The Little Missis

"'LET US PUT THIS COLD-BLOODED LETTER ON THE FIRE.'"

Phebe nodded, and they both watched it curl up into a black mass, and then sink down into the heart of the fire.

"Shall we go back, Phebe, dear?"

"What does that mean, Nanna?"

"That you give God your answer."

"That I am willing to do that work myself?"

"Yes."

"And do you really think I could?" looking up into the strong, brave face bending over her.

"Yes, I do; it is God's call, and He is sure to give you all you need. Will you?"

There was a pause, and then a faint "Yes," but Nanna knew, though faint, it was meant. And there and then, without altering their position, Nanna prayed: "I thank Thee, dear Father, for this honour Thou art putting on my dear Phebe. Perhaps it is in some way to make up for the dishonour some have put upon her. Through the delay in answering Thee she has brought fresh pain to herself, but forgive her and comfort her, dear Father. Open up the way for her in this piece of work, everything going so smoothly that thereby she may see Thy dear hand in all, and be assured Thou art with her. Give her, dear Lord, to-morrow, if Thou seest it will be good, some extra bit of comfort to make up for what has wounded her so sorely to-day. May she be another of Thy brave Deborahs. We are in Thy hands; never let us even wish to be anywhere else, and do let us each feel the touch of those blessed hands."

The next day at dinner, to everybody's surprise, Mrs. Colston announced that in all probability Mrs. Waring was going next Sunday afternoon to hold a meeting among the navvies.

"You don't say so!" exclaimed Bessie; "then I shall go, too. It wouldn't be the proper thing, you know, to let her go alone."

"And couldn't you sing a bit?" asked Nanna.

"Yes, I would if Mrs. Waring would like me to do so." Bessie had a very nice voice, but was never very confident of herself as a singer.

Phebe only smiled an answer. She was still feeling too nervous to talk much about the plan. Later on, Reynolds said: "I have been thinking, Mrs. Waring, they are rather a rough sort you are going among; if you've no objection, I should like to accompany you."

And a little later, when Jones heard all about these arrangements, he exclaimed: "I'm not going to be left out, I'm sure. I'm coming, too; and if you've no portable organ or anything of that kind lent you, I could bring my concertina." He had a beautiful English concertina, and was really a very good player.

"Splendid!" exclaimed Bessie, "we'll all gather round 'The Little Missis,'—that we will!"

"I am sure you are all too good to me," said Phebe, with tears in her eyes, for she realised that all these offers were made out of pure devotion towards her, no higher motive as yet being apparent.

"There, dear heart!" exclaimed Nanna, "there's the answer straightway."

"What answer?" forgetting for the moment to what she referred.

"Don't you remember what I asked the Lord for last night? A special bit of comfort to come to you to-day, and there it is straightway in the offer of these loving young hearts!"

It struck Reynolds as a rather new idea that anything he did should be described as an answer to prayer. If that were so, God must often be very near to him, influencing him. The thought made him feel very quiet.

THE GOING FORTH OF DEBORAH

Nanna lost no time in sending Jim Coates a verbal message as to Mrs. Waring's promise. This was followed later on by a note from that individual herself, asking Jim to see her friend the ganger, and ascertain if the use of one of the sheds would be granted for a Bible meeting on Sunday afternoons.

The very next evening Jim paid another visit to Mrs. Waring's establishment, this time to give report number two. He little thought the night he came with some of his drinking companions to have a look at the woman whose religion "cost her summat," that he would ever be a welcome guest in her parlour, or even wish to be.

Jim had already enlisted the sympathies of his three Christian mates in his scheme. Dick was especially taken up with it, and the two had lost no time in making all the arrangements they could.

The ganger had done all in his power to help, but had not hesitated in uttering most doleful prophecies. "She's a little brick, that she is; but they'll either send her to Coventry or Bedlam." Jim repeated all the ganger had said, feeling it only right that Mrs. Waring should know the risks she was running.

But Phebe only laughed, quietly remarking: "We shall have more on our side than those that are against us." Jim wondered very much at her reckoning up, but said nothing. He had not learnt yet to include the angels in his calculations.

The whole company joined in discussing the plans—the two young men, Bessie and Nanna.

"I don't see how you are going to walk those four miles," said Bessie; "it is that which troubles me, for you are not a good walker at any time."

"I did think of that myself," said Phebe, "but if it is right for me to go God will give me the strength."

"Hear, hear," said Nanna, clapping her rough little hands; "that's what I call the right note."

"You stop a bit," said Jim mysteriously. "Dick and me have thought about that; you wait and you'll see."

