A GOOD BEGINNING.
"Life is real! Life is earnest!"
LONGFELLOW.
WHEN Lilla awoke next morning, all was calm and still. The wind had
done its work and swept away the clouds, and with the dawn, it had
hushed to rest. Lilla was beautifully warm and snug, and she lay for
some time in a sort of dreamy doze, thinking of nothing and not even
noticing how light it was. Her thoughts about greatness were still
slumbering peacefully. But all on a sudden, something made her look up,
and there, on the wall, was a broad strip of sunlight stealing through
her blind.
Lilla raised her head on the pillow, and now for the first time became
aware that the thrushes were singing blithely in the plantation. In
an instant everything rushed back into her mind—yesterday's storm,
Mrs. Fry and Florence Nightingale, Mr. Munro and her own resolutions.
And throwing back the covering, she sprang out of bed. A peep at her
grandmother's door, however, assured her that the latter was not yet
astir. So gently closing her own, she went across to the window and
drew aside the blind.
What a beautiful sight it was that met her eyes! Not a cloud in the
sky, and the sun—still low in the east—shining like a golden eye of
love upon the waking world, touching into gems the drops that still
hung upon the boughs, and flashing a stream of light down the brook.
No wonder the thrushes had found such a happy hymn of praise! Who could
help feeling glad with such a blue sky laughing down at the green
fields, and such sunlight making ready to play hide-and-seek with the
breezes among the boughs. Yet, as Lilla gazed, a sort of soberness came
over her; for something reminded her that she had to learn to be great,
not to swing idly in the tree-tops like those thrushes, who had nothing
to think of but singing all day long.
Nothing to think of but singing! Lilla little understood them. Not one
but had a nest to build before the month was out, and there was much
to be done to scrape together material, but their hearts were in their
work, and they simply went on doing it as it came, without a question
as to what was beyond, or how dreadfully pushed they would be on the
morrow, and that was at the bottom of their happiness. When men and
women learn that secret, life itself becomes a psalm, and they have
perpetual music and sunshine in their hearts. As regards the birds
never attaining to any greatness—well, they are often God's messengers
of hope to the weary and forlorn. And perhaps none of us can desire to
be anything worthier.
However, Lilla dropped the corner of her blind and hurried on with her
toilet, bent upon getting down to her lessons as quickly as possible.
The consequence was that when Mrs. Eden came out of her room in her
large apron and housemaid's gloves, ready to light the fire, Lilla was
just opening her door to go downstairs, instead of lying fast asleep as
usual, waiting to be called.
Mrs. Eden looked surprised, though she had fancied she heard Lilla
stirring.
"You are up betimes, Lilla," she said.
"I have come to the conclusion that I waste a good deal of time in the
morning," replied Lilla, sagely; "so I am going to begin getting up
early. If you can get up, grandmother, I think I ought to."
"Young people often require plenty of sleep," replied Mrs. Eden. "If
you are awake, it will do you good to get up. But I generally have some
trouble in rousing you."
"But if I 'mean' to wake, I shall," said Lilla, "at least I 'think' I
shall. I am going to begin being very industrious, grandmother."
"I don't consider idleness a fault of yours," said Mrs. Eden, as she
threw open the shutters.
"Only I waste so many 'between whiles,'" said Lilla. "I mean to use up
every 'minute' of my time, for the future."
Mrs. Eden passed on to the kitchen, and Lilla walked up to the
book-case.
"Which shall it be?" she said to herself, leaning both elbows on
it, and running her eyes along her row of lesson books. "Oh! French
vocabulary, because I hate that most. And it is always best to do the
disagreeable things first."
When Mrs. Eden came back with her wood and matches, she found Lilla
curled up in the big armchair, absorbed in her task.
"Lessons before breakfast, Lilla?"
Lilla only looked up to smile and nod, and went on with her French,
alternately reading over the column and covering it with her hand to
see if she knew it. When it was about half perfect, her grandmother
came in with the whisk-broom to sweep the carpet.
"I shall make you dusty, Lilla," she said, as she proceeded to lay a
cover over the sofa and the sideboard where the old china was arranged.
"Then I must decamp, grandmother," said Lilla, uncurling herself and
getting out of the chair. "I can go into the kitchen."
"You will find it cold. There is no fire."
"Oh! I'm too busy to be cold," returned Lilla, as she trotted off.
"I've got all my lessons to learn before breakfast."
Mrs. Eden could not forbear a smile. "Too good to last," she said to
herself, "and not desirable either. Exercise is best for young folks
before breakfast, especially in March weather." Notwithstanding, she
was pleased to see that Lilla began to understand the value of time,
and no longer regarded her tasks as disagreeable duties.
Meanwhile Lilla had begun to find that her grandmother was right after
all. She had felt so warm after hurriedly dressing in her sunny little
room that she had no idea the morning was cold. As she sat by the
kitchen window, however, plodding away at the unmanageable idioms, her
fingers began to grow stiff, and cold shivers ran through her limbs.
She put the book on the sill and rubbed her palms together, whispering
the words over to herself all the time. But the chilly sensations still
crept on, and she was quite glad when, just as the lesson was perfect,
her grandmother reappeared with the whisk. She shut the book, jumped
up, and gave her hands a good rub.
