CHAPTER XII.
THE GOOD-NIGHT KISS.
"TOM, dear," said Christina, when the others had separated, and Mrs. Arundel had left them to do a little shopping. "Tom, dear, I once used to think as you do."
"As I do?" said Tom, raising his eyes to the beautiful face that bent over him. "Were you ever helpless like me?"
"Not quite in the same way, dear little Tom, but quite as miserable and tired of life."
Tom breathed hard. "I did not know that you guessed I was so tired," he said reluctantly.
"No, perhaps not; but, Tom, there is Someone else who knows just how sad and tired you are."
"My mother," said Tom. "Yes; I know she does."
"No, I did not mean your mother; I meant your Saviour. It says, 'He is touched with the feeling of our infirmities.'"
Tom moved restlessly away. "I have heard that so often," he said pettishly.
"Perhaps you have; but if you had ever felt it, you would know it is worth thinking about. But I was going to tell you how I came to know it.
"I was very ill, Tom. God had taken away from me what I prized more than my life, or anything else in the world; and, like you, I thought I had nothing left to care about or make me happy. One day, as I lay moaning on my bed, the Lord Jesus seemed to come and take His stand just by my side. I turned my head that way, and I seemed to feel Him there as plainly as you can feel me, Tom, now, if you shut your eyes. You know I am here, and I knew He was there.
"In my desolation, and misery, and pain, I felt sure He had something to say to me. Oh, Tom, how I listened! At first my heart beat too loudly for me to hear; but after a minute or two, the sweetness of His presence made everything else grow dim. Then He seemed to speak to me:
"'I the Lord thy God will hold thy right hand, saying unto thee, Fear
not; I will help thee. When thou passest through the waters, I will be
with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee: when
thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned; neither shall
the flame kindle upon thee.'
"I listened till the words seemed to cease, and then there was deep silence. Still He stood by me for a long time, and I could feel that He was holding me, as He said, by my right hand, and was helping me.
"Then I said, 'Blessed Saviour, Thou hast loved me so much I will do Thy will, whatever it is! I leave it all to Thee!'
"Tom, dear, I gave it all up; yes, willingly. He had loved me, He had given Himself for me; could I do less? And from that moment I have never been so sad or so desolate any more."
Christina's eyes were full of tears as she gazed at the face of the suffering child beside her, and Tom was looking at her intently with eyes also blinded with tears.
"I never thought it could be because He loved me," he said, squeezing her hand tightly; "but I will try, I will try; perhaps He will stand by me too."
"He does, dear, this very day; He longs to have you rest in His loving arms. Oh, Tom, I know it! And it is such rest to feel He does best."
Tom lay quite silent, and Christina sat by him silent too. She was praying earnestly that this little sorrowful lamb might be gathered into the Shepherd's tender arms.
By-and-by, he moved slightly, and whispered, "Was the Life-boat meant for helpless children as well as strong ones?"
"Yes, indeed, dear; if they were on the wreck, they wanted saving as much as the others."
"Then I have asked the Life-boat to come very near for me, because I can't step alone; and Jesus has come close and lifted me in."
"Then you are Safe in the arms of Jesus,'" said Christina. "Oh, Tom dear, I am so very, very glad!"
* * * * * *
"Mamma," said Tom, as his mother rose from her knees, after saying his prayers with him that night, "mamma dear, I want you to forgive me for being so often cross and tiresome."
"Forgive you, my darling!" she answered, almost crying. "Why, dear Tom, I always forgive you; I never think of it again."
"No," he answered softly, stroking her face as she again knelt down by him, "I know you have forgiven me; but that has not made me right in being so cross; I will try to be better, dear mamma."
"My own little Tom, I wish you had not so much to suffer."
"Well, mamma, I've told Jesus about it, and He has told me He'll help me; and so now I am not going to be sad about it any more."
Mrs. Arundel clasped her arms tenderly round him, and pressed him to her.
"You could not give me more joyful news, my darling," she said, while some of the happiest tears she had ever shed fell down upon his face.
"Are you crying, mamma?" he asked, putting up his little hand to feel her face. Then burying his own in her neck, he wept too, till all the pent-up sorrow and discontent of his little life seemed to melt away, and he was at peace.
At last his mother whispered, "When was it, Tom dear, you told Jesus?"
"This morning, mamma, Christina was talking to me about Him, and all at once I felt as if I must go to Him then, and I did. Dear mamma, now kiss me; give me a good-night kiss, dear mamma; a real forgiving good-night kiss!"
CHAPTER XIII.
SCRAPS AND RIBBONS.
"HERE are two large sheets of cardboard," said Ada, after tea on that Saturday evening; "and a lot of ribbon, mamma, blue and pink, to bind the edges with."
"Did you think of any sewing silk?"
"Nellie did," said Ada; "but I am sure I should not, if she had not suggested it."
"I brought my large scissors, fortunately, and I have some tolerably stout needles. Now, Arthur, how many nearly square pieces will that sheet cut? See, we must have at least an inch outside the edge of the hymn sheets all round."
"I think it will cut three the top way, and as it is not square, it will allow three the other way too; then they will be slightly oblong. Is that right?"
"Yes; now what can we rule it with, to get it straight?"
They looked round the room. "I don't see anything," said Ada, leaning both her arms on the table, and resting her chin on her hands.
