he directed his hearers to the wonderful privileges provided for them,
so far transcending all mere temporal gifts--to the "love the Father
hath bestowed, that we should be called the sons of God,"--showing how
these privileges were to be grasped through faith in the love which
laid down life for us; and how that love, flowing into the heart, was
to purify the life by enabling us to do the things which are pleasing
in His sight.
The solemn, earnest words--few, but well chosen--seeming to come with
peculiar power after the day of joyous excitement, touched responsive
chords in the hearts of most of the young party, who looked earnest
and thoughtful; though who could tell whether the impression should be
an abiding one, or should pass away like the "early dew?" Lucy and
Bessie listened with real interest--the latter, especially, with much
more than she would have felt a few days before; and Mrs. Ford
silently renewed her good resolutions to seek to influence her family
to choose the "better part, which could not be taken away from them."
Lucy could not help glancing at Stella when the verses in the chapter
about want of compassion for the brother or sister in need were read;
but Stella looked placidly unconscious, and indeed her thoughts were
far away,--considering how she should best impress Marian Wood, on
their way home, with a due sense of the grandeur of her city life.
After many kind parting salutations, and warm invitations from Mrs.
Ford to come soon and spend an afternoon at the farm, the party took
leave; one division proceeding homeward by the winding road, lying
white in the full moonlight, as the fields were now wet with dew,
while the others took the shortest cut to the river, where the boat
was lying. Very little was said during most of the way, except some
subdued exclamations of delight as they passed out from the deep
shadow of the overhanging rocks into the broad river, which glittered
in the moonlight like a sheet of dazzling silver, roughened by the
slightest ripple, and past point after point of luxuriant foliage,
looking dream-like and unreal in the light that silvered their
glistening leaves.
As they neared the village, Lucy suddenly recollected their unexpected
guest. "I wonder how Nelly got home! Did she stay long after we left,
Alick?" she said.
"No; she said her mother would be angry if she were out late, so she
set off at a run."
"Lucy," said Stella, "I wonder how you can have anything to do with
such a vagabond-looking child! I'm sure she was watching to see
whether she could pick up anything; and she looked just like a gipsy."
"Oh, Stella! how can you be so suspicious?" exclaimed Lucy
indignantly. "I don't believe Nelly would do any such thing! No wonder
the poor child was watching us while we were at tea; didn't you see
how hungry she was?"
"Well, I know we've had things stolen by just such children, and papa
says it's best to keep such people down; for they're sure to impose on
those who are kind to them, and charity is quite thrown away upon
them."
"A convenient belief to save trouble," Lucy was just going to say, but
wisely repressed the impulse, feeling that it would not sound very
respectful to Stella's father, who, she felt, must be a very different
man from her own.
"Stella," said Alick, "did it ever occur to you what you might have
been if you had been left, motherless and almost fatherless, to run
all day on the streets, listening to bad words and seeing all sorts of
evil, without any one to say a kind word to you and teach you what is
right? I wish you could have heard the poor little thing's story as
she told it to me." And in a few words he gave them an outline of
Nelly's history.
"Papa says you never can believe their stories," objected the
city-hardened Stella.
"I know you can't always," replied Alick; "but I think I'm not easily
taken in, and I'm willing to stake my judgment on this being no sham.
And how would _you_ have turned out from such a bringing-up,
Mademoiselle Stella?"
"And where is her father?" Lucy asked.
"Oh, her father works on a boat, and is seldom at home. They came to
live here because it is cheaper, and they can have a pig and raise
potatoes."
"I wonder whether she can read," said Lucy.
"I shouldn't think so, for she never was at school in her life, nor at
church either, since they left Ireland, till last Sunday."
"I wonder," said Stella, "whether she understood anything she heard."
"Possibly she might be able to give as good an account of the sermon
as some other people," remarked Alick mischievously. "Come, Stella,
what was the text?"
"I don't believe you know yourself," retorted Stella, colouring; and,
fortunately for her, Alick's attention was just then directed to the
care of landing his passengers.
As they walked home, Stella and Marian in front, eagerly engrossed in
a children's party which the former was describing, Lucy remarked
impatiently to Alick, "How can Stella talk in that hard, unfeeling way
about poor people?"
