin went to service."
Mrs. Eden then entered into detail with Margie's mother about her outfit and wages. So the former, seeing that she was no longer required to speak for herself, retreated to a little distance, and stood furtively glancing at Lilla.
Margie would have been rather surprised if she could have read the young lady's thoughts. For the fact was, the latter was quite as shy of Margie as Margie was of her. Margie was thinking how glossy Lilla's long, fair plait looked, and how prettily her large beaver hat shaded her face, and wondering whether she would be very proud as her young mistress, and despise her for her red cheeks and rough hair and her coarse hands. Lilla, on her part, was thinking how strange it would be for Margie to leave her mother and work for her living amongst strangers; she very much wanted to say something kind to her, but, somehow, she could not summon up courage.
At last she edged her chair a little nearer to where Margie stood. "Do you think you would like to come and live with us?" she asked, timidly.
Something in her face won Margie's heart at once.
"I'm sure I should, Miss," she answered; "because—" And then she stopped short and took up a corner of her apron, not exactly knowing how to express what she meant.
Lilla wanted to be kind, but she could not think what to say next, so she sat still for a few minutes. Then she glanced at Margie again, but Margie was watching her with such a comical expression, that Lilla's face puckered up into a smile. Whereupon Margie caught the infection, and both of them laughed outright.
At last Margie said, "We've got some rabbits, miss, if you'd like to see them."
So, at a nod from her grandmother, who had lost nothing of what passed between them, Lilla followed her new acquaintance through the kitchen into the garden, where half a dozen little brothers and sisters, on perceiving a stranger, first of all huddled up towards the remotest corner, and then gradually returned, one by one, and stood at a little distance watching Margie exhibit the inmates of the rabbit-hutch.
"I shall like you to come and live with us," said Lilla, presently.
"Shall you?" returned Margie. "Why?"
"Because I believe we shall be good friends," replied Lilla. "Though I daresay, we shall be a little afraid of each other at first."
"I shouldn't think 'you'd' be afraid of 'me,'" said Margie, bluntly; "because you're a young lady."
"But we're both girls," replied Lilla, simply.
CHAPTER VI.
LILLA AWAKENS MARGIE'S AMBITION.
"Poor and uncared for,
Toiling not learning,
What can I do
That will earn me renown?
Living and loving,
No useful work spurning,
Faithful to death
Thou shalt win thee a crown."—ANON.
MRS. EDEN had arranged with Margie's mother that the former should come on the first day of the next week.
"That will give you time to get her things ready," she said.
But there were grave difficulties in the shape of Margie's outfit. Mrs. Rust was poor, and with such a large family to provide for she could not afford the necessary outlay all at once. She promised to do her best, however, and there the matter rested.
But on the way home, Mrs. Eden proposed a plan which Lilla caught at eagerly. This was, that the very next morning they should go into the village and buy enough print to make Margie a dress.
"If I stitch the seams up in my machine, we can soon finish it between us," Mrs. Eden said. "And it will make her look tidy at once, besides being an inducement to her to be a good girl."
Lilla lay awake a good while that night thinking about the change which was to take place in their household arrangements, and in consequence did not rouse next morning until her grandmother called her. By making extraordinary haste, she was down in time to help dust and set breakfast. But there was no chance for her French vocabulary, and almost immediately after breakfast they started for the linendraper's.
Some lessons could be learnt whilst the print was being cut out, but Lilla's thoughts were so much distracted that she had hard work to concentrate them on her book. And when she went to bed that night, she could not help questioning whether the manner in which the day had been spent had tended much towards the attainment of her ambition.
"But Margie wants the dress," she said to herself. "After all, Dorcas made clothes for poor people, and I couldn't help sleeping late."
And then "the thing that lies the nearest" came into her head again, and she said, half aloud:
"It certainly was 'the nearest,' though how I am ever to grow great at this rate, I can't see. Oh! Dear—" And Lilla extinguished her light and soon forgot all about it in sleep.
But when Sunday night came round, matters were no better. A whole week had passed since the forming of her resolution, and no progress seemed to have been made. To be sure, Margie's dress was completed, and Lilla had tried it on and laughed to see how loosely it fitted her. For Mrs. Eden had made ample allowance for the maid's sturdier build. But that was nothing towards being great, and fewer lessons than ever had been done.