Suddenly a bright thought struck Arthur. "The edge of that sideboard drawer is straight enough, I daresay."
"Oh, quite! Let us have it by all means."
Arthur lifted it out, and laid his novel T square as carefully as he could on the cardboard, and then drew a bold line with his pencil from end to end.
"Now another," said his mother.
When he had measured and drawn two lines both ways, he proceeded to cut the sheet into nine squares, which turned out to measure nearly ten inches by seven each.
Nellie sat by with her thimble on, and Christina had been also invited to tea to-night, specially to help. Ada quickly seized upon a piece, threaded her needle with pink silk, and taking one end of the pink ribbon was the first to set off binding. Arthur passed Christina another piece, and she took the other end of Ada's pink ribbon.
"How close ought the stitches to be?" asked Ada.
"About a quarter of an inch; do not backstitch it, they will look better on both sides if you do not."
"Here's a piece for you, Nell," said Arthur, cutting off another, "and one for mamma."
"But there are Netta and Isabel," said Nellie.
"Can they do it well enough?" asked Ada.
"Yes; I am going to help them," said their mother. "Come, dears, and sit close to me."
"Will these be for us?" asked Netta.
"Yes; will you have pink or blue?"
"I should like blue," said Netta.
"And I shall choose pink, then," said Isabel.
"Very well. Now, Arthur, are you going to make one?"
"Can boys make them?"
"Perfectly well; some of the prettiest I saw at Llandudno were made by boys."
"All right; set me going, then!"
"Here's the needle; which colour for you?"
"Same as Nellie's."
"Blue?"
"Yes; like her eyes."
"Nonsense," said Nellie; "how ridiculous you are, Arthur."
"Not at all; you can't deny it."
"I can; they are no colour at all."
"Oh!" said Arthur.
"Here, Arthur," said his mother; "now see how cleverly you can do it."
Arthur turned out to be the most absorbed of the party, and Netta and Isabel nearly equalled him.
He bent over his cardboard, and hardly looked up till he laid his two pieces, very tolerably done, before his mother.
"Capital!" she said. "Now you have to sew the backs together."
"Oh, my!" groaned Arthur: "I thought I was done."
"This will not take long," said his mother encouragingly. "See, Christina has done hers."
"Of course; she's a girl. Well, 'may as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb!' as the man said to excuse himself. Is this the way you mean?"
"Yes; to form a hinge."
"Shall I put strings?" asked Christina.
"Yes; sew them on each side. And Ada, just look in my basket; I believe I have some elastic there. Those I saw had two pieces of elastic inside, from top to bottom, to hold the hymn sheets."
"Here it is!" said Ada.
"The very thing. Now I should not put it tight, but just slightly drawn so that it will not pull the cardboard."
"The stitches will show, I am afraid," said Nellie.
"They need not; if you do them with silk just into the binding I do not think they will."
"No; mine do not—see," said Christina; "but they want some ornament."
"I was coming to that," said Mrs. Arundel. "Arthur, have you any scraps upstairs? Did you bring them with you?"
Arthur thought a moment. "I believe I did; I'll go and see."
Netta had some time ago gone out to Mrs. Ross with a message from her mother, and at this moment, the maid came in with a basin of stiff paste.
"Well done!" said Arthur, coming in with his scraps, and nearly running over the paste.
"I have not many," he said, "but we can get some on Monday. Here is a pretty one for the front of yours, Netta; and very appropriate too—a picture of a shepherd carrying the lambs."
"Oh, dear Arthur, how nice!" said Netta, as she e looked with pride on her first side, which was now nearly finished.
"Let me see," said Tom, who had been lying quietly watching them all this time.
"Mine is to be for you, Tom," said Christina; "but I am going to make it pretty at home, and I shall hope to bring it to you on Monday morning."
"Oh, thank you!" said Tom, looking up gratefully.
Meanwhile all the rest had been eagerly turning over Arthur's scraps, and he had very good-naturedly allowed them all to pick and choose. Isabel was delighted with a ship on a very blue sea, and Ada was thinking of arranging a number of small ones in a pattern round the centre of hers, on which she intended to write her name.
"What are you going to do with yours, Nell?" he asked.
"I have my ideas," she said, shaking her head; "wait till Walter comes."
"Everything is Walter," said Ada, rather crossly.
"Here he is!" exclaimed all.
"What a working party!" he said, walking in; "why I meant to be present, but my walk took me longer than I expected. Let's see," going up to Netta and Isabel. "Very well indeed, children; that's right."
"And we are going to get up early on Monday, and do the other sides, because we can't work so fast as the others."
"That will be capital. Well, what does patient Nellie want?"
"She always waits till everybody else is served," said Arthur.
"Well, Nellie?"
"Could you illuminate me a text on mine, do you think, Walter—just a very simple one?"
"To be sure. Both sides?"
"Oh, yes; that would be nice!"
"Very well; tell me what text, and I am your humble servant." He went up to get his colour box, and soon he had joined the "working party" too, as Netta said.
"But these take a jolly long time!" exclaimed Arthur. "Did you mean, mamma, that we were to make for other children?"
"Oh, no! But I expect we shall have to make a couple to lend as patterns; they will all want to make their own."
