insisted on staying at home "to keep Lucy company," though Lucy tried
to make her understand that she was not desirous of having any
"company" while the rest were at church. In vain she tried to fix her
attention on her open Bible. Stella would continually break in with
some remark which, when answered, was sure to lead to another; and
though Lucy's remonstrances at length became somewhat impatient in
their tone, it was evidently hopeless to try to reduce her to silence.
She, however, at last succeeded in persuading her to listen while she
read to Amy, first one or two Bible stories, such as she thought would
interest her most, and then a simple story out of one of her own
Sunday books which she had brought with her. The earnestness with
which Amy drank in every word was a great contrast to Stella's
desultory way of listening; but even _she_ seemed a little interested
in Lucy's reading, and the morning did not seem altogether thrown
away.
But in the afternoon Lucy found that trying to read in the
drawing-room was quite out of the question, her attention being
perpetually distracted by the frivolous conversation almost
continually going on there. First one topic was started, and then
another; and in spite of her efforts to the contrary, she would find
herself listening to the gossiping talk going on around her. At last
she took refuge in her own room to read there in quiet, though she was
before long followed thither by Stella.
"Don't you think, Stella, I might go to church this evening? I don't
like staying at home all day, and no one would notice what I had on,
I'm sure," she asked her cousin.
Stella opened her eyes. "Do you mean to say you really want to go?"
she asked. "I thought people only went to church because it was a
duty."
"I used to go for that reason," Lucy replied, "but I should be sorry
if I only went on that account now."
"But why? What pleasure can you find in it? The service always seems
to me so long, and the sermon so dry, that it makes me yawn so,--I
can't help it."
Lucy hesitated a little before answering. It was not easy to explain.
"There are many things that make it pleasant. One always hears
something to do one good,--often the very thing one needs at the very
time. It always makes troubles seem lighter, and another world more
real and near. I always feel so much nearer papa when I am in
church," she added in a lower tone.
"Oh! that is because you always used to hear him preach, I suppose!"
said Stella, not able to comprehend any other reason. "Well, since you
like it so much, I'll ask mamma if you can't go; but I don't know
whether any of the rest are going."
Mrs. Brooke, though as much surprised as Stella at Lucy's strong wish,
felt that it ought to be respected. She suggested that, instead of
going to the large fashionable church which the family usually
attended, they should go to a small one in the neighbourhood, their
usual resort on stormy days. Edwin having got tired of the novel he
had been yawning over, good-naturedly offered to be her guide and
escort; and Stella made no objection when her mother told her she had
better go too, as she had not been out in the morning.
The stars were twinkling brilliantly through the clear frosty
atmosphere, and the long vistas of gas-lamps, seen on all sides, were
a novelty to Lucy's country eyes. The streets were full of people,
encountering each other as they wended their way to church in opposite
directions. There were others, too, not going to church, but to very
different places of resort; but of these Lucy happily knew nothing.
The first hymn was already being sung when they entered the church, a
small, plain building. Lucy was at once interested by the thoughtful,
earnest face of the clergyman, who reminded her a little of her
father. The first prayer, so simple, yet so full of petitions for the
things she most needed, carried her heart with it, till she forgot she
was not at home still. The text read was, "A very present help in
trouble," and the sermon was what might have been expected from the
tone of the preceding prayer. It was so full of Christ, pointing to
His constant presence,--to Him as the only true comforter and
sustainer either in sorrow and temptation,--that, simple as was the
language and unpretentious the style, it touched the deepest springs
in Lucy's heart, and she leaned back in her seat to hide the soothing,
happy tears.