"I confess I can't understand it," she said to herself, as she laid her head upon the pillow. "I don't believe I can have found the right road, or I should get along faster. But when our servant comes, I shall have nothing to do but study, and I am to have masters soon."
Monday evening brought Margie, with a bundle of clothes and a small box containing her Sunday hat, and some caps and white aprons to wait in.
It was curious to watch the awkward advances the two girls made to each other; Margie afraid of presuming upon her young mistress's good nature, and Lilla shy from the bare fact that Margie was a stranger. By degrees, however, this strangeness wore off. And at the end of the first week, they were on very good terms. Mrs. Eden, on her side, expressed great satisfaction with her new maid's activity and teachableness, and things seemed going on very smoothly.
Lilla found now that she had time for her books before breakfast, and as April brought mild weather, she was often up and at work for an hour, as well as having time to attend to her flower-garden. To her great delight, her grandmother appeared very pleased with the rapid progress she was making, and began to talk seriously of procuring further instruction for her next term.
"For you will really be beyond me soon, Lilla, if you go on at this rate," she said.
One great source of wonder to Lilla was the strength of Margie's arms. She would often watch her as she rubbed and swept and scrubbed and carried with untiring energy, and then, looking down at her own slender white arms, feel almost ashamed to remember how quickly they used to tire when she "played" at being servant.
At last one Saturday morning she could be silent no longer. Margie had been giving the grate an extra clean, and still was on her knees before it, brushing away with all her might to put on the final polish.
She looked up as Lilla entered, and paused for a moment to shake back her hair, which was curly and apt to get rather untidy when she was at work.
SHE LOOKED UP AS LILLA ENTERED.
"Isn't that very hard work, Margie?" Lilla asked.
"Not very," answered Margie, giving her hair another toss, and then—finding it refused to obey—a push with her hand, which left a droll smear across her forehead.
"I should soon get tired of it," said Lilla.
"I'm used to work," returned Margie. "I expect I'm a good deal stronger than you are. I know what 'I' should get tired of, though—those books. Sit, sit, sitting, all day long, and every day in the week. I shouldn't mind the piano so much."
"But I want to get on," said Lilla. "You know, Margie, I mean to be great when I am grown up." And she hurried off with her books.
But that night when Lilla went to bed, she happened to remember Margie's words. And as it was Saturday night, she had plenty of time for conning them over, for Mrs. Eden never encouraged her in working late at her lessons on Saturdays.
"God gave us the Sabbath," she would say, "in order that we might refresh our bodies, as well as our souls, and make them strong for another week's work. And if we overtire ourselves before it comes, we lose half the benefit of it—which is next to breaking it."
Lilla put down her candle and went to the window. The sky was cloudy, and there were no stars, but the moon was up, and kept appearing between the rifts, casting a pale light over the plantation, and then vanishing again.
"I don't expect I 'am' so strong as Margie," she said to herself, as she watched it, "and certainly I am not so clever at housework. Then, I suppose, 'I cannot be so great in that respect.'"
This was a new thought, for it had never occurred to Lilla before that "greatness" could have anything to do with such things as physical health or bodily strength, or, in fact, anything but head-work.
"To be sure," she continued, after a few moments' reflection, "I make up for it in learning, for she doesn't know a word of French. But, then, I don't see how I can be 'really' great if one part of me is inferior. Still, I'm doing the best I can, and grandmother is certainly very pleased with my progress, so I must persevere. Only I must try to grow strong too."
So Lilla took to watering her flowers more vigorously, and running upstairs two steps at a time. She rummaged out a pair of dumb-bells, and used them, too, for ten minutes every day, to expand her chest.
Meanwhile, Margie, on her side, had not forgotten Lilla's words: "I mean to be great when I am grown up."
"It wouldn't be much use 'my' trying!" she said to herself. "Scrubbing and cleaning never made anyone great yet. But I should rather like to be something worth growing up for."
Thus, unknown to each other, mistress and maid were trying to reach the same end. But, as neither had yet learnt what true greatness really was, neither had found the road.
CHAPTER VII.
THE REWARD OF DILIGENCE.
"One by one thy duties wait thee,
Let thy whole strength go to each;
Let no future dreams elate thee,
Learn thou first what these can teach."
A. A. PROCTER.
SPRING passed and summer came, giving Lilla more time than ever for her books.