"I am to have one," said Tom to Walter; "Christina is going to make it for me."
"That is very kind indeed," said Walter, who was busily sketching in the letters in pencil of the text Nellie had pointed out to him. On one side it was to be, "He shall gather the lambs with His arm;" and on the other, "And carry them in His bosom."
On Monday, just before the service, Christina appeared, and placed in Tom's hand a really beautiful portfolio. She had painted in water-colours a very good representation of the storm, with the life-boat in the middle, and just to be seen between two great waves, the sinking wreck in the distance. On the other side were the words—"Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners."
Tom's delight was unbounded, and he placed his two hymn sheets in it with the greatest satisfaction.
Christina quite understood his tremulous lips when he tried to thank her, and told him it was some of the pleasantest work she had ever done.
"We shall both remember the Life-boat, dear," she said softly—"always."
CHAPTER XIV.
HAPPY DAYS.
LATE on Saturday night, by the last train, Dr. Arundel came down to have a peep at them. He was not expected; but a patient who had been needing his almost hourly care had been taken "home" that morning, and he found that he could manage to leave just for the Sunday.
All were in bed at the farm; but the moment his ring was heard at the door, Mrs. Arundel guessed who it was, and opening her window, asked "if it was papa?"
He was soon admitted; said he wanted nothing to eat, but would have a glass of milk, which Mrs. Ross soon got for him, and then, without waking anyone else in the house, the three elders closed up quickly, and soon sleep reigned again at the quiet farm.
Great was the surprise of Walter and Arthur to be joined halfway down the lane early next morning by a tall gentleman, who came striding after them. But greater still was the astonishment of the little ones at breakfast, when they found their own dear papa seated at the bottom of the table. There was plenty to tell him, and all to explain about the little services and the hymns, and Christina, and Melton Castle.
"Christina," questioned their father, "who is she?"
"Oh, the most beautiful lady you ever saw!" said Ada rapturously. "She helps us sing, and she talks to Tom, and she is coming to tea to-night!"
"Then I shall hope to see her," said papa; "and certainly if she is the most beautiful lady, it will be a treat."
"Well, you will think so, I know," said Ada, pouting; "now isn't she, Walter?"
"Yes," said Walter.
"Who is she? And what does she do here?"
"Why she's a visitor," answered Ada; "she came here with her mother, who was ill; and now she has lost both her parents, and she has an aunt living with her, an old maid."
"A what?" said her father gravely.
"An old—a maiden lady. I forgot, papa," said Ada, colouring. "However, she and mamma and Nellie are quite getting friends; and mamma thought she would like to come to tea and walk to church with us to-night. We shall come back by moonlight."
Sunday passed away very happily. Walter had his little service in the afternoon, and persuaded his father to give the children the address instead of him.
"I do not know that I can, Walter," he said; "but I will do my best."
So Dr. Arundel was introduced to Christina on the sands, and walked home with her to the farm, during which time he had ample opportunity to make up his mind as to her beauty. This he told himself was undoubted; but he could not help being still more interested in the look of peace which was written quite as plainly on her face as the beauty.
"She is a gem in His crown," he said to his wife, as he joined her in the orchard.
After tea, the young people started in a body across the corn-fields to church. The harvest moon was beginning to be bright in the evenings, and they looked forward to their walk home by its light as only young people can who have all life before them. If Christina had any reservation in her joy, she at least did not say so.
Dr. and Mrs. Arundel stayed at home on this evening to take care of the little ones, sending the two servants out. The baby was very good, and had allowed himself to be hushed to sleep before his nurse's departure; Dolly and Tom were also in bed. The mother and father softly paced up and down the lane in front of the house, within hearing of the least sound, and yet feeling at rest enough to enjoy the peaceful time. Mrs. Arundel told her husband about what little Tom had said, and they rejoiced together, believing this would be the turning-point in their little invalid's life.
"How are Arthur and Ada getting on?" asked Dr. Arundel.
"I am very hopeful," she answered; "but, you know, we have felt for a long time that Arthur was thinking about these things."
"Nellie has been a great help to him," answered Dr. Arundel.
"Dear Nellie!" said her mamma. "She has been a great blessing in our home."
"Yes, she does live out those hackneyed words, 'Charity begins at home.' We must not forget, love, that while this outside work is most important and useful, it ought never to come before home duties and home happiness."
"I think they feel that," answered Mrs. Arundel. "I have tried to remind them of it from time to time, and Walter and Nellie set such a good example. They are always watchful at home to do the little kindnesses."
Meanwhile the young people were returning in the moonlight. Ada and Arthur, accompanied by Netta and Isabel, were on in front; and Nellie, Christina, and Walter followed slowly.
It was most lovely. The shadows of the branches were as distinct upon the ground as if the branches themselves lay there, and the plash of the waves could be heard plainly when they stood still to listen. The moon shone down upon the water in a flood of silver light, and as they watched, one little vessel with her sails set glided across the track.
The three were silent. Each had different thoughts. One dwelt on the past; another was living in the present; and the third gave a brief glance into the future. When the little ship passed out of the light into the darkness, they turned and went on their way homewards; and if each of those hearts could have expressed the conclusion of its thoughts, all might have been summed up in these words—
"Thy will be done."
