MARMALADE.
"YOU'LL get used to it, Miss Ashlyn," she said, looking down the road
after her brothers.
"Shall I?" asked Gertrude, as she turned away with a heavy heart.
She went to her room, closed the door, and sat down by the window,
feeling unutterably desolate.
Were all of them going their own way without reference to her? Only
speaking to her when they must, only asking her help when they could
not possibly do without it?
Why had she left her happy home for this? It was true she had found
it difficult to get anything to do in Camptown; it was true that her
mother's income was insufficient for them without her help; it was true
that she had her own reasons for wanting a change, which she had hardly
acknowledged to herself. But for all that, now she was really away, the
home-sickness and loneliness seemed more than she could bear, and she
felt sick at heart as she reviewed the difficulties in her path.
She buried her face in her hands, too utterly despairing to cry, but
certainly more desolate than she had ever been before. Perhaps the
bitterest drop in her cup was little Randall, with his handsome face
and sharp tongue.
She was roused from her reverie by the thought that school-time would
quickly be there, and that she could not begin her duties with such a
burden on her heart.
She rose from her seat and knelt down by the bed, not able to form any
words of prayer, but still with an earnest uplifting of her heart for
help.
"I asked to be guided about coming here," she thought, "and if my
Father in heaven has sent me here—"
Then the tears came at last as a relief, and she laid her head down on
her arms and wept heartily, praying for submission and faith and help,
as she had never prayed before, perhaps.
"If He sent me, He has something for me to do here," she thought, "and
I must set about the doing of it at once. Oh, how wrong I have been to
repine or be afraid!"
What had her text been that morning? "Certainly I will be with thee."
What could she want more than that assurance?
She rose from her knees and found that the burden with which she had
knelt down was all gone. Nothing remained but a thankfulness that she
was so loved and so protected that such promises could indeed be hers
in Christ Jesus. She had only just bathed her eyes when a knock came at
the door, and on opening it, she found Daisy standing waiting.
"We are ready for school, Miss Ashlyn," she said.
"Is it half-past nine?" asked Gertrude, surprised.
"Yes; it is later than that—"
"Then my watch has played me a trick," she said, turning to the
dressing-table to take it up. "It usually goes so well, but it says
twenty past nine now."
Daisy looked soberly at her, as if her watch being fast or slow was not
of much interest.
Gertrude put it in her dress hastily, anxious to go down-stairs, and as
she did so she discovered that her fingers were sticky.
"How strange!" she said.
"What?" asked Daisy.
"I had but that moment washed my hands, and yet they are sticky!"
Daisy suggested washing them again, and went down to tell the others
Miss Ashlyn was coming, while Gertrude turned back to the table to put
down her basket again.
Just where her watch had lain, there was a little mark on the toilet
cover as if a finger had been drawn along it to remove some stain, and
on looking closer she found a little streak of marmalade had been left
behind too.
"I wish I had not left my watch there all breakfast-time," she said to
herself, as she went down-stairs; "it was careless of me."
Seated at the table in very good order were her three pupils.
"It's jolly late," said Randall.
"Never mind," interposed Mollie; "what if it is? Miss Ashlyn, what
shall we do first? Miss Halling always—"
"I have written out this rough time-table, Mollie, which your mother
approves. I think we shall find it work well. Daisy and Randall can
write, while you and I have a history lesson."
"Oh, but—" began Mollie.
"Wait, however, an instant," continued Gertrude calmly, "till I have
settled the other two. That is right, Daisy, you have your book ready.
Is this yours, Randall? I see you both write very well."
Randall disdained to be pleased by the pleasant tone, and passed his
pen over to Gertrude with an abrupt, "I want a new nib."
"Oh, you don't!" exclaimed Mollie. "I gave you one this morning! You've
spoilt it drawing with it since breakfast!"
Gertrude took the pen in her hand to examine it, and found that once
more, her fingers had grown sticky!
[Illustration]
[Illustration]