Every morning she was up with the lark. Whilst Margie bustled about the housework, she was busy in her flower-garden. Then, as the sun grew hot, she took her books into the little arbour and studied with unflagging assiduity, until Margie came to call her to breakfast. All through the day she continued learning, translating, drawing and practising, only allowing herself an occasional few minutes' respite. Then, in the cool of the evening, she would go for a stroll in the lane with her grandmother, or water the flowers with Margie until the stars came out, when she would stand gazing up at the sky, telling her their names, or trying to explain the solar system, until, when Mrs. Eden called them in, they were so dazed that they could hardly see their way.
Thus a firm friendship sprung up between them, and they came to tell each other their thoughts and to exchange confidences about their hopes and aspirations. And in this way, Lilla at last discovered that the young servant girl, like herself, had felt dissatisfied with living for nothing but eating and drinking, and earning money. And that she, too, longed to be something greater and worthier.
"But it's of no use," Margie said, sadly, as they turned to go in, after one of these talks. "And it won't do to stand still thinking about it, because I've got my living to earn. I suppose I must just go on sweeping and scrubbing, and perhaps it'll all come right some day."
"It would, if there were really such things as fairies," replied Lilla, "but they only exist in children's stories."
Yet there had been One all through the days of that spring and summer watching their every action and listening to their every thought, guiding and keeping them, and waiting until their ears were ready to listen to that gentle voice which said to John and Peter of old—"Follow Me."
With the end of August the days began to grow perceptibly shorter, and as September brought to a close the golden harvest time, Lilla's routine had gradually to change; afternoon walks were resumed, and lessons after tea took the place of gardening and star-gazing. But a reward for the past six months' diligence was awaiting her.
One day Mrs. Eden informed her that she had engaged a young lady to come every morning and superintend her studies.
"I had intended you to have masters for French and music," she said, "but that would leave out drawing for the present, besides which, I heard you express a wish to learn German, so I thought I could not do better than come to terms with this young lady, who teaches all these branches, and appears highly accomplished."
Lilla was very pleased, though somewhat excited, at the prospect of having to take lessons of a perfect stranger. The name of "governess" frequently suggests to young girls, the idea of a prim, stiff-backed sort of person, very clever, and extremely severe. Probably, Lilla shared the common notion. Therefore, although in her anxiety to get on she determined to brave all these terrors, she was very much relieved to find Miss St. Ives the exact opposite of all that she had pictured. She had the gentlest face and manners and such a beautiful way of explaining things that it was impossible not to understand. In short, from the very first, Lilla felt compelled to love her. There was a reason for this.
Miss St. Ives had been brought up in the school of trouble, which usually does one of two things for its pupils: either it puts hard lines on their faces and renders them fretful and discontented, because the world is not the fairyland of pleasure they once imagined it, or it makes them gentle and patient, always ready to help those who need encouragement. This was the case with Miss St. Ives, for she was a true follower of Christ. So when her father died, leaving them with a very slender income to depend upon, she had determined to forget how sad her own heart was in striving to be the stay and sunshine of her home. She had bravely undertaken the education of her two little sisters, and set herself to learn how to make her own dresses.
And when at last this opportunity of earning a little money had presented itself, she had thankfully accepted it in addition to her other work, in order that her mother—whose health had been much shattered by nursing and night watches—might have extra ease and comfort. And she was reaping a rich reward in the building up of a character which everybody loved and trusted.
Lilla soon found herself talking to her as freely as if she had known her for years, and even Margie would watch for the chance of getting to the door first for the sake of a smile and "thank you" when she admitted her. Mrs. Eden, herself, never allowed a morning to pass without coming to exchange a few words with her, and in doing so the old lady was not merely fulfilling the demands of common courtesy—she was attracted to the young governess by the irresistible charm of her Christ-like spirit.
Mrs. Eden was glad to have secured for Lilla a teacher whose influence over her was likely to be so good, especially as she, herself, was growing less and less fit to be her companion. The old lady was obliged to give up her long rambles now, so Lilla frequently walked home with Miss St. Ives after lessons, or accompanied her and her sisters in their strolls.
It was well for Lilla that she did not understand the many signs of failing health which were throwing their shadows over her grandmother. It would have saddened her young heart too much had she realised how the beloved companion and protector of her early days was fading away. The early morning no longer found the old lady briskly stirring, and she had even delegated to Lilla the duty of making the coffee. Her step had grown heavier of late, too, and she often heaved a weary sigh over her work. And, as the autumn evenings closed in, she loved to sit in the twilight, gazing into the fire, and talking of old times.