For each of these young people, schooled in very different ways, had already learned to value doing God's will above their own. They had been taught to a certain extent that their Father's will was the wisest and the best, and would lead them into much fuller happiness than their own. But they had to learn more yet.
Thus peaceful, happy days passed away. The mornings were mostly taken up with bathing, and amusing the little ones till the service; after which Nellie and Christina made it a rule now to sit down by Mrs. Arundel and Tom with their work. Christina's aunt, Miss Arbuthnot, often joined them; and while the younger ones were digging, and Ada and Arthur were searching among the rocks for sea treasures, Walter would throw himself down at the feet of the ladies, and read to them till it was time to return to dinner at two. In the afternoon, the little ones generally rested; Mrs. Arundel did the same, or wrote letters; and the others took a country walk, sometimes joined by Christina, and sometimes not.
Thus the little party began to be very friendly indeed. In the evenings they would go on the pier, or sit in the orchard; and supper at nine was supposed to finish their day.
But the moon just now was too tempting. Mrs. Arundel would be drawn to the door to look, and then Ada and Arthur would coax her for "just one turn." She would yield to their loving invitation, and with an arm round each, some of their happiest moments were spent.
Nellie and Walter did not need any coaxing. The moment supper was over, he would say, "May we, mamma?" And they would be off for the brief half-hour which they prized above all the pleasures of the day put together.
CHAPTER XV.
WALTER'S SECRET.
ONE evening, when they had been at South Bay more than a fortnight, Walter as usual asked Nellie to come out after supper.
"We shall not have the moon many more evenings, though it has been a splendid one, Nellie."
"Oh, I have enjoyed it! I never knew what a harvest moon was before."
"Well, come along."
They had spent a very pleasant evening; for Christina had been a long walk with them, and they had sat on a promontory, about two miles away, watching the sunset, and singing.
Christina had a very rich voice, and sang with wonderful taste and training; but she had said that evening to Nellie, "I wish I could sing as you do."
"As I do?" said Nellie, astonished. "Why my voice is nothing compared to yours."
Christina shook her head. "When you sing, I can hear every word; when I sing, people can hear a sound."
"I know what you mean," said Nellie, "and it is only by trying to sing the words very distinctly. I learned it when papa took me once or twice to sing to an aged dying man.
"He said in his weak voice, looking kindly at me, 'Very nice, little miss; very nice indeed! But what is it about, my dear?'
"When I explained to him that it was about 'Jesus,' he said, 'Then I wish I had heard it better, little miss.'
"I went home that day making up my mind to sing so that no one should miss His name; and so I got into the habit."
"Do you often sing to sick people?" asked Christina with an awakened face.
"Sometimes; papa takes me when he thinks it would be acceptable."
"Did you feel very strange at first?"
"Oh, very! But after a few times (and papa took me at first to the very old or very young) I got used to it, and it helped me to remember it was God's message which He wished me to give."
"I wish I could," said Christina thoughtfully; then turning to Walter, "You have made me wish to set to work too. I thought, till I met you all, that I had only to bear; but I think differently now."
Walter looked at her earnestly with a sudden joy in his face, and Christina went on—
"But what do you sing, Nellie?"
"I sing ever so many—'The Ninety and Nine,' 'The Great Physician,' 'There is Life for a Look at the Crucified One,' and many more out of the same book."
"I must get it and begin."
"Do," said Nellie. "You cannot think, Christina, how nice it is to hear perhaps that the last words a dying man said were, 'There is Life for a Look at the Crucified One.'"
"Indeed it must be," said Christina earnestly.
This had been some of their conversation that evening; and now that Nellie and Walter had found a quiet, sheltered nook in the old rick-yard, where the moon could pour down her beams upon them, the talk of the sunset came up before both their minds. Walter was unusually silent, and Nellie allowed him to do as he pleased, quite satisfied that her hand was in his, and that they were together.
"It is almost ten," said Walter, at length rousing himself, "and we shall hear mamma's bell in a minute."
"How sweet and calm it is!" answered Nellie.
"Nellie," he said, looking down, and then turning round and boldly facing her, "did I promise to tell you all my secrets?"
"You said you always did," she answered, hesitating a little at his strange tone.
"Well, then, I have discovered that I have a secret which I have not told you." Then, lowering his voice and squeezing her hand very hard, he said, softly, "I have found out that I love Christina!"
"Walter, oh, dear Walter, how delightful it would be!" she exclaimed, kissing him warmly.
"You would like it, then?" he asked. "If only I can gain her love."
"No doubt of that," said Nellie confidently; "she could not help loving you, Walter!"
"Little goose," he said, smiling happily, "I'm not everybody's brother."
"There's the bell," said Nellie.
They got up quickly, much more quickly than they would have done if they had not been talking secrets, and hurried across the rick-yard.
"Mind," said Walter suddenly, as they went into the shadow of the house, "you must not let this out by look or tone; mind, Nellie!"
"Do not fear," she said. But she knew the warning was needed, when she felt her face sober down from the lines of intense pleasure which this piece of news had caused.
She wished her mamma hastily good-night and went upstairs. She was too excited to go to bed, but sat down by the open window and let the air blow in upon her hot cheeks. Here she sat building many airy castles, with Walter and Christina as king and queen, and her cheeks got hotter and hotter, and her eyes more shining.