Edwin, however, from his end of the pew could see that she was crying,
and began, out of curiosity, to listen to the sermon, to find out what
it was that affected her so much. At first he thought it very odd that
she should have been so moved by it; but gradually, as he listened to
the earnest words in which the preacher, speaking evidently from his
own heart, dwelt upon all that Christ might be to the weary soul which
had tried earthly pleasures and found them wanting, earthly cisterns
and found them broken,--a fountain of refreshing, giving strength and
energy for the journey of life, the "shadow of a great rock in a weary
land," giving to the weary wayfarer rest and shelter from the burden
and heat of the day,--he began to feel, in spite of his indifference,
that there might be a nobler, happier ideal of life than that of
seeking to fill the hours as they passed with every variety of
pleasure within reach. But it was only a passing thought. Old habits
of thinking, so long indulged, came back to fill up his mind as soon
as the voice of the speaker had ceased. His plan of life was not
likely to be altered yet.
Lucy walked very silently home, watching the starlight trembling
through the crystal air, and wondering in what remote, inconceivable
sphere are passed those beloved existences which are lost to us here.
And then came the happy thought that, though they seem so remote and
inaccessible, the Saviour is near at once to them and to those who are
left below, and that in communion with Him there may be a point of
contact, intangible, it is true, but none the less real. Edwin, as he
languidly wondered what his quiet cousin was thinking about, did not
know that there was a distance immeasurable between his thoughts and
hers.
Next day Lucy accompanied her cousin to school, that she might be at
once introduced to her new classes and studies. When her acquirements
had been duly tested, she found that, while in some superficial
accomplishments she was considerably behind Stella, yet in other
studies, more solid in their nature, and requiring greater accuracy
and deeper thought, she was far in advance of her cousin. This might
have considerably increased the tendency she already had to a sense of
her own superiority, had it not been that the things in which she was
deficient were precisely those which were of most consequence at Mrs.
Wilmot's establishment, being more showy, and therefore more easily
appreciated. Her love of approbation made her very anxious to excel in
what was valued by those around her; and in her desire to make up lost
ground, she happily escaped an undue sense of superiority in what was
most valuable,--a proficiency which was the result chiefly of her
father's care.
Fond of study for its own sake, she entered on her classwork with all
the zest of one who had never known school-life before, and who was
determined to make the most of her opportunities; and her enjoyment of
her studies and the stimulus of contest to a great extent counteracted
the uncongeniality of her new home, as well as the homesick feeling
which came over her when a letter from Mrs. Steele or Fred revived old
and happy associations.
XI.
_A Start in Life._
"His path in life was lowly,
He was a working man;
Who knows the poor man's trials
So well as Jesus can?"
At Mill Bank Farm things were going on much as when Nelly Connor had
become an inmate there. Under the influence of her watchword, Bessie
was making good headway against her faults of idleness and
carelessness, and her mother declared she was growing a "real comfort"
to her. Under her teaching Nelly's reading had progressed so well,
that she could spell out very creditably a chapter in the New
Testament. Jenny and Jack had also been taught their letters; and
though they were not to go to Sunday school till the spring, they had
already learned from Bessie a good deal of Bible knowledge. Sam was
not nearly so often a truant now, that he knew his mother's watchful
eye was ready to discover any omission in attending Sunday school; and
the boys were gradually growing in respect for things on which they
could see their mother now placed so much importance.
Nelly had never before known so much of comfort and happiness. She was
treated as one of the family, and the easy tasks which fell to her lot
were labours of love and gratitude. Even the irksome sewing, by dint
of patiently struggling with her constitutional restlessness, was
growing almost a pleasure, from her being able to do it so much
better. In the letters which Bessie occasionally received from Lucy,
there was always a kind message for Nelly, which would act as a
wonderful stimulus for days after it came.
As the winter wore on, however, it was evident she was not greatly
needed by her kind friends. Bessie was growing stronger every day, and
more able to assist her mother, and Nelly could not help feeling that
she was kept only because she needed a home. One day, therefore, she
asked Mrs. Ford if she thought she was not now fit to take a place.
"Well, you've got to be a good little worker, that's a fact; but
there's no hurry about your going. You're welcome to stay here as long
as you like."
"It's very kind of you, ma'am; but perhaps if you'd be looking out you
might hear of some one that would take me, and give me whatever I was
worth," said Nelly, in whom the instinct of independence was strong.