This was a sore trial for Lilla. There were tasks waiting to be learned, and she longed to be at them. Her ambition was to lose no moment of her time, and to waste half-an-hour listening to tales which she had known from time immemorial was a severe test of patience. But she never once allowed her grandmother to feel that she was weary of her forced idleness.
MISS ST. IVES.
CHAPTER VIII.
WASTED MINUTES.
"Every hour that fleets so slowly
Has its task to do or bear;
Luminous the crown and holy,
If thou set each gem with care."
ADELAIDE A. PROCTER.
ONE afternoon Mrs. Eden had been unusually silent, as they sat watching the flickering of the flames.
It had been a dull day. The darkness had closed in so early that it seemed to Lilla as if they had sat there for an hour or more, and she was getting terribly impatient. She had special reasons for wishing to be at work. Having received an invitation to spend the following evening with Clara and Nellie St. Ives, she was anxious to get double work done beforehand.
It was hard to be forced to doze away the hours to no purpose, and it is hardly to be wondered at if a spirit of rebellion was rising in her heart.
"Grandmother knows I want to study," she said to herself, "and she might be more considerate than to make me waste my time in this way."
Several times she was on the point of suggesting that she should light the lamp. But each time she looked up, the old lady's eyes were closed, and affection checked the words on her lips.
"She is old, and needs rest," it said.
So Lilla waited on, inwardly wondering how long.
At last Mrs. Eden's eyes opened, and she glanced at Lilla with a half-suppressed sigh.
Lilla looked up brightly, hoping that this was the signal to move.
"You have had a nice sleep, grandmother," she said, cheerfully.
"I have not been asleep," Mrs. Eden replied, "only resting. I am getting old now, and I did not sleep well last night."
"How was that?" inquired Lilla, anxiously. "Perhaps you overtired yourself yesterday, turning over those drawers."
"I did not hurry particularly," replied the old lady; "for I kept coming across so many relics of the past, and I could not help lingering over them. They will be yours soon, Lilla."
"I shall always treasure them, grandmother," replied the young girl, affectionately.
"Perhaps it was thinking about them that made me dream so much," continued the old lady, after a pause. "I thought I was back again among the hills where I lived when your grandfather and I were first married. There was the farmhouse, just as it stood on the side of the clough, and the spring at the bottom of the valley, and the stones where we so often sat together when your mother was a baby, watching the shadows creeping up. All just as it used to be when I was young."
"And you saw it all so plainly—"
"Ay! So plainly that it made me long to go back once more. But I shall never do that—nor see such hills again, until I stand upon the everlasting hills 'from whence cometh my help.'"
Lilla was silent. Her grandmother's words had awakened a new train of thought in her mind, and she forgot all about her lessons, until Margie came to know if she should bring tea.
She told Miss St. Ives about it next day, when they were alone together. They had had tea early, so as to make the evening as long as possible, and the twilight had scarcely yet taken the place of clear day.
"This is the time I usually waste," she said.
"How is that?" Miss St. Ives asked.
"Grandmother likes to sit still in the twilight," Lilla explained, "and I am compelled to wait, with my hands in my lap, whilst the sand runs out of my hour-glass."
"That gives you a little rest," said Miss St. Ives. "You must not go all on, all on."
"Oh! But indeed, I would rather be going on," pleaded Lilla. "I nearly get cross over it sometimes; you cannot think what a trouble it is to me."
"Cannot I?" said Miss St. Ives, stroking her hair fondly. "Do you know, I heard of somebody once, who used to 'waste' an hour every afternoon in a similar way, and sit up in the cold after every one was in bed to make amends."
(She did not say that it was herself of whom she was speaking; for "love vaunteth not itself.")
"But you must not think of doing that," she added. "'She' was fitting herself to earn her living. 'You' are only trying to make the most of your time."
"But half-an-hour a day is three hours a week," said Lilla. "Twelve hours a month. Twelve whole working days in the year. Too much to waste!"
"Are you quite sure it is 'waste'? What are you trying to learn?"
Lilla looked surprised. "French and German, and drawing and music," she answered.
"Is that all?"
"English, of course," said Lilla, "and everything that a lady ought to know. That is why I am so anxious not to lose time. I want to begin Italian by-and-by, if you will teach me. I want to be great."
"What is being great?" asked her friend.