Mrs. Eden noticed it. "You will get chilblains, Lilla," she said.
"Oh! No, grandmother, I shall get accustomed to it," answered Lilla,
cheerfully. "Besides, the warmer weather is coming, when I can take my
books out on the door-step in the sun."
"I think you would do better to take your skipping-rope for
half-an-hour instead," said Mrs. Eden.
"Then I should want to rise half-an-hour earlier still," said Lilla,
"because skipping is child's play, and will never make me great."
"Is that your ambition?" asked her grandmother.
Lilla coloured, and made no answer. She had not intended to say
anything about her high aspirations, for, like many people, she was shy
of speaking about what she might never be able to accomplish.
"After all," continued Mrs. Eden, "neglecting your health will not
help you to be great. Many people, who might otherwise have lived very
useful lives, have rendered themselves all but useless by forgetting
that, to work properly, machinery must be in thoroughly good order; my
sewing machine has taught me so a good many times over."
Lilla was silent. This was a new aspect of the question.
As her grandmother got her duster, however, she picked up the book,
saying: "I suppose I can come back now, grandmother."
Mrs. Eden replying in the affirmative, Lilla followed her to the
sitting-room, replaced her book on the shelf, and, taking down another,
seated herself on a low stool near the fire.
"You see, I am fast growing up now, grandmother," she said, as she
found her place, "and I want to make the most of my time."
"You will not do that by devouring your capital," returned the old lady.
"I don't think I understand," said Lilla, with a puzzled expression.
Mrs. Eden proceeded to explain. "Your health and strength are the funds
which youth has laid up for you. If you draw upon them, by and-by
your health will break down, and there will be no capital left to
produce interest, so you will be bankrupt. If you cram one week full of
lessons, and at the same time catch a cold, you will have to lie up all
the next week and lose more time than you gained."
Lilla was thoughtful for a moment or two, but suddenly she jumped up.
"Does your back ache, grandmother?" she asked, for she observed that
every time the old lady stooped she caught her breath, as if a sudden
pain seized her. "You are not well this morning; let me dust for you."
"Then what about your lessons?"
"Oh! I'm not 'obliged' to do them before breakfast, grandmother, and
dusting will be as good as skipping—only of more use."
So Mrs. Eden willingly resigned her duster and went on seeing about
breakfast. For, truth to tell, she felt far from well that morning, and
was glad of Lilla's help.
It may seem strange to those of my readers who are accustomed to take
their share of the housework that Lilla should have been so selfish
as never to have helped her grandmother before. But they must look at
the question from another point of view, and admire Mrs. Eden for the
unselfishness which had prompted her to undertake so much hard work
without pressing Lilla into the service. Like many young girls, Lilla
usually slept until she was called, except in summer, when she spent
the time attending to her flower-garden, so the sitting-room was always
swept and dusted by the time she came down. On the other hand, Mrs.
Eden reasoned that had Lilla's father lived, she would never have had
to do servant's work, and that it would not be right to bring her up to
what was beneath her station, when she ought to be spending her time
in gaining an education which would fit her to take her proper place
in society. She therefore determined to do it herself as long as her
strength permitted, and when that failed, to engage a young servant.
That time was approaching very rapidly. The old lady had already found
the winter very trying. But she had persevered bravely, in hopes of
being able to manage through another summer. But she felt that she had
taken a decided step downward since the winter, and she was beginning
to think seriously of securing a little more ease for herself.
"What would you say to having a servant, Lilla?" she asked as they sat
at breakfast. "I am getting too old to work."
Lilla looked surprised for a moment. Then she replied: "I have been
thinking it is too much for you, grandmother. I wonder I never thought
of it before. Why couldn't I have helped you, instead of snoring my
time away upstairs? I 'am' vexed with myself."
"I have made up my mind to engage a maid at once," continued Mrs. Eden,
"instead of waiting till the autumn. I have managed without ever since
your father died, and I think I may leave off trying to save now."
"Besides, you will be bankrupt if you devour your capital," said Lilla,
mischievously, quoting her grandmother's words.
Something which happened during the day decided Mrs. Eden upon taking
the step at once.
Lilla's work for the morning was done, and she was practising, whilst
Mrs. Eden cleared up the dinner things, and eagerly looking forward to
the afternoon's walk after the previous day's disappointment. She had
just finished one piece, and was taking another from her portfolio,
when her grandmother came in and sat down by the fire. Lilla closed the
portfolio and got off the music-stool at once.
"Ready, grandmother?" she asked, without turning her head.
"I have not quite finished up," replied Mrs. Eden, "but I am afraid
I must give up the walk to-day. I am so giddy. Reach me that phial,
Lilla, and fetch me a glass of water."
Lilla did as she was desired, feeling rather frightened; and, having
administered the dose, by her grandmother's directions, tucked her up
on the sofa, and slipped out into the kitchen to finish clearing up.
When she returned, the old lady was dozing peacefully, so Lilla crept
upstairs for her hat, to make the best of the afternoon in the garden.
The attack did not prove serious, and after a good sleep and some
tea—which Lilla made for the first time in her life—Mrs. Eden was much
better. She declared her intentions, however, as they went upstairs for
the night, of hiring a servant without delay, and it was arranged that
they should set about making inquiries the very next afternoon.
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