_AT RIVERSIDE._
"MARY, this is the prettiest place, I think, that I have ever seen!"
They were standing at the bottom of the garden, looking down the
stretch of shining river, which shone like silver in the morning sun.
"Lovely! Is it not, Vincent? Who would have thought after all my
grumbles, and want of faith, that I should be given my heart's desire
like this!"
"Oh, well, Mary, I don't know about grumbles and want of faith! We all
have our little grumbles at times. But one thing I do know, and that is
that when once you set out to do God's will, you went at it."
Mary smiled at her twin, while she shook her head.
"I don't know, Vincent; sometimes I think God has had more patience
with me than with any of His children!"
Vincent pondered. But after a moment or two, he answered, "Don't you
think we all of us feel that, knowing a little of our own hearts? He
has patience with us in our different ways, and leads us on that we may
be 'conformed to His image' more and more."
"Yes—" she answered slowly. Then turning to him, she said—
"Let us go up and sit on the garden-seat where the maids will see us.
They will think I am lost to be out at this time in the morning."
She led the way back over the field and through the pretty shrubbery
till they came in view of the house.
"Now, Pollie!" he exclaimed. "Tell me all about yourself."
"I don't know where to begin," she answered, smiling. "I'm so happy,
Vincent!"
"You look it," he answered.
"Yes, I never guessed that I should have His 'more abundantly,' as
Arthur says, like this—"
"Well, I'm glad," he answered heartily.
"But tell me about your doings," she responded. "Mine are all summed up
in what I have told you, and you see the filling in of it all in this
sweet house and garden, and my happy surroundings."
"My doings are on the old style. Mr. Brown is very kind, and I am
getting on first rate. How funny, Pollie, that Arthur's partner should
be my Mr. Brown's cousin!"
"Yes, is it not? You have heard that Dr. Brown's daughter is my little
friend?"
"A rival to Ada?" he asked mischievously.
"I don't deal in rivals; I never did. My heart has got sort of
chambers, Vincent, which hold different people. No one takes from
anyone else! The more people I love, the bigger my heart grows."
Vincent laughed. "What's she like?" he asked.
"Not like anyone we know at home," she answered, shaking her head. "But
you will see for yourself, I expect. She is sure to come in presently
if she can."
Then Mary told him about Ruth's trouble over the Indian children, and
also that she had not seen her since their arrival.
"How long can you stay?" she asked at length. "You have never told me
that."
"Perhaps I was waiting to be asked," he answered.
"Oh—well," laughed Mary, "perhaps you were! That would not be like the
Vincent of old days."
"But then you see you've got a 'better half.' Suppose he does not want
me?"
"Nonsense!" said Mary. "Think how he greeted you last night. You are a
naughty boy, Vincent."
"Well, if I am to tell you how long I can stay, I can be here over
Sunday, if you'll have me. Mr. Brown had a particular parcel he wanted
to send to your Dr. Brown, and he thought I should like to see you, and
so—here I am."
"I never was more surprised, or I think more glad. I have been longing
to see you."
Meanwhile, Ruth had despatched her housekeeping duties, and had seen
her cousins comfortably settled in the garden, and excusing herself for
a short time, she drove down as usual with her father.
"I shall have to give up my lessons, father," she said, as she sat by
his side. "I shall not be able to be out all the morning, shall I?"
"I am afraid not," said Dr. Brown slowly. "But we will talk that over
this evening. You and I shall quite value our little bits of time
together, my dear!"
"Ah! Shall we not," answered Ruth happily.
"How have you got on with them this morning?"
"Quite nicely. Heston is so kind; and Judith means to be nice, but she
is evidently rather suspicious. Norman is a dear little fellow. I have
learnt some of his finger-talking already."
"It is not difficult; but I am glad you have taken to him."
"He is so helpless! And he looks so pitifully at you when he wants you
to understand."
"I am longing to have Arundel up to see him. But we must not be in a
hurry."
"No—I want him to feel confidence in us. If it were not for Mala, I
think all would be smooth. The servants cannot bear her, Morris says."
Dr. Brown looked earnestly at her, but at the moment, the carriage drew
up at Riverside, and Ruth wished him a hasty good-bye and sprang out.
The maid seemed surprised to see her so early, but on her enquiry for
Mrs. Arundel she answered, "She's in the garden, miss; shall I call
her?"
"Oh, no, I will find her," said Ruth.
And so it came to pass that Mary and Vincent, still sitting on the
sunny seat, saw a vision of a little figure coming through the garden
door and flying over the lawn towards them.
When Ruth paused in front of them and looked up from under her shady
hat, her amazement knew no bounds.
"Oh, I beg your pardon!" she faltered. "I thought you were sitting with
Dr. Arthur—"
"It is my brother Vincent," said Mary, smiling; "you have often heard
of him—"
Ruth shook hands, but she was much annoyed with herself for her
mistake, and it was some moments before she had recovered sufficiently
to bear her part in the conversation.
Mary, however, was always too natural and downright to let small
mishaps trouble her long. She laughed the matter off, and begged Ruth
to tell her how she had fared with her guests from India.
We know the story, and Ruth soon began to lose her shyness in telling
Mary about the ayah and about Norman, so that before very long they
were chatting away as if they had known each other for years.
"There will be something for you to do," said Vincent, in his
straightforward way.
"For me?" asked Ruth. "Did you mean that I could aid in his recovery?"
"I was thinking so too," said Mary.
Ruth coloured with pleasure and surprise.
"I should 'like' to—"
"No one will have so much chance, I should think," said Mary.
As Ruth went home, walking up that long hill, she pondered very deeply
on what the brother and sister had suggested.
She had taken a great fancy to Norman, and he evidently had taken the
same liking for her. If she could indeed be the means of doing him any
good, what a joy and delight it would be! But what could she do?
She set herself to consider the matter in all its bearings. She thought
if she were dumb, what would she wish done for her—how would she like
people to treat her?
All at once, the instinct of nursing seemed to spring up in her heart.
She had never guessed at its presence till now, and it came as a
revelation. Her mother used to say she nursed beautifully, but all the
sorrow and misery she had gone through had made her forget it till this
moment. She remembered now that if her father had been indisposed, she
had always been able to devise palliative measures, and to carry them
out with great comfort. Could it be that this was a gift?
And if a gift—her heart leapt to another thought. She would thank the
Giver of the gift, and ask Him to bless it!
She stood still beneath the fir-trees, and looked over the lovely
prospect to be seen between them.
"Help me to be the means of blessing to Norman!" she prayed with
clasped hands.