AT THE COTTAGE.
BEFORE Lucia had time to realize that she was once more at home, the
cab was driving from the door with her father and mother, and she was
left in charge of her five brothers and sisters.
In the few days in which her mother had had everything to arrange, she
had written for their own country cottage to be got ready for them,
where the children could lead a free life, and be out of doors from
morning till night; and to this they were to proceed at once.
The children were wild with excitement at the treat in store for them,
and even their mother's sorrowful face, and their father's pale one,
could hardly sober their exuberant joy at the thought of a whole summer
in the country.
Lucia would have preferred to take charge in her own dear home, with
their employments around her, and their own servants; but she supposed
that mother know best, and certainly a cottage in a wood had its
attractions to a romantic girl of nineteen. But she inwardly wished,
almost bitterly, that she had been consulted before the plans were
formed. When, however, she had arrived home, her mother's boxes were
already packed, and their house was let for several months to a family
of title, who had come to London for the season.
Poor Lucia, with her aching head and disappointed heart, tried hard
to be patient; but she thought that the children had never seemed so
tiresome before, and the difficulties seemed almost more than she could
bear.
Evan, who was twelve, and had been the eldest at home during her long
visit, seemed to have taken new airs upon him, and understood about
everything so much better than she did.
Then Barbara (her darling generally) was also full of importance,
helping nurse pack, and was the only one who could get Queenie to
stop crying for her mother. Ivor and May had endless secrets, which
they would not share with her. The maids were overwhelmingly busy
in preparing the house for the fresh arrivals to-morrow, so that
altogether Lucia was nearly distracted.
To-morrow morning! They were to go to-morrow morning! How was it
possible that the confusion reigning around could be reduced to order
by the next day?
She went to her room and looked round.
There were her boxes not even unpacked, but the one that stood open
revealed a tennis dress which had been used only once, and which she
remembered Alec Cransworth had said was very becoming. Oh, dear she
should never wear that again while it was in fashion! Hot and angry
tears splashed down her cheeks, she threw herself on her bed and wept
despairingly.
If only her mother had proposed that she should bring home Emmie or
Phyllis with her as a companion, it would not have been so bad. But to
be shut up in a cottage with nurse and five tiresome children—
And then the quiet face of her aunt's housekeeper rose up before her
mental vision, and she could almost hear her say, "Dear Miss Lucia, it
makes all the difference if we love to do the Lord's will, and not our
own. His will is always kindest and best."
"I do want to do His will," sobbed Lucia, "and I do want to be good and
patient; but it is so bitterly hard to have your visit spoilt, and to
be brought back to such a turmoil as this, without even having mother
to share it!"
But she had not long to indulge her disappointment. Before many minutes
had passed, a knock at the door summoned her to take part in the
packing up which was going on around.
She was young, and in spite of herself almost, the preparations did
take off her thoughts, and she found herself in the whirl of the
excitement such a change involved.
But deep down in her heart the same discontented and bitter chord kept
on vibrating, and what should have been music was turned to discord.
Two or three years ago Lucia had come to feel her need of a Saviour,
and had gone to Him to be pardoned and saved; and ever since she had
gone on in her old life with very little difference either to herself
or others. She rose each day, read a little of her Bible, prayed to
have her sins forgiven and to be made good, and then she went on her
daily round of duties and pleasures, without much further thought. Glad
that she was safe, even thanking God that she was safe, but content to
be kind and loving and unselfish to those who loved her so devotedly,
and nothing more.
"I think Lucia hardly has a fault," her mother wrote to her aunt, and
perhaps Lucia almost thought the same herself.
Then came the happy visit, her renewed acquaintance with her cousins
and with their friends the Cransworths, and Lucia floated along the
stream of pleasure for one delicious month, and woke up after a
nightmare of partings and journeys and packings and partings again, to
find herself looking out of a little parlour window on a green lawn,
and a pond covered with waterlilies; while beyond was a hill covered
with tender green trees and crowned with pines, whose straight delicate
branches were set off by the sunset sky behind.
If her mother and father had been there she would have said that the
view was almost too exquisite; but to-night, with the knowledge of her
responsibilities, and with the voices of her five little step-brothers
and sisters behind her back, the scene only gave her the heartache.
And she went to rest in the little countrified bedroom, with the cloud
still unlifted from her spirit—only longing that the three months
should be over, and she should be able to go back to her London home.
The next morning, however, things began to look decidedly brighter.
The children no longer seemed so tiresome, and as Lucia sat at the
breakfast table watching their smiling faces, she reproached herself
that she had thought them last night the most disagreeable little
creatures in existence.
"Lucia," said Barbara coaxingly, with a certain wistfulness in her
voice, that Lucia detected in a moment, "could you come out with us
this morning and explore the wood?"
"I do not think so—I have to unpack; but why do you not be satisfied
to-day with going up this field and settling yourselves where nurse and
I can see you?"
"Very well," assented Barbara, "only we did want you!"
"We'll bring home some wild flowers," said Evan. "Nurse says she can
find a jar to put in the fireplace; this is so common and ugly, isn't
it Lucia?"
"Rather," answered Lucia, turning her head to look; "only mind you keep
within sight of the cottage."
"Oh, yes," exclaimed Ivor, "we will. This is the loveliest place I ever
saw! Ten times as nice as the beach at Westgate."
So they found a basket, and with their lunch in the depths of it, to be
replaced by flowers, set off together, Barbara being trusted with the
care of Queenie (as they were not going out of sight), and May pleading
to stay with nurse to help put away the contents of the ten boxes which
at present made a warehouse of the narrow little hall.