A few days after this Mrs. Ford was asked by her friend Mrs. Thompson
what she was going to do with her little Irish girl. "She is big
enough for a place," she said, "and there is no good in having a girl
like that learning idle ways. I think I know of a place that would
suit her very well."
"What place is that?" asked Mrs. Ford.
Mrs. Thompson replied that a friend of hers in the city had written to
inquire for a country girl about Nelly's age. She would have no hard
work, and would get such clothing as she required, instead of wages in
money.
"You see servants are very hard to obtain in those large places,"
remarked Mrs. Thompson, "and they always want the highest wages; and
this person isn't very well off, and keeps boarders to support
herself, so she can't afford a great deal."
"But would she be good to Nelly?" inquired Mrs. Ford.
Mrs. Thompson promised to inquire of the friend who had written to
her, in regard to this point. Her correspondent's reply was tolerably
satisfactory. Mrs. Williams, the person who wanted Nelly, was likely
to do whatever was right by any girl who might be sent her, as she was
a very respectable person, and "a church member." This last statement
weighed considerably with Mrs. Ford, and decided her to mention the
place to Nelly.
Nelly could not help feeling a throb of regret at hearing that there
really was a place open to her, for she dreaded exceedingly the
prospect of leaving her kind friends; but of this she said nothing,
and tried to seem pleased with the idea of trying the place. One great
inducement it certainly had, that it was in the city in which Lucy now
resided. She hoped to see Miss Lucy sometimes, and she would help her
to be good and do well, she thought. Mrs. Ford also thought this
circumstance a favourable one, as Lucy could see for herself whether
Nelly was comfortably situated, and if not, could help her to find a
better place. So, after much consideration and some misgivings, it was
reluctantly settled that she should go. Mrs. Thompson's brother was
going to the city soon, and Nelly could accompany him.
She did not need a great deal of time for preparation, though Mrs.
Ford kindly provided her with all that was necessary for her
respectable appearance in her new place, so that she went back to the
city which had been her former abode a very different-looking girl
from the barefooted, gipsy-like child, who had wandered, uncared for,
about its streets. "I know the place well, ma'am," she said to Mrs.
Ford; "it isn't as if I had never been there. I won't feel a bit
strange." And though the spring was approaching, and she was for many
reasons very sorry to leave Ashleigh, she did not dread the thought of
going to the great city, alone and friendless, as much as a thoroughly
country-bred girl would have done.
When her travelling companion bade her good-bye at the railway
station, Nelly, not in the least frightened by the hurrying crowds and
the noisy streets, so familiar to her of old, took up her little
bundle, containing all the worldly goods she possessed, and set off
briskly to look for the address inscribed on the card she held in her
hand. She did not need to ask her way more than once, though it was a
half-hour's walk before she reached the street, and then she walked
slowly along, studying the numbers of the doors till she arrived at
the right one, bearing on a brass plate the words, "Mrs. Williams'
Boarding House." It was one of the most bare and uninviting of a dull
row, and not even the bright sunshine of the early spring could
enliven it much. Other houses had flowers or birds in the windows, or
at least pleasant glimpses of white curtains, but this one, with its
half-closed blinds, had almost a funereal aspect. Nelly had a keen
susceptibility of externals, and her heart sank a little; but she rang
the bell, determined to make the best of it. The door was opened by an
elderly woman in rusty black, with a hard, careworn face, which did
not relax into the slightest perceptible smile, as she regarded Nelly
scrutinizingly, saying at last, "Oh, you're the girl Mrs. Thompson was
to send, I suppose?"
"Yes, ma'am," replied Nelly, who had not yet been invited to enter.
"Well, you're not as big as I thought you'd be, and you don't look
very strong. Come in;" and she led the way into a dull, bare
dining-room, where she went on with her work of setting the table,
while she put Nelly through an examination as to her qualifications.
She either was, or appeared to be, dissatisfied, and after dryly
expressing a hope that she would suit, she told her to follow her down
to the kitchen.