Lilla did not reply directly; then she answered slowly: "I don't exactly know."
Miss St. Ives was silent for several minutes, too, before she spoke. Then she said: "Two things about it I can tell you. Mere 'book-learning' can never produce true greatness, and 'there is no royal road to it.'"
Lilla looked puzzled, and a thoughtful expression came over her face.
"These 'wasted hours,'" continued her friend, "have been teaching you more than all your books—except 'one'—could teach you. You have been learning how to be patient and give up your own way in order to minister to another. Do you see that tree at the bottom of the garden?"
Miss St. Ives pointed to a tall wych-elm in the hedge that bounded their little garden. The autumnal blast had not left a single leaf upon its graceful boughs, but a strong plant of ivy had twined its arms around the trunk, casting a thick mantle of green around its desolate old age.
"I often think that we young people are like the ivy," she said. "There is so little enjoyment in the lives of the aged and infirm, unless we cling to them and spread our young green leaves around them. But we have to learn to do it. And it is often far more difficult than French or German because it involves self-forgetfulness and patience. But it comes far nearer leading us to true greatness."
CHAPTER IX.
WHICH WAS THE GREATEST?
"Real glory
Springs from the silent conquest of ourselves."
THOMSON.
MARGIE was in high feather. She had been in Mrs. Eden's service six months now, and had earned money enough to buy herself a tidy Sunday dress, besides which Mrs. Eden had promised to raise her wages at the end of that time, if she proved herself worthy. So having obtained permission to go one afternoon to choose the dress, she started out early after dinner, to join her mother, who had arranged to meet her at Mrs. Eden's gate.
She was not in sight, however, when Margie stepped out, so she walked on, expecting every minute to see the well-known bonnet and shawl in the distance. But step after step had taken her past the farm where Jack worked, which marked half-way, and still her mother did not come. Margie began to grow uneasy lest she should have gone on without her. She turned once or twice and looked back towards the farm, wondering whether her mother had gone up to the house for anything, but she could not see anything of her, and nothing remained but to go straight on. So on Margie went, until she came in sight of the cottage.
"Mother must have forgotten all about it," she said to herself, as she ran round the back door and through the wash-house.
But her mother had not forgotten, and Margie saw at once how it was, as she entered the room. Mrs. Rust was sitting by the fire with little Tommy on her lap, and Tommy did not even open his eyes at his sister's approach.
Margie looked frightened.
"What is the matter, mother?" she cried, bending over him.
"I don't know," replied Mrs. Rust. "I've been up with him two nights, but the doctor can't tell what's amiss with the child. He thinks it's a chill."
"And you 'do' look tired, mother," said Margie. "Let me take him a bit."
Mrs. Rust shook her head. "Best not," she said, "in case of its being anything catching."
"But you can't manage everything and nurse him too, mother," said Margie, sitting down at a little distance. "I'd better come home and help you, if Mrs. Eden would spare me."
Mrs. Rust shook her head again.
"That would never do," she replied. "You would lose your place, for ladies won't be put out. I can't afford to have you at home. I must manage as best I can."
"But you can't, mother," persisted Margie. "And Mrs. Eden is so kind, I am sure she would spare me."
Mrs. Rust, however, declined to entertain the idea, repeating that with sickness in the house, and the winter coming on, her father would not want her on his hands.
"I shall be glad of your money, though, Margie," she added, "for if Tommy gets better, please God, he'll want feeding up. Any way, there'll be the doctor's bill to pay. So I'm afraid you must give up all thoughts of your dress for the present."
Margie took out the money which she had carefully tied up in a corner of her handkerchief, and laid it on the mantel-shelf without a murmur. It was rather hard to have to part with it, after looking forward so long to the pleasure of spending it. But Margie thought more about Tommy than about that.
"Poor little fellow!" she exclaimed, looking tenderly at his sad little face for a moment. Then, jumping up and pulling off her hat and jacket, she asked: "Now, mother, what is there wants doing?"
And for the rest of the time that she could call her own, Margie did not once sit down, so anxious was she to make things easy for her mother.
Lilla looked almost more disappointed than Margie herself when the latter returned and told her.
"What a shame!" she cried. "You ought to have your dress, Margie."
"But you see, Miss Lilla, mother wants the money. It's nobody's fault that Tommy is ill."
"Well, of course, I didn't exactly mean 'that,'" returned Lilla. "But you have worked for the money; it's your own, and you ought to have the dress. Aren't you very vexed?"
