LUCIA'S QUEEN.
LOYALTY had been born and bred in the family of which Lucia was the
eldest child.
Ever since she could remember, "The Queen" was her ideal, and Windsor
Castle the place in all the world that she loved to be near.
This cottage almost beneath the shadow of Windsor Castle had belonged
to her mother's family all her life, and every year she and her mother,
when they were alone together in the old days, had migrated there for a
month or two, so that every turret and tree was dear to them, and the
Queen and Royal Family seemed to belong to them in a special way.
Thus it came to pass that as soon as Lucia had step-brothers and
sisters, she instilled her enthusiasm about the Queen into their
susceptible little hearts, and May especially felt that the Royal lady
who lived so near the cottage was her Queen—her property—to be loved
and reverenced as long as she lived.
The children were never tired of hearing Lucia tell how one day when
she was about seven years old, as she was walking near the cottage
quite alone, she saw a cloud of dust approaching along the road, and
in a moment she guessed it was caused by the outriders surrounding the
Queen's carriage, and with beating heart stood upon the path to see her
go by.
Would the cavalcade come that way? Or would they sweep round the corner
at the end of the road, and so pass out of view?
No; in another moment little Lucia knew she was safe. The outriders
wheeled round, and came along her road, and the Queen's carriage was
close to her, and the dear Queen sitting almost within reach of her!
Never could Lucia forget that proud moment! For, as with blushing,
smiling face the little girl made a deep obeisance to her Sovereign,
that gracious lady rose in her carriage, and, all unseen by any other
eyes, bowed to the lonely little girl in the lonely country road.
"I wonder if I shall see the Queen?" questioned May that morning,
as she carried armful after armful of clothes from the boxes to the
drawers.
"Very likely you will," answered Lucia, "if we go into Windsor. It is
but a chance thing to see the Queen out here, but of course she does
drive every day somewhere when she is at home."
"Is she at home now?" asked May, colouring with anxiety.
"Yes, the flag is flying this morning; I saw it when I was out just
now. I used always to feel dreary as a child when there was no flag on
the Round Tower."
May did not say any more; but in her heart she formed the resolve that
she would watch and watch till she too had seen the Queen.
Meantime, while the boxes were being emptied and the drawers were being
filled, the other children were enjoying the first morning in the real
country.
They were revelling in wild flowers, moss, stones, and ferns; making
imaginary rooms among the furze bushes, and decking "the drawing room"
with bunches of wild roses, while they picked endless fronds of bracken
to form couches for the bedrooms.
A children's world is a happy world! No cares come to mar it, no
anxieties enter in as to "what shall we eat or what shall we drink?"
Their father's provision is sure to be right, he will provide dinner
when dinner time comes; and here is lunch packed ready in the basket,
why need they care?
Lucia put on her hat and went up the road to see how they were getting
on, and when she watched them from behind the bushes, for they were too
busy to notice her, some such thoughts as these went through her mind—
"I wonder why older people are so anxious," she said to herself, "why
they let things worry them so? If we only trusted our heavenly Father
as those children in their play-houses trust their earthly father, how
different life would be!"
She turned round and retraced her steps, without disturbing the little
party; but though she left them behind, she did not leave the thoughts
which they had suggested.
She entered the cottage, fetched her easel and her painting materials,
and sat down under the elms to sketch, while the bees buzzed dreamily,
and the birds sang a ceaseless song.
That quiet morning was a turning-point in Lucia's life.
As her fingers were busily at work, making a sketch for her cousins,
her mind went back to her aunt's housekeeper, and then to all her own
disappointment and rebellion since.
Had not her Father—her heavenly, loving Father—seen all these things
beforehand, and prepared the path for her to walk in, that therein she
might glorify Him?
But it was so terribly disappointing to be called away just as her
enjoyment had seemed to be at its height.
And yet He knew that! Why was it that He allowed it then?
She put down her brush and leaned her chin on her hand, looking off
into the country landscape dreamily. Why did He? echoed again and
again. And there was no answer but the ceaseless melody of the birds as
they rejoiced in the Father's sunshine.