"Suddenly these words came over her: 'My times are in Thy hand.'"
Then she fell on her knees and buried her face in her hands. "Father," she whispered, "it must be according to Thy will. I have been making plans, and forgetting Thee; oh, forgive me!"
CHAPTER XVI.
DISAPPOINTMENT.
"I HAVE a letter here which obliges me to run up to town for a day or two," said Walter the next morning as they sat at breakfast.
He looked very disappointed, but the "ohs" that went round the table made him smile.
"What will become of our service?" said Ada.
"Yes, that quite makes me sorry; but I think I shall go directly after it to-day, and try to be down early the day after to-morrow; that is, if I can; but duty must come first you know."
So he went at one o'clock, and they all felt strangely dull without him.
That afternoon Mrs. Arundel, going upstairs for something, found Nellie in her room crying bitterly, and drew back astonished.
"My dear Nellie," she said kindly, when she saw her entrance was perceived, "is there anything the matter?"
But she only obtained sobs for her answer. Really puzzled, Mrs. Arundel stood waiting until she was quieter, and then poor Nellie began to apologise.
"It is so stupid of me," she said; "and I never thought of your coming up, mamma. But I am all right now."
"But what is it, dear Nellie? What has made you sad? You would not cry without a cause. Are you ill?"
"I am so ashamed, mamma," she said, tears falling afresh. "I am afraid I was counting too much on Walter's being here, and now he has gone!"
Mrs. Arundel sat down by her, and took her little trembling hand while she said soothingly, "It is a long lesson, dear, and hard to learn, not to prize some of God's gifts too highly; but it is one which He would have us learn without the bitter sorrow we sometimes bring upon ourselves. What if by this short separation, Nellie, He is wishing to give you a gentle reminder that you are living too entirely for Walter?"
"Oh, mamma!" exclaimed Nellie, deeply distressed. "Have I been? Did you think so? Have I been neglectful of other duties?"
"Not so bad as that, dear; I have thought once or twice that I ought to warn you, but then I could not bear to break in on your happiness."
Nellie hung her head and wept bitterly.
Her mamma touched her softly. "Darling, don't cry any more. Look up, Nellie. The loving Father above saw the danger before I did, and has prepared just what would make you think."
"But I shouldn't have thought, if you had not happened to come in," she answered brokenly. "I should only have pitied myself for being disappointed."
"Ah! But then He prepares all things, my dear, and sent me up just at the right time, perhaps."
With a kind and comforting kiss, she rose and left the room, only turning at the door to say cheerfully, "Lie down for an hour, Nellie, and then we will have tea, and a pleasant evening of reading."
Left alone, Nellie again burst into tears—not tears of pity for herself, but tears of repentance; for this conversation, so unexpected and so painful, had revealed to her, what she had no idea existed, the way in which all her thoughts, anticipations, and joys were bound up in Walter and Walter's hopes. She knew it was wrong; it did not take her tender conscience long to be assured of that. And as the review of her thoughts of the last fortnight passed before her, she felt deeply grieved to think how much they had been occupied with her brother, and how little with her Saviour.
So she told Him all about it; how sorry she was; how thankful that He had stopped her in time; and then the Holy Spirit whispered words of healing, and she arose, leaving the burden behind her.
"'Thy sins are forgiven thee.'"
"'I have loved thee with an everlasting love.'"
The next day passed very quietly. Great was the surprise of the children on the beach to be informed there would be no service, and a good many looked really sorry.
Christina and her aunt joined the Arundels as usual on the sands, and they spent their morning in work and reading; but Walter's absence made a blank which all felt.
"Arthur, will you and Ada walk dawn to the Royal Parade and fetch me this evening?" said Nellie at dinner.
"Where are you going?" asked Arthur, opening his eyes wide.
"To Christina's to tea."
"Oh!" said Arthur.
"I wish she had asked me too," said Ada.
"Catch her!" answered Arthur, more brotherlike than polite.
Ada pouted. "What time are you going?"
"About four," said Nellie.
When she arrived at Christina's house, she was shown into the drawing room, where Miss Arbuthnot sat alone, knitting.
"I am so glad to see you, Miss Arundel," she said, kindly taking Nellie's hand, "for I owe you all a debt of gratitude."
Nellie looked up to see what she meant. "My niece has been a different creature since you came."
"I am so glad if we have done anything," said Nellie, "but I did not know we had."
"You have given her something besides her grief to think of; it has been a new interest."
"I am very glad," said Nellie again, feeling rather uncomfortable.
Miss Arbuthnot seated herself, and went on quietly, in her old-fashioned manner: "I was at a loss at first to know how to help her after her sorrow; and indeed it was impossible for any earthly help to reach her, so I was obliged to wait patiently. Now, I thank God, He has sent her just what she needed most."
"We all admire her and love her so much."
"Yes; she is a sweet girl," said Miss Arbuthnot; "I do not wonder at it."
Christina entered at this moment. "I am sorry to have kept you waiting, but my dog hurt his foot a little this morning, and I was just dressing it."
"Are you a good surgeon?" said Nellie.
"Oh, pretty fair! I think I should do for a lady doctor."
"Oh, no!" said Nellie, shrinking.
"Do not you like them, then? Well, I do; but let that pass now."
With one of her bright smiles she took Nellie's hand, and led her out of the room.
