LUCIA'S GIFT.
BARBARA CAREW lived in a practical world, while May lived in an
imaginative one. Barbara was always devising some means to help
someone, or do something, while little May was dreaming of royal
palaces and untasted joys.
So Barbara amused her brothers and sisters; was always ready to run
out to the hens, or follow Mrs. Giah to the farm to look for eggs, or
to climb up into the empty carts with her brothers, while May would be
seated in a corner of the hayloft, talking to her doll, or buried in
the "Arabian Nights."
That afternoon, just as Lucia was wondering what she should do with
herself, she heard cartwheels lumbering up the lane which led to the
back of the cottage.
This was such an unusual sound, that the children ran out to see what
it could be.
"It is a great van sort of thing," exclaimed Ivor, racing back to tell
his sister. "I've seen them like it in London, but I don't know what's
in it, I'm sure."
Nurse, who was standing looking on, peeped through the hedge at Ivor's
description, and finally went down the garden into the lane too.
Two men were in charge of the cart, and one stepped forward with a note.
"For Miss Carew," he said.
Nurse was greatly astonished, and looked back to where Lucia was
standing in the porch, framed by the roses and honeysuckle.
"For me?" asked Lucia, coming down the path. Then she saw her mother's
handwriting, and tearing the envelope open, saw within—
"For my dear Lucia, with her mother's love."
"Whatever is it?" said Evan excitedly.
While the man went to the back of the van with a key, saying in a very
matter-of-fact voice, "A cottage piano, miss. Where is it to go?"
Lucia could not believe the evidence of her eyes. A piano! Was not the
lack of this one of the things which had caused her such discontent in
coming here? Had she not said to herself bitterly that mother quite
forgot what it would be to give up her music for three months, nor how
stiff her fingers would get, nor how out of practice her voice!
And here—here was a little bijou of a piano, apparently for her very
own!
Lucia hung her head to hide the tears of contrition which filled her
eyes. Was this another of those things which "her Father" knew and
provided for? And if He could so lovingly care for even this, would He
not care for all that concerned her?
So, while the men made their preparations to carry in the little
instrument, Lucia was sending up a joyful thanksgiving for the heavenly
love which had given her so great a pleasure through her mother's
earthly love.
Where the piano was to stand was of course the next thing, and
everybody ran back to the little drawing room to see what would be the
best place before the men got to the door.
Lucia found that there was a niche which seemed to ask to be filled, so
that there was not a moment's doubt as to where the new treasure was to
go.
"I shall be able to get on with my music now," remarked Barbara; "I was
afraid Miss Lewis would think I had forgotten it all."
Then in came the men, and the boys felt they must help to place it just
right, and ran imminent risk of their fingers and toes in doing it.
"Who's it from?" asked Ivor. "Is it yours, Lucia?"
"Mine, from mother," answered Lucia.
"I thought you was cryin'," said Queenie, edging up close to her; "I
saw you cryin', I do b'lieve?"
"Only because I am so pleased, and because—"
But the others were clamouring for her to sit down and try it; so Lucia
did not explain further, though she would have said, had she been able,
that she was most unworthy of all the love which had been shown her,
and she was ashamed of all her hard thoughts. It was not till the piano
had been tried and retried, not till Lucia had sung them song after
song, in her beautiful fresh young voice, that someone said,—
"Where's May?"
She certainly was not with them, and there ensued a general hunt, which
ended in her being found talking to her doll, in a quiet corner, behind
a hayrick, though what she had said to her doll was certainly unguessed
by any of the party.
"Now, Rosabel," she had said, "when next we all go out for a walk in
the woods, I shall keep my eyes open for the road that the Queen drives
in. She must drive somewhere, you know, and if I watch long enough, I
shall be sure to see her. It can't be any harm, for I heard mother say
to Lucia, 'Let the children enjoy themselves as much as ever they can;
let them be out from morning to night, and if they can turn into the
Family Robinson, so much the better!' Now, if mother said that, there
can be no harm in my taking advantage of it to see the Queen! So I mean
to.
"I shall not take you with me, Rosabel, because I shall have to take
my lunch, or something, and a sunshade in case it rains, and you would
certainly be in the way if I had to go a long way. But I shall put you
up in the hayloft, where you can see out of that little window, and
then you will be able to watch for me to come back."
Her reflections were broken in upon by Evan's voice, speaking vexedly.
"What a hunt we've had for you, May, I do declare! Why, you've missed
a jolly thing, with your love of being different from the rest of us—a
jolly thing! Why, here's Lucia, had the biggest and the best present
she ever had in her life, and you have been away and not seen it
arrive!"
May's imaginative mind flew to all sorts of wonderful things, but nurse
stopped these short by scolding her soundly for giving them so much
trouble, and threatening to send her to bed on the next occasion if she
did not keep with the rest.
"It's bad for the child," she said to herself, as she walked back
behind the little party, "and Miss Lucia is inclined to be too easy
with them, I do believe."