Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
[Illustration: LILLA AND HER GRANDMOTHER. _Frontispiece._]
NO ROYAL ROAD;
OR,
_THE THING THAT LIES THE NEAREST._
A Story for Girls.
BY
FLORENCE E. BURCH
_THIRTEENTH THOUSAND._
LONDON:
THE SUNDAY SCHOOL UNION
57 AND 59 LUDGATE HILL, E.C.
PRINTED BY
MORRISON AND GIBB LIMITED, EDINBURGH
[Illustration]
CONTENTS.
—————
CHAP.
I. LILLA
II. MARGIE
III. LIVES OF GREAT WOMEN
IV. A GOOD BEGINNING
V. LILLA MAKES A NEW ACQUAINTANCE
VI. LILLA AWAKENS MARGIE'S AMBITION
VII. THE REWARD OF DILIGENCE
VIII. WASTED MINUTES
IX. WHICH WAS THE GREATEST?
X. A FRIEND IN NEED
XI. MARGIE THROWS NEW LIGHT ON THE QUESTION
XII. THE WAY, THE TRUTH, AND THE LIFE
ILLUSTRATIONS.
—————
LILLA AND HER GRANDMOTHER. (_Frontispiece._)
"SHE LOOKED UP AS LILLA ENTERED."
MISS ST. IVES.
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[Illustration]
NO ROYAL ROAD.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER I.
LILLA.
"Standing with reluctant feet,
Where the brook and river meet,
Womanhood and childhood fleet."
LONGFELLOW.
IN a shady nook, hidden away from the road by an overgrown hedge and a
row of tall lime trees, stood a quaint-looking little cottage.
It was concealed from view as you came along the lane, for it had
formerly been the lodge of a larger house, and in order to enter the
swinging gate in the sweet-briar hedge which separated its little
garden from the carriage drive, you had to pass through a broad iron
gateway standing back in a deep bay in the plantation.
It was no longer required as a porter's lodge at the time of our story,
the house having been long untenanted. And though the rooms were small
and the thatched gables old-fashioned, it formed a very comfortable
dwelling for the old lady who had now been its inmate for more than ten
years.
It was a wonderfully pretty little house, too. It had a rustic porch,
covered with jessamine and honeysuckle, and latticed windows that
opened wide to admit the summer breezes. Upstairs were the snuggest
bedrooms, with sloping ceiling and snowy curtained dormer windows, and
handy cupboards to fill up spare corners.
Then, too, the garden, full of the old-fashioned flowers dear to
those whose bright memories of far distant childhood are so closely
wound up with them. Sweet peas and lupins, wallflowers—or warriors,
as the children call them—stocks and clove pinks, and Aaron's rod and
sweetwilliam—
"With his homely cottage smell."
And the roses! Not the trim heads of bloom on straight, stiff stems,
which you see in gardens of the present day, but luxuriant bushes, rich
with blossoms, that seemed grateful for the sunlight, so sweet was
their perfume. All sorts were there: tea roses, cabbage roses—worthy of
a prettier name—delicate buds in moss wrappings, and at every turn of
the paths, arches laden with the snowy wreaths of the cluster.
At the bottom of the garden ran a brook, silent and peaceful in summer,
when the overhanging fringe of foliage hid its pebbly bed from view;
gurgling and rushing with wild vehemence in spring when the snows had
melted, and the dark firs of the plantation beyond were rocking and
swaying in the wind.
But enough of the place, that we may pass on to its inmates.
It would have been a dull spot for an old lady to spend her last days
in alone. But Mrs. Eden had a companion.
Fourteen years ago, when her hair was still brown, her only daughter
had faded and died, leaving to her care the dimpled baby girl who was
just beginning to lisp her name. For three years the fond grandmother
made her home with her son-in-law, devoting herself entirely to the
little darling whose ways reminded her so much of the babyhood of her
own child. But sickness laid its hand upon that home again.
There came a time when the little one asked, with wonder in her blue
eyes, why father was always tired now. And, later on, why father never
romped with her as he used; why he never got up, and why the doctor
came so often. Until at last, one evening they did not even take her to
him for her good-night kiss.
Next morning they showed him to her, cold and still in the long sleep
of death, telling her that he had gone to be with Jesus in God's bright
heaven, where everybody had a golden harp. And Lilla Claridge was an
orphan.
Then it was that bereft of all, save that tender little life, which
seemed to cling to her as the young ivy to the old tree trunk, the old
lady came to live at The Lodge, where, by various little economics,
such as substituting her own needlework for that of a seamstress, and
doing her own housework, with occasional help, she could not only make
her slender means sufficient for them both, but even add something
yearly to the little capital which was accumulating at the bank in
Lilla's name.
So the ten years had passed, bringing snowy locks and failing strength
to the old lady, whilst for Lilla, each return of the season had some
fresh gift of growth and intellect.