"When you have taken off your hat, we will have a nice talk, Nellie; for I want to consult you."
"Me?" said Nellie, blushing.
"To be sure; who better? My aunt rests between four and six o'clock, so we shall be all to ourselves."
When they re-entered the drawing room, Miss Arbuthnot was gone, and they sat down in two arm-chairs close to the open French window, and began to be "cozy."
"Do you remember giving me a little paper to read the other day?" asked Christina.
"Yes."
"Well, two or three words in that have set me thinking a great deal."
"What words?"
"That I am going to tell you presently. You know I shall not always care to live here in lodgings; it is a life I do not like, and it has cost me a great deal of thought where I should fix my home."
"You are free to choose anywhere?"
"Anywhere," answered Christina, sighing; then, checking the sigh, she added, "Where would you choose if you had all England before you?"
"Somewhere in the sweet country," said Nellie.
"I have thought of that. But there are some things which make me wish to live within easy reach of London; for one thing I want to be somewhere near all of you."
"Oh, we should be so glad!" said Nellie earnestly. "It would be the greatest pleasure."
"Can you suggest? Come, I want you to name a place."
"Would Hampstead be near enough?" asked Nellie, hesitating.
Christina paused. "I do not know much of Hampstead, except by name, and for the donkeys; is it nice?"
"Very nice; we have an aunt living there. It is such a breezy place, and has such views."
Christina smiled, and answered, "Well, supposing we say Hampstead. I will go and look at it at any rate. But I am keeping you in the dark, Nellie. The paragraph in that paper was about a lady who had gathered some little children round her, and was making them happy, when otherwise they would have been workhouse children, and it said, 'Why did not women who had no ties'—" She stopped short for a moment at that word, and her face turned very pale.
Nellie touched her hand softly.
"Yes, dear," she said, recovering herself, "no ties—'why did not they find some little outcast children, and bring them up for the Good Shepherd, and meanwhile fill their own empty hearts with joy and happiness?' I read the piece over and over. Was I meant? Was that written for me? It occurred to me that this was work I might do; and ever since the thought has been growing upon me, and has made me so happy."
Nellie was so carried away by Christina's enthusiasm, that she had not time for a thought; but now Walter's hopes flashed upon her.
"You don't agree?" asked Christina, looking slightly disappointed. "Am I too—too—not suitable?"
"Everything that is dear and lovely," said Nellie, turning scarlet. "But, dear Christina, you may be—married perhaps."
Christina's eyes turned from Nellie's glowing face to her own hands, which lay so quietly in her lap, with one ring sparkling against her black dress.
She hesitated a moment, and then said very low, "I thought you knew—or I never thought about it—Nellie, I was to have been married. This August I should have been married a year. Oh, Nellie, when I think of it, of what might have been, I can hardly bear it! He died just two months before the day fixed."
"Dear Christina," said Nellie, with full eyes, "I had no idea. I would not have said that for the world had I known."
"I am sure of that," she answered, "and I am glad for you to know."
They were silent for a moment. Nellie was trying to command herself to face the bitter disappointment which was sweeping over her like a deluge of cold water, and Christina was filled with thoughts of the past which were sweeping over her.
Nellie dared not think of Walter. She shuddered at the bare idea of his return. But she remembered his words, and with one instant's prayer for help, she again touched Christina's hand.
"I am so dreadfully sorry for you," she said in a broken voice.
Christina clasped her hand warmly, and roused herself.
"He died away from me," she said softly. "I will tell you all now, and then we need not refer to it again till I can speak of it more calmly. It was small-pox—on the Continent. There was a delay in the letters; and before my parents and I reached the place, he was gone, and all that remained to me was a new-made grave. Dear Nellie, don't cry so.
"We had a very simple stone put, on which our favourite words were engraved in three languages, that all might know that he who rested there was among the multitude that no man can number. The words were:
"'I am the Resurrection, and the Life: he that believeth in Me,
though he were dead, yet shall he live.'
"He did believe, Nellie. But for that my heart would have broken."
"Did he know you were coming?" asked Nellie presently.
"Yes; he got the telegram the day he died.
"'Tell her,' he said, 'that it is only for a little while, and then we shall be for ever with the Lord.' Those were his last words."
CHAPTER XVII.
PLANS.
IT was difficult to turn from the remembrance of Christina's great sorrow, besides which Nellie had her own private distress and anxiety to bear up against and hide as well as she might. At last she managed to rally herself sufficiently to ask Christina further of her project, and how she thought of beginning it.
"Yes, and you must advise me," said Christina.
"I am afraid I do not know enough; mamma would help you so much better than I."
"But then, you see, she is not here."
"She is not very far," answered Nellie, smiling; "and, do you know, Christina, I should very much like my sister Ada to hear about it; that is if you do not mind; she is such a bright girl, and would be so interested, and might perhaps do something to help you."
"Do you think she could? What sort of help do you mean?"
"If you carry out your idea, you will want plenty of little clothes, for instance."
"Clothes! So I shall; I really think, Nellie, I had only thought about loving them and teaching them. Look here! Should you consider me dreadfully unpolite if we went up to consult your mamma after tea, instead of sitting here?"
"I should like it very much indeed; but your aunt?"