"Poor girl!" said Alick, "it is sad to see any one so spoiled by
living in a cold worldly atmosphere. As you know more of the world,
Lucy, you will be more and more thankful for such a home as you have
always had."
Lucy was silent. Her cousin's words made her feel that she had been
indulging in self-righteous and uncharitable feelings, and she felt
humbled at the lesson which she had thus received from one who did not
profess to be a Christian, in one of a Christian's most important
graces. But she accepted the rebuke, and she added to her evening
prayer the petition that she might be made more humble, and less ready
to condemn; as well as that Stella's heart might be opened to receive
the love of Christ, and, through this, of her poor earthly brothers
and sisters.
The little party were soon assembled at home, and after cheerful
"good-nights,"--Harry remarking that "he was awful tired, but there
never had been a nicer picnic,"--the wearied excursionists soon lost
all sense of fatigue in peaceful slumbers and happy dreams.
VI.
_A Mission._
"And if this simple message
Has now brought peace to you,
Make known the old, old story,
For others need it too."
Two days after the picnic was the day fixed upon for Miss Preston's
wedding, to which, as has been said, Lucy had been invited to
accompany her father and aunt. Stella had not been included in the
invitation, which she privately thought a great omission. It would
have been such a good opportunity for showing the Ashleigh people how
they dress in the city, and she felt sure that, tastefully attired in
a lovely white grenadine, which would have been just the thing for the
occasion, she and her dress would have added no small _éclat_ to the
wedding.
Nevertheless she behaved very amiably to Lucy, who, when she pressed
her to wear one of her own pretty white dresses, and offered to lend
her any of her ornaments which she fancied, felt somewhat ashamed of
her own condemnatory feelings toward her cousin, since it is a very
natural tendency in all of us to make our own estimate of others
depend to a considerable extent upon their treatment of ourselves.
However, she adhered to her original determination of wearing the
simple India muslin, which had been her own dear mother's bridal dress
(its trimmings having been worked by her own hands), and all Stella's
representations that it was "old-fashioned" failed to produce any
effect. She would indeed have felt it treason to admit its inferiority
to any of her cousin's more stylish dresses. But, to please Stella,
she accepted the loan of a sash pressed upon her by her cousin, who
took a considerable amount of trouble in the arrangement of her
toilet, and in weaving, with innate skill, a graceful wreath of
delicate pink rosebuds and green leaves, which she fastened on Lucy's
dark hair, and pronounced the effect "charming," while Alick
complimented her on her skill. Lucy was conscious of looking better
than she had ever done before. It made her think just a little too
much about her appearance, and then she felt humbled at seeing in
herself the germ of the very feeling she had despised in her cousin.
The wedding arrangements were very quiet and simple. Lucy, who had
never been present on so important an occasion, enjoyed it very much,
notwithstanding her sorrow at parting with her teacher, whom she
thought the very ideal of a bride in her simple bridal dress. Its
simplicity, indeed, would probably have scandalized Stella, but Miss
Preston was not going to be rich, or mingle in gay society, and she
wisely thought show and finery quite out of place. But she had long
made it her chief aim to possess that best ornament of "a meek and
quiet spirit," which, we are told, "in the sight of God is of great
price."
Before her departure she took Lucy apart to say a few words of loving
counsel.
"I hope you will try to work for Christ, dear Lucy," she said, "as He
gives you opportunity. Remember, a Christian who does not work is only
half a Christian. Now I think if you tried, you might do Nelly Connor
some good. She wants a friend very much, and is easily won by
kindness."
"I should be glad to do anything I could," said Lucy; "but what would
be best to try?"
"Well, poor Nelly can't read a word, you know, and I am afraid her
stepmother would not spare her to go to school. But suppose you were
to get her to come to you for half an hour a day. I think her mother
might be induced to let her do that. And a short reading-lesson every
day would soon bring her on."
Lucy was a little disappointed. It seemed such common-place drudgery
to drill an untaught child in the alphabet and spelling-book. Her
vague idea of "work for Christ" had been of a more exalted nature. But
her friend added: "I don't mean that you should not teach her better
things also. You could, little by little, teach her a good deal about
Christ in the course of your daily lessons. But sometimes we may serve
Him best by doing His commonest work. And think what you will do for
this poor child by putting it in her power to read the Bible for
herself, and have access at all times to our Saviour's own words!"