Then he went on to describe how they were going to fit the shed up and erect temporary seats. "But Dick and me want to know, Mrs. Waring, if it was a fine day, if you'd be willing to have the meeting out of doors? More of the men would listen if you would. Dick says if you sat with your back to the shed it would be a sounding-board for you, like as they have in churches."

"That would be a good deal better than a stuffy old shed," put in Bessie, to which opinion Phebe also agreed.

Punctually at a quarter to two on the next Sunday afternoon the little party was ready to start on its expedition. Nanna whispered to Phebe: "'Fear thou not, for I am with thee: be not dismayed, for I am thy God; I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of My righteousness.'"

Nanna, with little Jack in her arms, and Janie by her side, stood at the street-door to wave their farewells. Prompted by Nanna, Jack screamed out: "Bye-bye, mummy; come back happy."

Jim Coates, all radiant in a new black-and-white check suit, and hair well oiled, met them at the bottom of the street to act as conductor.

"I say, Mr. Coates," exclaimed Bessie, "where's that carriage and pair of greys you promised Mrs. Waring? I wonder you are so forgetful."

"You wait a while, miss, and you'll see I'm not so forgetful as you think," with a comically solemn look on his face.

"Did you ever see such a swell—a real Beau Brummel, if you like!" whispered Bessie to Phebe. "He looks like 'a peacock with a wooden leg,' if you like. But he's 'a dear' for all that."

When they had got less than half-way, lo! there, in the centre of the road, stood Dick, holding a tricycle.

"There!" exclaimed Jim, with a triumphant smile, "there's the carriage and here's the greys," pointing to himself and Dick.

A Bible was strapped on the handle-bar, on which also was hung a large motto-card, bearing the words "God is Love."

"I thought," explained Jim, "these 'ud show as how you weren't riding for pleasure on Sunday."

"You are quite right," said Phebe, feeling deeply touched by this exhibition, not only of thoughtful love, but of loyalty to God, "but I have never learnt to ride!"

"Oh, that don't matter, ma'am," said Dick, coming to the help of his mate. "Jim an' me's a-going' to push you—at least one of us is, but we hasn't fought it out yet which is a-going to do it." These men were real heroes—truer than any who have ever trod a battlefield: they knew right well the pushing of that machine meant months of ill-natured chaff and persecution.

As they neared the end of their journey, one of the men, who had been on the look-out for them, quickly took the word to the camp: "Gentleman Dick and Red Ribbon and their swells are coming along. Come on, I say, and let's have a fine old spree!"

Quite a little crowd gathered close by the shed to witness the arrival. Jim and Dick were greeted with some very rude gibes, but the other members of the party escaped any personal remarks.

With the same quickness and tact Phebe had shown in the management of her business, she set about this new work. Taking their seats in front of the shed, Phebe and Bessie began to sing, Reynolds and Jones standing close by, while Dick and Jim stood on each side as a kind of defence. The concertina was a great help, and when Bessie sang alone it formed a nice soft accompaniment. The men were quite taken off their guard, and thoroughly enjoyed it. "Give us some more, missis," they called out more than once.

A little later on Phebe said: "If you don't mind, friends, sitting down on the grass, I'll tell you a story while my friend has a rest," and a good number of them did so. They hadn't the slightest idea, some of them, that they were attending "a meeting." First, with a story from her own girlhood, and then one told in her own words, from the life of Jesus, she got their closest attention. When one at the close called out, "How much are you paid for this, missis?" more than one tuft of grass was thrown at him, with several unparliamentary bits of advice as to what he was to do with his mouth.

After more singing they asked her to talk to them again, and she did so, this time pressing home one or two truths, and then she prayed. Many of the men had never heard a prayer since they prayed at their mother's knee. Not many eyes were closed, but a wonderful silence fell upon that group of rough fellows as they listened to that "little woman" talking to God.

"Will you come again, missis?" asked one.

"Yes, I will, if you will let me. And please tell your wives, those of you who have them living here—will you?—how much I should like to see them, too. If it rains we should have to go into the shed—would you mind that?"

"No, why should we?" they answered. "Not if the singing girl comes too."

The four visitors went into the shed before starting home, just to see what it was like, and there a surprise met them. On a stool stood four cups and saucers, a jug of milk, a packet of sugar, and some biscuits. Presently Dick came in, carrying a teapot. This was all his own particular bit of work. He had made a fire at the back of the shed and boiled his kettle there, giving a boy a penny to stand guard over it.

The journey home was accomplished in the same manner as the outward had been, and all four had to tell Nanna that they had really had a very enjoyable time. The most enjoyable part to Phebe had been a talk she had with a young fellow who had walked part of the way back with them.