"She will not mind; and I do not wish to say anything till I have my ideas a little more in shape. Fancy my having forgotten clothes!"
Nellie laughed pleasantly; and as the maid entered at the moment with the tea, she turned her attention to Lion, who lay with his foot bound up, looking rather miserable.
"Poor Lion!" she said, stroking his head.
Lion did not condescend to accept her caress, but looked lazily towards his mistress, who was busy cutting the cake.
"Lion is quite a hero," said she; "he saved a man's life once."
"Did he indeed?"
"It was at Boulogne. There was a wreck, and a good many of the sailors had been picked up; but Lion saw one floating out to sea, and plunging in, swam towards him, and dragged him by his hair safely to land."
"How glad you must have been!"
Lion lay looking at them, wagging his tail. He knew he was being talked about, and had heard the story before.
"Glad? The joy was overpowering. I felt almost as glad as I did that day when little Tom told me he had come to Jesus."
"Yes," said Nellie earnestly; "it has been such a great blessing. Dear little Tom has been so different since."
"I felt sure he would."
"He is so much more patient, and bears his sad trial in quite a different way. He does not say much, you know, but his face looks altered."
"I have thought so too."
"Dear little Tom!" said Nellie. "You do not know how we all love him and pity him."
"Will he ever be strong again?" said Christina kindly. "I have not liked to ask your mamma."
"Papa does not think he will; he does not improve in health as we could wish; but I am sure mamma's greatest burden is relieved now."
Miss Arbuthnot and the teapot both came in at this moment, and the conversation turned to other subjects. After tea, Christina said she should walk home with Nellie.
"So early?" asked her aunt.
"Yes; I have a few things to speak to Mrs. Arundel about that I will explain to you, dear aunt, to-morrow; so we are going now."
When they entered the passage at the farm, Mrs. Arundel was just coming down from little Tom. She seemed surprised to see them, and noticed directly that Nellie looked pale and tired.
"Is anything the matter?" she asked.
"Nothing," said Christina cheerfully; "and you will wonder to see us; but we want to have a little talk with you. Is Ada in?"
"Yes; just sitting down to mend her stockings," said Mrs. Arundel, smiling slightly.
They found Ada seated in the bay window, looking rather sulky. She was watching Arthur, who, across in the orchard, was having a fine swing.
"How early you are!" she said, rather ungraciously. "I thought Arthur and I were to come and meet you?"
"So we intended; but we have something so interesting to tell you, that we came up instead," said Nellie.
Mrs. Arundel drew out her work, and Nellie fetched hers, and then they all sat down comfortably—except that Ada did not look comfortable, and turned her back upon them.
"Now, Christina," said Nellie, by way of prelude.
Christina coloured. "It seems very formidable to tell you straight out like this; and I am afraid too, that what Nellie and I have been looking at with rose-coloured spectacles may seem to you absurd and impossible," she faltered.
"Let me hear what it is," said Mrs. Arundel.
Still Christina hesitated. At last she said, looking down and speaking softly, "You know that I am alone in the world, and dreadfully want something to do. Nellie lent me a paper the other day, in which it spoke of women who are circumstanced as I am; and it advised them to fill their homes and their empty hearts with little sad and forlorn children; and then I felt as if that paragraph had been written specially to suit me. It seemed to give me hope and joy at once; to propose to me a work which I feel myself suited for, something I can do for my God."
"It would be very nice indeed; but have you thought over all the difficulties it involves?" asked Mrs. Arundel.
"I do not know about all; but I have thought of some of them. I think perhaps I could find a house somewhere with a garden, and there we would settle ourselves, my aunt and I, and gather round us two or three little ones at first. Then I should see how I got on before I sought any more."
"But supposing you got tired of it, dear Christina, or sickness came, or you changed your plans? I do not want to object; only to suggest the things that probably might arise."
"Oh, yes! Please do; it must not be hastily entered into. I have thought about it a great deal for the last few days, though I did forget the clothes."
"Clothes?" questioned Mrs. Arundel.
"I forgot they would wear out those they came in," said Christina with a little laugh; "but Nellie soon brought me up."
"I told her that we could help her in that, Ada," said Nellie, looking towards the window.
"If I have time," said Ada rather reluctantly.
Christina raised her eyes a little surprised; and Ada got up and hastily left the room. She flew to her bedroom, locked the door, and then threw herself across the bottom of her bed.
"How horrid I am with my wretched temper," she moaned. "Here they are talking over what I should delight to help in, and I must needs sit like a stone, and never give a word; and Christina will think I do not care about it at all."
Hot tears forced themselves down her cheeks, and fell heavily on the counterpane.
"I hate myself," she went on, angrily kicking her foot about; "but it was all those stockings. Mamma knows I hate mending above everything else; and do abominate to sit in all the evening doing horrid work. Certainly mamma did wish me to do them this afternoon; but I did not wish to, and so there it is. Now I want to go down; they will be talking all the nice things while I am away, and arranging everything, and my temper will have lost it all. I don't know how to get over my temper, I'm sure. It always overcomes me, and always will."
Then, as she lay still, somehow the thought came over her of that evening before they came to South Bay, and of Nellie's words as she sat so quietly reading her Bible:
"'I can do all things through Christ, which strengtheneth me.'"