Lucy willingly promised to try, and then Mrs. Harris, as Miss Preston
was now called, bade her an affectionate farewell, before going to
exchange the parting words with the members of her own family. Lucy
watched by the gate till she saw the carriage drive off, and then,
overcome by the reaction from the excitement of the occasion, hurried
home through the quiet shady lane, and disregarding Stella's call,
never stopped till she reached her own room.
There the astonished Stella found her lying on her bed, crying
bitterly, and asked in alarm the cause of her distress. That the
parting from a Sunday-school teacher, a friend so much older than
herself, could have called forth such emotion, Stella could not
comprehend; and it was difficult for Lucy to explain it to so
unsympathetic a listener.
"Why, I'm sure I shan't cry so when Sophy is married and goes south, a
great deal farther away than Miss Preston. Now tell me how she was
dressed."
"Oh, Stella! I can't just now," sobbed Lucy, whose crying was partly
the result of nervous excitement, as well as of her realizing for the
first time Miss Preston's departure. And Stella, finding her attempts
to soothe her unavailing, returned to her story-book, until the
arrival of Mrs. Steele, whom she found more communicative.
"And where is Lucy?" inquired her aunt, after satisfying Stella's
curiosity. "She must have slipped away very quietly."
"Oh, she's in her own room. She was crying so, it was no use to speak
to her. I don't know what for."
"She is very fond of her teacher, and I don't wonder at her crying on
losing her. She is a great loss to us all."
"What a fuss they all _do_ make over her! I'm sure she didn't seem
anything particular," thought Stella as she accompanied Mrs. Steele
up-stairs. Lucy had fallen asleep, but awoke on their entrance, and
started up to arrange her disordered dress and hair before going to
tea.
"Just look how you have crushed your nice dress now!" exclaimed Stella
reproachfully. "And the wreath too! It might have been fresh all the
evening. You might have taken them off if you wanted to lie down."
"I didn't think of it," said Lucy apologetically, somewhat remorseful
for not having treated the result of Stella's labour with more
respect. "But I shouldn't have worn it all the evening, at any rate,
for after tea I am going to see Nelly Connor."
"What! that girl we saw in the wood? What are you going to see her
for?" exclaimed Stella.
"Miss Preston--I mean Mrs. Harris--wants me to try to get her to come
to learn to read, if papa and Aunt Mary have no objection; and I'm
sure they won't."
It was to Stella a bewildering phenomenon, that Lucy should really go
out of her way to invite such a girl to the house. However, partly
from curiosity, and partly from having nothing better to do, she
acceded to Lucy's invitation to accompany her; and after tea the girls
set off, Mrs. Steele warning Lucy to be very conciliatory to Mrs.
Connor, or she would not accomplish her object.
They soon reached the side of the green slope on the river bank, on
which the Connors' cottage stood, and were following the path to the
house, when they encountered Nelly herself, struggling up the hill
with a heavy pail of water. Her brown, weather-tanned face lighted up
with a glad smile when she recognised Lucy, and in reply to her
inquiry she said she was carrying up water for the next day's washing.
"And do you carry it all up from the river?" said Lucy.
"Yes, miss, every drop," replied Nelly, with a weary little sigh.
"Nelly, would you like to learn to read?" asked Lucy, plunging at once
into her errand.
"I don't know, miss," was the rather doubtful reply.
"Why, wouldn't you like to be able to read that nice hymn Miss Preston
gave you, for yourself?"
"Yes, miss, I'd like to be able, but I don't know if I'd like the
learning."
Lucy laughed, as did Stella also, and Nelly herself.
"Well, as you can't be able to do it without learning, don't you think
you'd better try?" asked Lucy.
"I don't think mother would let me; and I must hurry now, or she'll be
angry at me keeping her waiting, with the baby to mind."
But just then a large dog, rushing down the hill, upset poor Nelly's
pail.
"Holy Mary!" she exclaimed, using the ejaculation she had been
accustomed to hear from infancy, "there's all my water spilt;" and
seizing her pail, she had run down to refill it, before Lucy was able
to begin an intended reproof.