"I was the only useless one there, Mrs. Colston," said Reynolds. "My manly protecting strength was not required at all."

Just like a woman with a dear old motherly heart, Mrs. Colston had ready for them a specially nice tea.

"Is you tum home happy, mummy?" asked dear little Jack, as he gave his mother some welcome hugs.

"Yes, darling, very happy."

"Why is you vevy happy, mummy?"

"Because, darling, I've tried to be obedient."

But the thought of why his mother had to be obedient was too perplexing for him, so he turned to the easier task of counting the gooseberries in his little pie.

Just before entering the town the little party had been met by Stephen Collins, who again passed by with a bow and a smile. But no smile was in his heart. "Others can stand by her and help her, but I must do nothing—not even defend her as she ought to be defended. God help me!"

The following Sunday afternoon the same programme was carried out, with just a few additions. A few women were present, some of the men learnt a chorus; two women forcibly took the tea arrangements out of Dick's hands, the remark being, "What's a great yardstick like you know about making tea!" and instead of one man accompanying the little party on its way homewards there were four. The result of all this was that Bessie informed Nanna that "things were humming more than ever."

If the men had been asked to attend a service there would have been nothing short of a mutiny; as it was they had done so unawares, and got accustomed to it before awaking to the fact. When they did a few rebelled, but the majority submitted to fate. After that second Sunday the feeling of extreme nervousness which had at first taken possession of Phebe passed away. She was able now to look upon the work as really hers, given by God, and began to study it in that light. It was imperative that she should look ahead. The railway-works would continue quite another twelve months. It was all very well to hold the meetings out-of-doors during the fine weather, but what about the winter-time! Would the men be really willing to come into the shed, and if even they were willing to endure the discomfort, what about heating and lighting arrangements?

What was really needed, she told herself, was an iron room, which the men could use as a club-room during the week. How much would such a room cost?

Advertisements were scanned. Yes, a second-hand one could be obtained, with all necessary fittings, for a hundred pounds.

Could she afford to spend that amount just then? Would it be a wise expenditure? Just then she was about to open a branch business in which Jones was to be put as manager, and from which it was hoped to still further enlarge the country trade. This, of course, meant a considerable strain upon the exchequer, and it would only be with difficulty, in spite of her success, that a hundred pounds could be spared.

"Well," she said to herself, "I must just leave the matter for a while, and wait and watch for the pointing Finger."

On that first Sunday afternoon, unknown to Phebe and her little company, only excepting Dick, the ganger had been an attentive listener, standing at the back of the shed, close by Dick's fire, and with him, equally attentive, was one of the contractors, a gentlemanly-looking man.

It was the ganger who had told the contractor of the meeting, and he was there partly out of curiosity and partly out of fear lest there might be some rather rough "horse-play."

He had taken a house in the neighbourhood for two years, furnishing it with every comfort. He was by no means a Christian, having for the last few years been given over body and soul to just two things—money-making and pleasure.

Lunch over, it suddenly occurred to him he might as well go to the works as sit by the fire reading a newspaper. Maybe there was a little hope somewhere in his heart that he might get a spice of enjoyment out of the fun going on.

But in all that gathering there was no more attentive listener than Hugh Black, the contractor. He stayed till the little party started on its homeward journey, and then stood where he could watch them.

"I say, Greaves," turning to the ganger, "yonder little woman is plucky, if you like. There's not many who would have won that lot of fellows as she has done this afternoon. And didn't she hold them! I never heard or saw anything like it in my life before. What brought her here, do you suppose?"

Greaves muttered something about not knowing.

"There's no money in it, that's certain; and it cannot be for popularity among her set, for I should think a good many folks would blame her for it."

"I know what my missis would say there was in it," the ganger plucked up courage enough to say.

"And what's that?" still with eyes fixed on the tricycle, held on either side the handle-bar by Dick and the fresh addition to the party.

"She'd say as how it was to please God."

"H'm." Then turning sharply round to the ganger, he exclaimed, "I say, Greaves; do you profess to be religious?"

The ganger grew very red. "Not like she is," pointing towards Phebe.

"I thought not. If you had, it would have come out before now. Well, I shall not soon forget that little woman."

As an earthly flower grows towards perfection its progress is of no help whatever to any other blossom. Even its fragrance, scattered so lavishly on the air, adds nothing to the perfume of another. Flowers of the Kingdom know nothing of this isolation—can know nothing. The growth of each in grace aids the growth of others.

HER NEXT DOOR NEIGHBOUR

Late one night Bessie took her favourite low seat close by the fire, and closer still to Phebe, occupying the same position Phebe did in her confidences with Nanna.