Margie was forced to admit that she was sorry. "I thought I was going to get on, like my cousin Charlotte," she said. "You should see her clothes, Miss Lilla. All worked like any ladies. Such nice dresses, too, and a Sunday hat as smart as yours. But it can't be helped. I don't suppose I shall ever get on."
"It doesn't seem as if I ever shall, either," said Lilla. "So many things come in the way that I've almost given up trying to be great. And yet I can't help wanting to."
"Ah! It's different for rich people," sighed Margie. "The only way for poor people to get on, is to work hard. Even then there's no chance of their being 'great.'"
"But we're not 'rich,'" said Lilla. "That was why grandmother did without a servant so many years."
"You're not 'poor,'" returned Margie, decisively. "You just try living in our house for only a week, Miss Lilla."
Tommy's recovery was very slow. Even after he fairly took a turn for the better, it was long before he had any appetite for any but the daintiest food. Mrs. Eden was very kind, and often made tempting little puddings for him. Sometimes Lilla would carry them to the cottage; sometimes Mrs. Eden would spare Margie for a couple of hours in the afternoon to run over and see how Tommy was. And on these occasions, the good girl always spent the whole of the time in doing her utmost to help her mother.
One afternoon on reaching home she found her cousin Charlotte sitting by the fire. Margie had brought a little custard in a basket, and also her week's wages, which she put down upon the table with some pride, after greeting her cousin.
"Is that all you get?" exclaimed the latter, in a scornful tone.
"I think half-a-crown is very good for a first place," replied Margie, a little astonished at Charlotte's contemptuous manner.
"Oh I if you're satisfied, I am," was the rejoinder. "But you'll never get on at that rate."
"I only had two shillings a week, for the first six months," said truthful Margie.
"Come, you've 'got on' sixpenny worth, then," sneered the other.
"And Mrs. Eden is so kind that I'm sure she would give me what is right," continued Margie.
"You simple!" exclaimed Charlotte. "She's taken you in, has she? If you'd asked more, she'd have given it. I wonder aunt isn't sharper."
"Mother is quite satisfied," said Margie.
And, as Mrs. Rust returned just then with Tommy in her arms, the conversation dropped.
Charlotte had taken possession of the easiest chair, but she did not attempt to give it up to her aunt, although the latter had the sick child to nurse. Margie did not notice this, however, for the instant her mother came in she jumped up and took Tommy.
And Mrs. Rust, apparently very glad of the relief, sat down to rest. Presently she perceived the half-crown on the table.
"That is just what I was counting on, Margie," she said, putting it on the mantel-shelf. "I had to take some of the rent money for Tommy's medicine, and this will replace it."
Margie was too busy trying to amuse Tommy to remark the expression on her cousin's face at these words. But a few minutes later, Mrs. Rust went out into the wash-house to make the most of her time while Margie could stay, and then Charlotte began.
"I say, Margie," she said, "I didn't think you were quite such a simple as that! Do you mean to say that you give up all your money?"
"I've been obliged to since Tommy's been ill," replied Margie.
"How do you expect to get on, at that rate, you simpleton?" exclaimed her cousin. "I tell you, I never gave up a penny of 'my' money from the very first. And that's why you see me as I am."
Charlotte looked down at herself with a very self-satisfied air, and Margie's eyes followed hers.
One glance was sufficient. Her outfit seemed perfect. Her hat was turned up on one side with a jaunty air, and had a flashy scarlet flower on the front. Her jacket fitted tightly to her figure, and fastened over with a double row of bright buttons, whilst from under the edge of her dark-blue skirt peeped one foot in a dainty walking shoe and red stocking.
Margie was struck dumb for the minute, by so much finery, and did not answer, but bent her head over Tommy, feeling almost ashamed of her plain linsey gown.
"You'd like to get on, wouldn't you?" continued Charlotte, gratified at the effect she had produced.
"Of course," answered Margie.
"Well; there's only one way," said Charlotte. "And that is to look after number one."
"But how can I help myself?" asked Margie. "The rent must be paid."
"You've nothing to do with the rent once you're in service," said Charlotte. "Why, you're not even eating your father's food now, and he ought to have that much more money towards the rent. Take my advice, Margie. If you give, you 'may' give; and that's all the thanks you'll get."
And, snapping her fingers, she rose, and said it was time for her to be going.