It was a dark, cellar-like place, with an equally cellar-like room of
very small dimensions opening off it, where Nelly was to sleep. Many
houses seem built on the principle--not the Christian one of loving
our neighbours as ourselves--that "anything is good enough for
servants," as if light, and air, and pleasant things to look out upon,
were not just as much needed by them as by their employers! Kitchens
and servants' rooms need not be luxurious. It would be doing servants
an injury to accustom them to luxuries of which they would some time
feel the privation; but many of them have been accustomed to pure,
free air, and a pleasant outlook, and feel the reverse far more than
is imagined by those who condemn them to live in underground cells.
Nelly felt her abode very dismal after the light, airy farmhouse. Even
from her old attic-window she had a pleasant view of the river, and
could always see the moon and stars at night; while from this the
utmost she could see from the windows was a little bit of street
pavement. But when she unpacked her bundle, and came upon her
"watchword card," as Lucy had called it, her courage rose as she
remembered that her heavenly Friend was as near her here as in the
free, fresh country, and that where He was He could make it home. She
could not have put this feeling into words, but it was there, in her
heart, where doubtless He Himself had put it.
It was some time before Mrs. Williams thought of inquiring whether she
had had any dinner. On her replying in the negative--she was beginning
to feel quite tired and faint--Mrs. Williams, with a half-reluctant
air, brought out of a locked cupboard some very dry-looking bread and
cold meat, which she set before Nelly.
She was very hungry, so that even this was very acceptable, and she
did justice to the meal. Before she had finished, a voice called from
an upper story, "Mother, tell the new girl to bring up some water."
Nelly was accordingly directed to fill the water-can and take it up to
the top of the house. After carrying it up three flights of stairs,
she saw a door open, and a girl of nineteen or twenty, apparently
engaged in performing an elaborate toilet, looked out from it.
"How old are you?" she said, as she took the water from Nelly.
"I'll soon be fourteen, miss."
"Well, you don't look it. You'll have to look sharp here if you want
to suit us. Now, take these boots down to brush."
She spoke in a quick, sharp way, a good deal like her mother's; and
her face, though tolerably comely, was sharp too. Miss Williams meant
to "get on" in the world if she could, and her face and manner showed
it.
Nelly found various things to do before she got back to her unfinished
dinner, and then Mrs. Williams hurried her through, that she might get
the kitchen made "tidy." In the meantime Miss Williams departed, in
all the glories of a fashionable toilet, for her afternoon promenade,
her mother regarding her with much pride and complacency. It seemed
the one object of her hard-working, careworn life that her daughter
should look "like a lady," and a large proportion of her earnings and
savings went to effect this object.
Nelly's services were at once called into requisition to assist in the
preparation of the dinner for the boarders--four gentlemen--who, her
mistress informed her, were "very particular," and liked everything
nice. She received a confusing multiplicity of directions as to
waiting at table, for Mrs. Williams rather prided herself on the
"stylishness" of her establishment. She got through her task tolerably
well, though somewhat bewildered between Mrs. Williams' quick, sharp
reminders and the "chaffing" of one or two of the gentlemen, who
thought it "good fun" to puzzle the "new hand" with ironical remarks,
some of them being aimed at their landlady through her servant.
After the waiting at dinner, followed the preparation of tea for Mrs.
Williams and her daughter, who had come in, and was in the midst of
one of the evening performances on the piano, which were the dread of
the boarders; and then there were all the dishes used at dinner to
wash and put away. It was pretty late by the time all this had been
done, and Nelly was feeling very sleepy, and wondering how soon she
might go to bed, when her mistress came down with half-a-dozen pairs
of boots, to be cleaned either that evening or next morning. Now the
next day was Sunday, and at the farm Mrs. Ford had of late insisted on
the excellent rule of getting all done that could be done on Saturday
night, so as to leave the Lord's day as free as possible from secular
duties; so Nelly, sleepy as she was, took up her blacking brushes, and
proceeded to rub and polish with all her might. But fatigue was too
strong for her, and before she had got through the third pair, her
head sank down and she lost all consciousness, till she suddenly
started up, thinking Mrs. Ford was calling her to drive the cows to
pasture. It was impossible to rouse herself again to her work; she
just managed to put out her light, and, hastily undressing, she threw
herself on the bed with only a half-conscious attempt at her usual
evening prayer, which, however, He who knows the weakness of our frame
would surely accept.