"What's the matter, Bessie, dear?" Phebe was very quick to note any change in Bessie's manner, and try as she might Bessie never could hide her feelings.

"I don't know how it is," said Bessie, with a sigh, "but try as I may I can't get on with mother," and then there came something like a sob.

"Is there any fresh trouble?"

"Yesterday was mother's birthday," went on Bessie, in a low voice, "so I thought I would give her a little present; it's ever so long since I've done so. I bought a brooch—I could not afford a gold one—and when I gave it her—she said she never wore sham jewellery——" Bessie's voice was too choked to go on any further.

"Poor old girl!" said Phebe tenderly, taking hold of her hand; "never mind, you must keep on trying; love-work often goes slowly at first. You'll see, she will wear that brooch on Sunday, mark my words."

"But that was not all she said," went on Bessie; "she said I was getting far too much of a saint for her; she wondered I had anything to do with such a wicked woman as she was,—but she believed it was only some clever trick I was up to,—mother even said I could act a sham to you, but she was not so easily gulled."

"Something had surely been worrying her."

"No, I don't suppose so, that's just mother. What is the good of me trying! I feel as if I'd never go in home again, that I do!"

"Do you think that would be acting a daughter's part?"

"No,"—very faintly.

"Then your course is very clear, dearie."

"Yes," with a deep sigh.

"Don't despair, Bessie, darling," said Phebe, stooping down and kissing the girl's brow. "It's a difficult piece of work you have to do, but there'll be all the more joy when it is completed."

There was a long silence between them, and the subject was not referred to again that evening. But Phebe sat long after Bessie had retired for the night thinking things over. The thought uppermost in her mind was this:

"I plead for visitors to go to zenanas in India, but what is my duty to Mrs. Marchant? All the years she has been my neighbour I have never even prayed for her, or tried to pass on to her any helpful message! Fancy that! And I call myself a Christian!"

When Nanna came into the room to bid her good-night, she said: "I wonder what her majesty is turning over so seriously in her mind!"

"Her majesty's subject," with special emphasis on the last word, "is thinking sadly of a neglected duty."

"Well!" exclaimed Nanna, laughing, "if the late lamented Mrs. Caudle had an eye for a bloater, my Phebe certainly has an eye for duties!"

"But, Nanna, when I tell you what it is, you will not laugh."

"Yes, I shall. I belong to the Guild of Gladness, and there's something to be glad about in everything,—if you look for it. If even this duty is a very solemn one, I am glad you have at last thought of it."

"I know I can never get you in a corner." And then she told Nanna her thoughts.

"You are quite right," was Nanna's reply, "we have both been to blame; we have thought so much of winning Bessie, we have lost sight of the mother."

"I shall make 'a dash for it,' as Bessie says, to-morrow. And trust for guidance, at the moment as to the right thing to say."

So the very next afternoon she went in to see her neighbour, and found her, of course, as busy—not as a bee, but, rather, as a cloud of dust.

"I wish I had your easy life, Mrs. Waring! I am never done," she exclaimed, sinking down into a chair with a load of freshly mangled towels in her arms. "And as for troubles,—it seems as if my life was made up of them."

"But I think you will acknowledge that I have had a few troubles lately, Mrs. Marchant, don't you think so?"

"Yes; but then troubles slip off some people like rain off a cabbage-leaf, but it soaks into me like it does into a sponge. I can't shake it off nohow. I don't know how it is, I'm sure," and she put her bundle down on her lap and began to smooth the towels with her hands.

"You are very highly strung," began Phebe.

"Yes, I know that, but you're about the first one that has said so; everybody seems to think I ought to be made of cast-iron. I'm sure the trouble that Bessie of mine's been to me nobody knows. And then to think she can be such an angel to you while to her own mother she can never be anything but a worry!—it's exasperating! It makes me wild when I think of it."

"I am sorry you feel like that. I know Bessie loves you dearly, and she is gaining so much more control that I thought you would have noticed a real improvement in her. Of course I know she is rather thoughtless—but there, you are proud of her for all that, and she is a girl any mother might be proud of!"

"I don't know about that," but a little pleasanter look came on to her face which seemed to contradict her words.

"But I did not come in to talk about Bessie," went on Phebe, "I came in to speak to you about yourself. I was saying to Nanna last night I did not think I had acted the neighbour's part to you; I have seldom ever been in even to ask how you were."

"I am sure it is very kind of you," put in Mrs. Marchant, and she really meant it. We all like to be made of some importance.

"I think housewives need all the cheer and sunshine they can get,"—Phebe suddenly paused, for Phill just at that moment came into the room, and Phebe then noticed, what she had not done before, that dinner for one was laid at the end of the table. Evidently Phill had come in with the intention of sitting down there; if so, it was "good-bye" to all private talk with his mother. After a few scattered remarks Phebe departed.