The girls watched her refill her pail, and return towards the cottage
by a nearer though steeper path. Mrs. Connor, a tall, bony,
discontented-looking woman, had come to the door to look for Nelly.
Not seeing the young ladies, who were approaching the house from the
other side, she screamed out in a harsh voice as Nelly approached:
"What have you been doing all this time, keeping me waiting with the
child in my arms?"
"It was a dog," began Nelly, setting down her pail. But before she
could finish her sentence she was roughly shaken, and sharp blows
descended about her ears.
"I'll teach you to spend your time playing with dogs when I'm waiting
for you. There, be off, and mind the baby;" and Nelly, putting up her
hands to her face, ran crying into the house.
Lucy stood for an instant pale with indignation, and then, the impulse
of the moment making her forget all her aunt's warnings as to being
conciliatory, and her own prudent resolves, she announced her presence
by exclaiming, in a voice unsteady with emotion: "Mrs. Connor, it's a
shame to beat Nelly like that, when she hasn't been doing any harm. It
was my fault she was so long, for I stopped her to speak to her, and
then a dog overturned her pail."
Mrs. Connor was startled at finding there had been spectators of her
violence; but she did not betray any shame she might have felt, and
coolly regarding Lucy, she replied:
"Well, I don't see what business it is of yours, anyhow. If young
ladies hain't nothin' better to do than meddle with other folks'
children, they'd better let that be!"
"What an impertinent woman!" said Stella, quite loud enough for her to
hear. "Lucy, can't you come away and let her alone?"
But Lucy, though a good deal discomposed by her reception, was
determined not to be easily moved from her object; and having by this
time remembered her conciliatory resolve, she said, as quietly as she
could:
"Mrs. Connor, my father is Mr. Raymond, the clergyman. I came to see
if you would let Nelly come to our house every day to learn to read.
It's a great pity she shouldn't know how."
"I don't care who your father is," retorted the woman in the same
insolent tone. "I don't see what you've got to do with it, whether
it's a pity or not. The child's lazy enough already, without havin'
them idees put into her head; and better people than her do without
book-learning."
"Lucy, do come away! I shan't stop to listen to her impudence,"
exclaimed Stella as she turned and walked away with a haughty air.
Mrs. Connor's quick eye followed her, and she half muttered to
herself, "A city gal!" Then, taking up the pail which Nelly had set
down, she went into the house without vouchsafing another look at
Lucy, who, seeing the uselessness of pressing her point, hastened to
join her cousin.
"Now you see, Lucy, you only get yourself insulted trying to do any
good to such people," said Stella triumphantly. "I remember one of
Sophy's friends once wanted her to go visiting poor people with her,
and papa said he wouldn't have her go on any account; it was all
nonsense running all sorts of risks to do good to people who didn't
want it."
"But it wasn't Mrs. Connor, but Nelly, that I wanted to do good to,
and she can't help what her odious stepmother does. Only think what
it must be to live with her!"
"I'd run away! But you see Nelly herself didn't seem to care about
learning to read."
"Because she didn't know the good of it," replied Lucy. "But what
should you or I have done if we hadn't been made to learn, whether we
liked it or not?"
"That's quite different. This girl will always have to work, I
suppose, and would get on well enough without learning to read. I know
mamma was always complaining that our servants were reading trashy
novels, that filled their heads with nonsense and made them
discontented."
"But you could have given them something better to read," suggested
Lucy.
Stella said nothing in reply to this; nor did she enlighten Lucy as to
the fact that in reading "trashy novels" the servants were only
following their young mistresses' example. Lucy in the meantime was
thinking what up-hill work doing good was, and how hard it was to know
how to do it. Suddenly she remembered her motto; she had been
forgetting that the difficulties of the way were to be met in a
strength not her own. Perhaps it was because she had not first asked
for that strength, that she had met with so little success; and she
regretted having so soon departed from her resolution of "looking to
Jesus" in everything.
But Stella soon roused from her "brown study," as she called it, by
various questions as to Mrs. Harris's route of travel, and also as to
her travelling dress, which Lucy was very ill prepared to answer,
having cast hardly a passing glance at it, in her sorrow for her
teacher's departure. On their way home they overtook Mrs. Steele and
Alick, to whom were soon related the particulars of their mission,
Stella imitating Mrs. Connor's tone and manner to the life, as she
graphically reproduced the conversation, much to Alick's amusement,
though he ground his teeth with indignation on hearing of the violent
treatment Nelly had received.