Lilla was turned fourteen, and a sensible girl for her years, quite
a companion for any grown woman. Having been so much in the society
of an old lady, she had perhaps learnt to think older thoughts than
most young people of her age. She was amiable and gentle, too. For in
training her, Mrs. Eden had not forgotten that some day she must mix
with those who would not have a grandmother's indulgence. So, instead
of spoiling her, as it would have been so easy to do, with no one
close to lavish her tenderness upon, she had tried her best to lay the
foundation of all those qualities most calculated to make of any girl—a
happy, useful woman.
Lilla had grown up with no companion of her own age. Their economical
style of housekeeping had rendered it impossible that she should mix
with those really in her own station. And as Mrs. Eden had undertaken
her education, intending to procure lessons in French and music for her
so soon as she should be far enough advanced, she had formed no school
friendships.
At the time when our story commences, Easter was just past, and the
larches were hanging out their green tassels in pretty contrast
against the sombre green of the firs. A keen wind was still blowing,
and the distant hills looked dark and well defined in the clear air
as the sun sank to his western couch. But leaf-buds were swelling on
the hedges, and thrushes were piping merrily on the tree-tops. In
the woods, primroses were peeping out from their hiding places under
the dead leaves, and anemones were shaking their delicate bells by
the watercourses. Spring was advancing rapidly, in spite of winter's
attempts to keep his hold, and even an occasional snowfall could not
long hinder the young monarch from ascending his rightful throne, so
many upon all hands were his subjects.
Lilla and her grandmother had just returned from their afternoon's
walk. They formed a strong contrast. The young girl, with her lithesome
elastic figure, and the old lady, with her silver locks and feeble
steps. But they always went out together when Lilla's tasks were done,
and it was astonishing the long distances the old lady made round the
country lanes beyond their little home.
Lilla's hands were full of anemones and trailing ivy, for she loved
plants and flowers. Unlike many girls of her age who let the spring
pass over them unheeded, its many voices had an undefinable charm for
her. She could not have told you why she listened so eagerly for the
first thrush's note, or watched the opening buds on tree and plant, but
it was not simply that winter disagreeables were retreating before a
milder reign. The reason was rooted in the poetic part of her nature
which loved the life and beauty all around.
Here again you might trace her grandmother's teaching:
"God's world is so beautiful," she would say, "and Jesus loved the
flowers. He has given them to us that we may learn from them. Every
spring ought to remind us that we must open our hearts to the sunbeams
of His love, if we would grow daily in beauty and fragrance."
Mrs. Eden was unusually tired with her walk that day.
"I am not so young as I was, Lilla," she said, with a sigh, as she took
the door-key from her pocket.
"But you are wonderful, grandmother," returned Lilla fondly, as she
followed her in. "I wonder how many old ladies of sixty-eight could
walk the miles you do!"
The kitchen fire was out, for Mrs. Eden could not afford to keep two
fires burning when the morning's work was done. But the kettle was
singing contentedly on the trivet in the sitting-room.
Lilla saw at a glance that all was right, and in less than a minute she
had fetched the tea-tray, so that her grandmother might make the tea at
once.
Whilst it was brewing, she slipped out into the garden to plant a
primrose root which she had brought in with her. This need not have
occupied many minutes, but the stars were coming out, and Lilla could
not resist watching them as their tiny orbs glittered and twinkled in
the clear, pale sky. When she looked down to earth again, everything
seemed so dark that it was some time before she could find a place for
her primrose. By degrees, however, her eyes became accustomed to the
change of light, and the plant was soon disposed of, its native soil
snugly patted down round its roots.
"There!" exclaimed Lilla, as she raised herself up and turned to go in.
But somehow her eyes went back to the stars. She was surprised to see
how much brighter they appeared to have grown during the few moments
occupied by planting the flower. They no longer seemed struggling to
make their feeble rays penetrate the twilight. They were shining down
with a clear, steady light. And one after another added itself to their
number as Lilla's eyes wandered over the heavens.
"It must be the contrast," she said to herself, resting on her spade,
"for I have not been long. It is no darker than when I came out, and
yet they were hardly visible then. But the sky is always brighter than
the earth."
Lilla stood thinking for several minutes. But she suddenly remembered
her grandmother and the tea, so she moved on towards the house. She had
just put the spade in the tool shed when a noise of shouts and cries up
the lane caught her ear, and, unable to repress her natural curiosity,
she ran down the path, slipped through the gate, and went out into the
road to see what it meant.
A pony was coming full tear that way, and two boys, one of whom had a
rope bridle in his hand, were running after him at their utmost speed,
at the same time doing their best by their halloos and yells to make
him gallop the faster.
Lilla hurried back into the bay, and just got into shelter behind the
gate as the pony dashed past. She was not used to animals, and was
rather frightened of them.
But there is something exciting that few young people can resist in the
sight of a runaway horse.
Lilla almost wished herself one of the pursuers, instead of a demure
little maiden just about to wash her hands and sit down to tea with her
grandmother.
However, it was of no use wishing. And certainly it would have been
undesirable to change places with the two uncouth, mud-begrimed figures
that hurried by next minute.
Lilla waited until the sound of hoofs was out of hearing, then hastened
indoors, and ran upstairs to lay aside her outdoor things. In a few
minutes she was seated opposite Mrs. Eden at the tea-table.
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