"You have not been long," remarked Nanna; "what success have you had?"

"Not any," answered Phebe; "just as I was drawing near to say something helpful Phill came in, and then my opportunity had gone. His arrival on the scene quite spoilt my little plan."

But had it? If Phebe had known a little more of the Unseen Hand which shapes our lives, she would not have been quite so sure her little plan was spoilt.

The sight of Mrs. Waring brought to Phill Marchant's mind a little train of thought he had been cogitating over lately, and as soon as she left he remarked to his mother: "Mrs. Waring has got something you haven't got, mother."

"What's that?" snapped the mother. "I'm as well off as she is any day. She's got no jewellery to speak of, and goodness knows, her house is poor enough!"

"Oh, I don't mean that sort of thing."

"Well, what do you mean?"

"She never seems to get into flusters like you do, she seems to have something that steadies her, somehow; I hardly know how to put it." Phill saw from the look on his mother's face he was getting on to dangerous ground, and that made it all the more difficult to clothe his thoughts in words.

"Flusters, indeed! She'd be flustered right enough if she had the worries I have."

"I should think she has more to worry her than you have," Phill ventured to remark.

"That shows all you know about it! Why, she came in this afternoon to try and cheer me up a bit—she as good as said so just before you came in."

"Yes, that's just it!" put in Phill eagerly, "she's got the knack of brightening things up for folks as well as for herself. She makes a fellow feel cheery like to be with her."

"You'd better go and live with her then, like your sister's done. It's a fine thing when children take to lecturing their mother! It would be far more becoming of you to try to lessen your mother's worries than to make out she is so much worse than her neighbours!"

After that Phill ate his dinner in silence, and took his departure as quickly as possible. But the thought of the difference between his mother and Mrs. Waring had taken still deeper root in his mind.

The next time he met Bessie he was specially gracious to her. Bessie did not know what to make of it.

"It is wretchedly dull at home now you're away, Bess. I do wish you would come back!"

"Not if I know it!" answered that young lady. "I know when I'm well off. Besides, I thought you would get on like the steam out of Watts' kettle with me away!"

"Yes, that's just it, I'm always in hot water," he replied in a doleful voice.

"Well, what if you are? Isn't hot water better than black beetles? Hot water is a splendid thing to drink, but it would give you the creeps to have to eat beetles! Ugh!"

"What a stupid you are, Bess, and just when a fellow wants to be serious!"

Bessie had it on her lips to say, "Wonders will never cease!"—she had already raised her hands in a tragic style, but something in Phill's manner checked her. "What was it you wanted to say, Phill?" she asked quite kindly, suddenly dropping her hands.

The lad looked up at her, struck with the change in her voice, and was silent for a moment or so. "Tell me, Bessie, what it is that makes Mrs. Waring so different to mother?" The sentence was quite shot out.

"How did you find out there was any difference?"

"Find out? It don't take long to find that out! Mrs. Waring don't worry and fluster like mother does, and yet I should think she's got more to worry about."

"You're right there."

"Well, what is the difference? I can hear you all laughing like anything sometimes."

Bessie knew well enough what the difference was, but did not like to put it into words.

"I wish I could come into Mrs. Waring's of an evening!" went on Phill.

"Well, do," assented Bessie eagerly, "and then you can find out for yourself what the difference is. I am sure Mrs. Waring will be pleased for you to come. I'll ask her." Bessie was quite relieved by this way of avoiding the explanation of "the difference."

Thus it came to pass that another member was added to "Love's Hospital." Many a bright, merry hour did the lad spend there.

"Have you found it out?" Bessie ventured to ask him after a while.

"Of course I have, and you are pretty dense if you haven't! Why, a mole could see it!"

"Well, what is it?"

"I believe you know as well as I do."

"Of course I do; I haven't lived with her all these months for nothing."

"Then you tell me," said Phill.

"It is that God counts for something in Mrs. Waring's life," was the girl's straight answer.

"H'm," said Phill, "I suppose that's it."

"Yes," said Bessie, now quite brave once she had started, "and what she can't do, she leaves to Him, and knows it will be all right. You see, when once you get to that point, there's no need of flusters and worries."

The boy did not answer, but turned thoughtfully away.

Mrs. Marchant was not able to forget Phill's words; even when her resentment had worn off a little, they were there with haunting power.

"I'd give a good deal to know what it is she has that I haven't!" she kept saying to herself, "for, oh dear, life at times seems unbearable! It can't be her religion exactly, for lots of religious people are just as worried as I am. What can it be, I wonder! I have a good mind to ask her straight out the next time I see her."