"What a woman! You mustn't leave the poor child to her tender mercies.
What can she turn out, brought up under such a termagant? Suppose I
try and bring the old lady round with a little judicious flattery?"
"I think I can manage the matter," said Mrs. Steele. "I shall make a
bargain with Mrs. Connor, and promise to give her a day's work once a
fortnight, provided she will let Nelly come here for half an hour
every day. But do you think the child herself will be willing to
come?"
"Oh, I'm sure she'll be willing to come where any one is kind to her,
she has so little kindness at home," replied Lucy.
Mrs. Steele proved right. By her more judicious management and
substantial inducement, Mrs. Connor was persuaded to give an
ungracious assent to the plan proposed for Nelly's benefit. But, as if
to be as disagreeable as possible, even in consenting, she fixed upon
the time which Lucy would least have chosen for the task. The only
time when she could spare Nelly, she said, was in the evening, after
the children were in bed. It was the time when Lucy most enjoyed being
out, watering her flowers, or taking an evening walk, or row with the
others. But the choice lay between doing the work then, or not at
all; and when she thought how light was the task given her to do, and
how slight the sacrifice, she felt ashamed of her inclination to
murmur at it.
So Nelly's education began with the alphabet; and though it was a
drudgery both for teacher and pupil, reciprocal kindness and gratitude
helped on the task, and before many weeks had passed Nelly was
spelling words of two syllables, and had learned some truths, at
least, of far greater importance.
VII.
_Temptations._
"Or rather help us, Lord, to choose the good--
To pray for naught, to seek to none but Thee;
Nor by our 'daily bread' mean common food;
Nor say, 'From this world's evil set us free.'"
The Sunday school was again assembled on another Sunday afternoon,
some weeks later. The day was even warmer than the one on which our
story opened, and all the church windows were opened to their widest
extent, to admit every breath of air which came in through the waving
pine boughs. Lucy had been promoted to teach a small class of her own,
in which Nelly Connor had willingly taken her place. She was indeed
advancing faster in spiritual than in secular learning; for in the
first she had the best of all teachers, to whose teaching her simple
heart was open--the Holy Spirit Himself.
Bessie Ford had found another teacher, and beside her sat Stella, who,
partly from finding her Sunday afternoons dull, and partly from
feeling that it was her uncle's wish that she should accompany Lucy to
Sunday school, had overcome her objection to it so far as to go with
her cousin. And having found out on the first Sunday how deficient she
herself was in Bible knowledge, and never liking to appear inferior to
others in anything, she took some pains to prepare her lessons, at
least so far that her ignorance might not lower her in the eyes of her
classmates. It was a poor motive, certainly; still, seeds of divine
truth were gradually finding their way into her heart, which might in
time germinate and bear fruit. And her stay in Mr. Raymond's
household, where "serving the Lord" was avowedly the ruling principle,
had already exercised a healthful influence over her impressionable
nature.
On this particular Sunday the interesting announcement was made, that
the annual "picnic" or Sunday-school excursion was to take place on
the following Wednesday, the place being a beautiful oak wood about a
mile from the church, in the opposite direction from Mill Bank Farm.
As little groups clustered together on leaving the church door, there
was a general buzz of talk about the picnic.
Lucy stopped Nelly Connor to ask her whether she thought her mother
would let her go to the picnic.
Poor Nelly looked very doubtful as she replied, "I don't know; I'm
afraid not."
"Well, Nelly, I'll see what can be done about it," said Lucy
encouragingly.
"But I haven't anything decent to wear to it, miss," replied Nelly,
looking dolefully down on the tattered frock, which her mother never
took the trouble to mend, and which she, poor child, could not,
except in the most bungling fashion.
Lucy walked home thoughtfully, and, as the fruit of her meditation, a
print dress of her own was next morning produced, and a consultation
was held with her aunt as to the practicability of altering it to fit
Nelly. "I only wonder I didn't think of it before," she said, "for she
is always so miserably dressed. Will you help me to make it up,
Stella?"
"My dear, I wouldn't know how! The most I ever sewed in my life was to
hem a pocket-handkerchief."