Ada's eyes filled again with softer tears. "How patient Nellie was that day! Was that Christ's strength? It must have been. Perhaps, if I were to ask—"
She slipped on to her knees by her bedside, and after a minute or two she said, in a broken voice—
"Lord Jesus Christ, I am so weak and so wrong, and I do not know how to get on alone; but, oh, forgive me! Give me of Thy strength, and help me to overcome!"
It was Ada's first real prayer, and she rose from her knees a new creature. Yes, a new creature in Christ Jesus. It was very simple, so simple that she was astonished; but she had found out that she was a helpless sinner, and Jesus a mighty Saviour. There only wanted the link between these two truths, and that link was, that she was willing to take Him for her Saviour. And she did; she knew it distinctly; and, with a happiness never before experienced, after a few moments' silence, she unlocked her door and went downstairs. When she re-entered the dining room, Arthur had joined them, and was sitting with his arms on the table, looking very interested.
Ada went up to Christina and gave her a soft little kiss, saying humbly, "I should very much like to help you, if you would let me."
Christina glanced at her, pressed her hand, and said, "Thank you, dear Ada; there will be plenty to do."
"We were saying," said Nellie, "that it would be difficult to love the dirty, disagreeable children as well as the nice and clean ones."
"I suppose," said Arthur bluntly, "you will not leave them dirty, however disagreeable they may be."
"Of course not," said Christina; "I believe a bath is the first duty."
"And I think you will find," said Mrs. Arundel, "that when you have had them a little while, you will get to love them in spite of their being tiresome. Like I do mine," she said, smiling.
"Oh, that's different!" said Arthur.
"No, I do not suppose it is, very, if Christina has the motherly heart in her; and she would not have thought of this plan, if she had not."
"All right," said Arthur, "I give in."
"But who are you going to have?" asked Ada; then turning to her mamma quickly, "Do you think, mamma, that Mrs. Ross—"
"What, Alfy?" said her mother.
"Yes. Do you not remember how she said she was too old to mind him? And only yesterday I heard her say to Mary, 'I shall have to send him to school, a little plague, that I shall.'"
"It might be the very thing; what do you think, Christina?"
At this opportune moment the door opened, and the chubby little urchin himself trotted in.
"Where's 'dranny?" he asked, without further ceremony.
"I do not know, Alfy," answered Mrs. Arundel. "Come here, dear."
"I shan't! I want 'dranny. 'Dranny p'omised me a bit of sudar if I was dood; and me am dood, so where's the sudar?"
They all laughed, and Mrs. Arundel went to the cupboard and gave him a piece.
"Perhaps granny's busy," she said; "so stop here, Alfy."
"I'm doeing to!" said Alfy, putting the piece in all at once.
"What have you been doing to-day?" asked Christina, bending forward and holding out her hand.
"P'aying in 'darden. 'Dranny says I naughty 'cos I dirty my pinner!"
"Well, it is dirty, Alfy," said Nellie; "but granny won't mind, if you are obedient."
He stared at her. "Me doe now," he said, and was off to the door and out before they could persuade him further. After which they heard him shouting— "Dranny, me dood! Me want my sudar!"
"When you are established," said Arthur condescendingly, "I will come and visit you, and inspect your arrangements."
"Thank you," answered Christina, making a little bow to him; "I shall be very happy to see you."
"But now, seriously, Christina," said Mrs. Arundel, "supposing you have your little ones ill, shall you want to give it up directly?"
"I do not think so; I shall have to bear it, and nurse them. One cannot expect to go through life without illness and trouble."
"No; and when they come to us in our own family we do not exactly want to run from it; but I fancy it makes a difference if it seems a thing we have gone into, as it were, of our own accord."
Christina looked a little puzzled. "Perhaps," she said; "but, dear Mrs. Arundel, do tell me, am I presumptuous to undertake it at all? Do you think (and that, after all, is the whole question), do you think it is God's call to me, or is it all for my own satisfaction?"
There was a pause; Nellie looked up anxiously, and Ada and Arthur almost exclaimed.
At last Mrs. Arundel said very gently, "You should know yourself, dear Christina; what was your first thought of all about it?"
"The homeless workhouse children! Then that I might be able, like that lady, to give my life to them to bring them up for Jesus, instead of their growing up wicked. Yes; that was what I thought first."
"Then it was, 'Suffer the little children to come unto Me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of heaven?'"
"I think it was," said Christina humbly; "but since then, the thought has become so very delightful."
"Yes, indeed," said Mrs. Arundel; and there was a hearty ring in her voice that pleased the young, eager listeners very much.
"But you will not want any help that I can see," said Ada grudgingly.
"She will, indeed," said Mrs. Arundel; "more than she guesses now. Will your aunt agree, dear?"
"I have still to ask her; and if she should strongly object—" Christina paused, and then finished her sentence gravely: "I suppose I should have to give it up for the time, as my dear father wished me to make her a home for a few years."
"Oh, I hope she will not!" said Ada.
"I hope not either. What should you do, Mrs. Arundel, if she does object at first?"
"I should try to wait, and I should pray. If it really is the path your heavenly Father has marked out for you, He will bring it all to pass."
There was a pause. The room had grown dark, and they had long since put down their work.
"Yes," exclaimed Christina in joyful faith, "He will! If it is His path, He will bring it to pass. I will be content to wait."