She had not long to wait, for Phebe was on the look-out for another opportunity of getting close to her neighbour, and Mrs. Marchant, true to her resolution, put the question to her.

Phebe's heart bounded with joy. How splendidly her way was being opened up! when,—was it of the Evil One, or was it of God?—that just at that moment Mr. Marchant should come into the room!

There was no help for it but to again beat a retreat, but before doing so, she said: "Do come in some afternoon and have a cup of tea with me. You have never been in yet."

"No, I have no time for visiting," was the abrupt answer. But when she got to the door with her visitor, she added, "Yes, I'll come."

When Phebe reported progress to Nanna, that dear old body exclaimed: "Well, that's something to be thankful for! When a woman's got out of conceit with herself, and has an idea she'd like to be different to what she is, she is certainly on her way to Joseph's garden!"

"Joseph's garden!" exclaimed Phebe; "you funny, old dear, what is that?"

"Why, don't you know? Mary while at Bethany only listened to the Lord's message, and gave Him something; but when she got to Joseph's garden, she said, 'Master!'

"But she had to go by the cross to get there!"

THE NEW CLUB-ROOM

Autumn was drawing near, and still the pointing Finger had not been recognised. A few of the meetings had been held in the shed, and, although most of the men had been loyal to their promise, they had been anything but comfortable times.

Nanna thought the matter had not been made a subject of united prayer enough. So at morning prayer, which Phebe had lately established, it was mentioned, and she also spoke of it to some of the men, asking them to pray about it too.

Hugh Black had attended most of the meetings, taking up the same place behind the shed. The men had got to know of this, but said nothing, and once Phebe had caught sight of him herself. His presence brought back a little of the old nervousness, but when she told Nanna, that old Amazon said: "Toots, child, what difference should an extra quality in cloth make to you! I should say he needs your help as much as anybody."

To Phebe's great astonishment he walked into the shop one morning.

"Can I have a word with you alone, Mrs. Waring?" he asked.

"Most certainly," and the two entered the parlour.

Phebe's heart was going pit-a-pat at a very unusual rate. Could it be he had come to put any difficulties in the way—to make any complaints! How is it in any moment of excitement we are sure to jump to the most doleful conjectures?

"Pray be seated, Mr. Black," she managed to say, in a tolerably steady voice.

"Thank you. I have often wanted to come to see you, Mrs. Waring, and this morning I thought I'd just make a rush for it. Perhaps you wouldn't believe it, but I felt quite nervous at the thought of coming."

"That is very strange; I am sure you are given to inspire more terror than I am. To tell you the truth I felt nervous when I saw you come in," and then they both laughed. There is nothing like a laugh for putting people at their ease.

"Well, Mrs. Waring, I'd better go straight to the point at once. I like what you say to those men—indeed, I take most of it to myself, too. But that's not what I wanted to say. What are you going to do when the bad weather comes on?"

"Wear a macintosh," was the simple answer. How could she be so dense! Surely here was the pointing Finger, yet she did not recognise it.

"Yes, yes; but that's not it. Where are you going to hold the meetings?"

Phebe grasped the arms of her chair to steady herself. She had caught sight of the Finger now. She lifted her eyes to the star—God was near!

Then, with her usual simple straightforwardness, she told him all that had been in her mind and how she had been waiting for guidance to know if it was right to spend the hundred pounds. "I can afford to do so now," she added, "much better than I could at the beginning of the summer."

"It would not be right to let you do it. I came here with the determination to offer you fifty pounds, if that would help you in any way, but I'll make it a hundred."

"Sir!" gasped Phebe, her breath fairly taken away.

"Yes, it's no more than I ought to do. I'm making a profit out of the men, and ought to do it; besides, I want to help you, too."

"Mr. Black," she said earnestly, putting her hand on his arm, "I'll accept fifty pounds thankfully, but no more. I must do some of it myself. And do you know, you are here as God's servant! We have prayed so much about this, and God has sent you with the answer."

"I'm not a religious man, Mrs. Waring. I don't want to sail under any false colours. I'm what you'd call 'a black sheep.'"

"Perhaps so, but for all that you are doing some of God's work, and some day you'll do it for God's sake."

"Do you think I shall?" and the man had quite a yearning look on his face.

"Yes, I do."

Then they talked of the best means of securing a second-hand iron building and the best place to put it. When they parted Hugh Black said: "Well, Mrs. Waring, if you will not accept more than the fifty for the building, I mean to help you in some other way."

"So you shall, if God opens up the way."

"Do you think that God wants me to do anything for Him?"