Next morning, she started up instantly at Mrs. Williams' impatient
call. She could hardly get ready quick enough to satisfy her mistress,
and had no time to kneel down and ask her heavenly Father's help for
the duties of the day. Mrs. Williams had not thought of this need for
herself, and still less for her little handmaid. She found there was
plenty of work before her, independently of the boots that remained to
be cleaned. By the time she had got through, the bells were ringing
for church, and it was time to think of getting the dinner ready, the
boarders dining early on Sunday. Mrs. Williams was not going to church
herself. The gentlemen always expected the dinner to be especially
good on that day, without much consideration what the cook's Sunday
might be; and it was much too important a matter to be left to Nelly's
inexperienced hands. But during the time when her mistress was
occupied in helping her daughter to dress her hair elaborately for
church, Nelly found a little quiet time to read part of a chapter, and
learn a verse, and ask God's help to do right during the day, and to
remember that it was His day, the best of all the week.
So prepared, she found the difficult task of performing unaccustomed
duties to her mistress's satisfaction easier than it might otherwise
have been. For why should we consider anything too small to seek His
aid, by whom the hairs of our head are all numbered? And the very
attitude of trust and reliance on Him calms and clears the mind, and
strengthens the heart.
There was no time for Nelly to go to church on that Sunday, at any
rate. She could not get through her work with her comparatively
unpractised hands, and it was with a very weary body and mind that
she read her evening verse, and repeated her favourite hymn, "I lay my
sins on Jesus," as a sort of substitute for her usual Sunday school
lessons, and then lay down to think of the kind friends she had left,
and to wonder when she should see Miss Lucy, till she fell asleep to
dream that she was at the farm again, and churning butter that would
not come.
Bessie had written to Lucy, telling her of Nelly's departure, but had
forgotten to give her mistress's address, so that Lucy could not find
her out till she should go to see her at Mr. Brooke's; and for many
days this was impracticable. Day after day passed, filled with the
same unceasing routine of drudgery; and though her growing skill
enabled her to get through her work more quickly, this did not add to
her leisure, since, as her capabilities increased, her duties
increased also. Miss Williams, too, who objected to do anything for
herself when another could be got to do it, found Nelly very
convenient for all sorts of personal services.
Nelly went through it all without grumbling, though she often went to
bed quite tired out. But youth and health came to her aid, and she
would wake in the morning to go singing about her work. She had an
uncommonly sweet voice, and the boarders used often to remark to each
other that there was more music in her untaught snatches of song than
in all Miss Williams' attempts at the piano.
But, as weeks went on, the perpetual, unceasing strain began to wear
upon her, and her songs grew less and less frequent. Though she was
almost too busy to indulge in many longings for Ashleigh and its
pleasant fields, it was a little hard to know that the beautiful
budding spring was passing into summer, and that she could taste none
of the country pleasures she had so much enjoyed last year; that the
only sign by which she knew the advancement of the season was the
increasing heat, enervating her frame and undermining her
strength,--its effect in this respect being greatly heightened by the
close, heavy atmosphere in which she chiefly lived. Nature is stronger
than man, after all; and when the upper classes selfishly neglect the
comfort of their poorer brethren, they will find that inexorable
Nature will avenge the infringement of her laws, and will touch their
own interests in so doing.
"I can't think what has come over Nelly!" Mrs. Williams would say to
her daughter. "She's not the same girl she was when she came here, and
she seems to grow lazier every day. Well, it's the way with them all.
A new broom sweeps clean."