"I am sure of it. The very fact that you were led to make that offer proves it. Do believe it, Mr. Black, for it will help you to get near to God."

"I'll try." Then he shook hands with her, and, just as he was opening the door, turned round and said in a shaky voice: "Pray for me, Mrs. Waring, will you? I was not always what I am now."

"I will, and God will answer." With another hearty shake of the hand he was gone.

How the sun did shine that day! The sunbeams did not glance from the fifty sovereigns, but from this signal proof of God-partnership in the work. There is a little bit of the Thomas spirit in us all. We do so like to see!

That day at dinner-time Phebe arranged that Bessie and Reynolds should be in at the same time. While Nanna was carving Phebe told her startling piece of news.

Nanna put down her knife and fork, and, starting to her feet, exclaimed, clasping her hands: "Praise the Lord! it's worth more than fifty pounds to feel Him so near."

"Glorious!" exclaimed Bessie; "let's sing the doxology."

And they did so, Reynolds as heartily as anybody, and Janie coming to the door to join in, though she knew nothing of what the praise was specially for.

"And another thing which is so fine," said Nanna, when they were quietly seated again, "is that all this proves God is working in that man's heart. We must all pray for him; we'll just pray him into the Kingdom." Reynolds wanted very much to ask if he was going to enter that way too. Nanna had certainly looked at him very significantly but said nothing.

After dinner was over, Nanna whispered to Phebe: "Dear heart, wasn't it worth the pain that letter brought you to have all this?"

"I should think so, a hundred times over."

"We must not forget another time a shadow falls that God never lets Satan have the victory in the end. It only means a little waiting, a little enduring."

The next Sunday afternoon Phebe startled the hearers by saying: "I want to correct a mistake which some of you have fallen into. You think I am not paid for my services here, but I am."

"Whew!" went from more than one pair of lips.

"I have had fifty pounds given me, and I have had other payments besides."

"Share round, missis, and then we don't mind," said one voice.

"Yes, I am going to share round, but perhaps not in the way you mean," and then she told them the whole of the story, of what her hopes had been, her difficulty, the watching for the Finger, and the gift of the fifty pounds. "Now," she exclaimed, joy lighting up her face, "who will say God is not watching over our little meeting?"

"Hip, hip, hurrah!" shouted one of the men, which was quite equal, in his mind, to "Hallelujah!"

The story had a splendid effect upon the men. The idea of a club-room all their own, of money being given for their special benefit, gave a decided impetus to the work, and the signal proof of God's near connection with them certainly led many a heart closer to God.

"I say, missis," one man exclaimed, "let us have some share in the paying for this room, won't you? Gentleman Dick," turning towards that individual, "hand round yer hat for a collection. You lazy fellow, stir yourself, do."

And before Phebe had time to say "Yes" or "No," twenty-one shillings were collected.

"This must be spent in something extra," said she, when she had collected her thoughts together, "so I propose you appoint Mr. Dick your treasurer." To which they all agreed.

It did not take long to secure the iron room, and before the autumn days had begun to show the touch of winter it was up, the floor was covered with linoleum, pictures were on the walls, and there were as many wooden arm-chairs as could be conveniently got in. Phebe's idea was that the room should be made as attractive as possible. The men's money was put to the chair fund.

Arrangements were made for the room to be open every dinner-hour and every evening. Dick was appointed custodian, and one of the women paid to give it a good cleaning every Saturday. Dick thought he was quite equal to this latter duty, but Phebe was not quite so sure on that point.

There were about fifty women in the camp, living in the long rows of little wooden houses specially built for them, just like married quarters in some military camps. Phebe wanted specially to get into touch with these women.

In consulting with Mr. Black as to the best site for the room, Phebe happened to mention her ownership of the meadow on the other side of the line, wondering if that would be too far away. It was agreed that the room had better be as near the camp as possible, Mr. Black guaranteeing to be at the expense of its removal should it be found at any time necessary to do so, owing to any development of the railway work.

The opening meeting was made a special one. Bessie had got a special solo, with a very taking chorus, and then some of the men gave little testimonies. To Phebe's great surprise and intense joy, after a little pause when she had asked if any one else would like to speak, Reynolds stepped forward. "Friends, I think it is high time I opened my mouth." His voice trembled very much when he first began, but gradually got steadier. "I've made up my mind to be a Christian. I gave myself to Jesus three weeks ago, and I made up my mind on the Sunday the room was opened to let this be known. It gave me a little courage to put it off a while. I was tempted this afternoon to put it off still longer, but I did not give in." ("Hear, hear!" said Dick, once the secret Christian himself.) "What I owe to my mistress here I can never tell you; she has made God so real to me." ("God bless her!" said Red Ribbon.) "That's all I have to say, as I am no speaker, but I thought I must let you know this."

Emboldened by Reynolds' example three other men made a like confession, and then they all stood up and sang the doxology. "For," said Phebe, "if you cannot all praise God for yourselves you can for others."

On the way home she grasped Reynolds firmly by the hand. "God bless you, Reynolds! This is a happy day. But always remember I am as much your debtor as you are mine. So, please, never praise me again. God only knows how much you have helped me, and what I owe to you. I should not be in the position I am to-day but for you."

And what effect do you suppose that little speech had upon the young fellow? To make him proud and expect a bigger bonus than ever at Christmas? Not a bit of it; he was more than ever her willing slave. If masters knew the value of praise, there would be more "love-unions" than "trades-unions."

Every dinner-hour in a small corner of Sunshine Hall—that was its formal name—a little group of men gathered together, either for prayer or to talk over any difficulties, and it was astonishing the knotty points they got hold of, and the difficult questions they afterwards propounded to their leader. In prayer they mostly spoke of her as "The Little Missis," "The Missis" being too cold and "Mrs. Waring" too formal.

But, in spite of all this sunshine there were still deep shadows. Public opinion in Hadley passed very hard sentences on "The Little Missis," though fortunately she did not always hear them. "Unwomanly," "Forward," "Did not know her place," "Eager for popularity," "Fond of men's company," "Hand in glove with the world," "Knew how to advertise her business"—these were some of the comments. There was one good thing, however, about this state of matters—there was clearly no danger to be feared such as comes when all men speak well of you. How Satan must rejoice when he can get God's workers paralysed through the criticisms of Christians!

A STRANGE KIND OF PREACHING

The afternoon Mrs. Marchant came into "Love's Hospital," Bessie was very excited. Mrs. Marchant had previously sent word of her intended visit.

"Are you pleased your mother is coming?" whispered Nanna to Bessie as they met on the stairs.

"Of course,—but you might as well ask a magpie if it liked black and white feathers."

"Well, don't act like a magpie, if you can help it, there's a dear," and Nanna patted the girl's cheek lovingly.

Nanna saw to it that it was a specially grand tea, being anxious that their neighbour should realise they were desirous of doing her honour. To grace the occasion still further Nanna wore her Sunday gown and black silk apron; and Phebe, catching the contagion, put on a light coloured cashmere dress which Nanna had presented her with, having specially commissioned a traveller to buy it while on a visit to Paris.

Bessie did not dare to do anything extra in the way of smartening herself up, except putting a red flower in her dress, for fear her mother should openly chide her for her extravagance. And that would be dreadful, if she did it before Reynolds—or—D.J.!

"Do you think there is any chance that Mrs. Marchant will think we are trying to show off?" Phebe asked Nanna. "I should be so sorry if she did."

"She will take it as a compliment, I am sure," replied Nanna.

The fact was Phebe was not quite at home in her new dress, though she had a great liking for it, not only because it was Nanna's love-gift, but also because of its restful colour. She called it her "hope dress." It was a pale heliotrope colour, with silk flowers on it of the same shade, and to Phebe it seemed to speak of the hopefulness and gladness of the springtime. As a girl she had often gathered the wild crocuses in the meadows, and her dress was of the same hue; and the gladness of her girlhood days seemed to shine out at her from its folds. Though her dress was always of the simplest kind, she had a great liking for dashes of colour—not splashes. Nanna shared with her this love of colour, going in as she did for everything that increased true cheeriness. One of Phebe's favourite ideas was that there could not possibly be a "glum" mealtime if a red geranium in full blossom was on the table.

Nanna presided at the tea-table; Phebe sat at the foot of the table, with Mrs. Marchant and Jack on her left, and Bessie and Reynolds on her right.

Both Phebe and Nanna did their best to keep up a bright conversation. At first Bessie was very quiet, but when she did wake up all lost time was more than atoned for; indeed, Phebe had to give her several quiet touches under the table.

When once Bessie started she always found it difficult to "slow up." Phebe could see that her mother was looking at her in a rather ominous manner, and feared there might be trouble.

Reynolds happened to refer to some comical customer they had just had, and Bessie at once began a humorous description of the whole scene.

"But, Bessie," said Phebe, "it is not kind, when you know the poor thing cannot help her singular ways."

But it was too rich a bit of description for Bessie to let drop quickly, and she went on waving her arms in a dramatic manner.

Just at the moment Phebe was taking a cup of tea from Mrs. Marchant, Bessie was exclaiming, "She perfectly waltzed up to Reynolds," when, lo! with a backward wave of her hand, she caused the cup with its contents to fall into Phebe's lap.