HAPPINESS IN THE DOCTOR'S HOME
"A YEAR ago to-day!" said Stella to her aunt, lifting her head from
the exercise she was preparing for her French teacher. "A year ago
to-day, Aunt Mary!"
"So the little town mouse has been with us so long as that, has she?"
"Such a silly, frivolous little town mouse as I was a year ago!" with
a merry laugh. "Do you know, aunt, I can hardly realize I am the same
girl I was then!"
"Why not, my dear?"
"I don't know if I can quite explain what I mean, but I'll try."
Stella smiled, her eyes shone brightly and her cheeks flushed.
"I don't seem to care for the same things now that I did then. I used
to love fine clothes and grand houses and being thought pretty," with
a deep blush. "It seems such a vain thing to say, but it's true. All
mother's visitors used to say I was a lovely child, and they used
to praise the way mother dressed me, till I grew conceited and proud.
Then when poor mother died and I came here, I thought—forgive me,
Aunt Mary—I thought the house and furniture looked so shabby and
old-fashioned, and Dora and Nellie so plainly dressed. You are not
angry, you are sure you are not angry, Aunt Mary?"
"Not in the least; I have often guessed what your thoughts must have
been," Mrs. Knight answered, smiling encouragingly. "Go on—the house
and the furniture are the same now as they were a year ago!"
"Yes, but I'm different, that's what I mean. And I think it's mostly
owing to you, Aunt Mary; you've been so good to me, so patient,
never laughing at my silly ways, or scolding me for my faults.
Oh, I wish I was your own little girl! I don't want to be rich,
I'd rather have no money at all than—"
"My dear Stella," her aunt interposed gravely, "do not make the
mistake of thinking that riches and happiness cannot go together.
All good gifts come from God, and surely wealth may be a good gift.
It is a great blessing in competent hands. In itself it is nothing,
but it works good or evil according to the character of its owner.
It is my hope and prayer, Stella, that with God's help your money may
be a good gift to you. The world will perhaps honour you because you
possess wealth, but you know, my little adopted daughter, the world's
standard is not yours. Remember how our Lord prayed for those who had
received His teaching: 'I pray not that Thou shouldest take them out
of the world, but that Thou shouldest keep them from the evil.
They are not of the world, even as I am not of the world.'"
"Oh, Aunt Mary, I know; but I would so much rather be poor!"
"What, Stella! Rather be without the great gift God has given you
to use for Him! Do you shrink from the responsibility of wealth?
God has said, 'I will instruct thee in the way which thou shalt go:
I will guide thee with Mine eye.' You cannot tell what blessings
He may mean to work by your weak hands!"
The child sighed and looked thoughtful. In a few minutes she spoke
again.
"At home when mother was alive the servants used to speak of me as an
heiress, and I thought it so grand, but they did not love me—
nobody loved me really but Sarah, and she did not think much
of money."
"She loved you for yourself, Stella."
"As you and uncle do, Aunt Mary!"
"Even so. You are as one of our own children; we could not love you
better if we had known you all your life. But had you not better go
on with your exercise, or you will not get it done to-night!"
Stella dipped her pen into the ink and started her work afresh,
whilst her aunt watched her thoughtfully, praying for strength from
above to aid her to bring up the child fittingly for the
responsibilities that would be hers in the years to come. Presently
Dora came in, and when Stella had concluded her work she went
downstairs into the sitting-room where Nellie and the boys, having
finished their lessons, were enjoying a boisterous, romping game.
Soon Stella was proving herself as noisy as the others, when the
doctor came in, and they paused. Nellie flew to her father and clung
to his neck, whilst the rest drew around him as he sank into an
easy-chair, laughing.
"Don't throttle me, Nell! Where's Dora?"
"Upstairs with mother. Oh! here she comes," as the door opened.
"Dora, father wants you!"
"Not particularly. I was going to tell you you must all dine at
school to-morrow, because I wish the house to be quiet, as a doctor
from London is coming to see your mother."
"She is not worse?" the children cried apprehensively.
"No, thank God. I am beginning to hope she is better," and the
doctor's face was bright and hopeful as he spoke.
For a minute the children were too astonished to utter a word; then
Nellie clapped her hands gleefully, and Dora exclaimed, "She will get
well!"
"Not in the sense you mean, Dora, but it may be she will be able
in time to move about from room to room by herself, and not be quite
so helpless as she is now. I shall be able to tell you more
to-morrow, and meanwhile, not a word to your mother. It would be
nothing short of cruelty to raise a hope that may not be realized."
After the children had gone to bed that night one little black-gowned
figure stole noiselessly downstairs again in search of the doctor.
It was Stella. She found her uncle reading the newspaper, which he
laid aside as she entered the room.
"Well, Stella," he said with a smile.
The child stood in front of him with clasped hands, her face serious,
her grave dark eyes shining like stars.
"I want to ask you—that is—" she began incoherently. "Oh, uncle,
if you want money to pay the great London doctor, or anything,
anything for Aunt Mary, to make her well, you will take mine,
will you not? Do, do!"
"Dear little Stella!" Dr. Knight answered, "I shall not require
money. The great London doctor, as you call him, will not wish to be
paid. He will come because he is a great friend of mine, and I know
he will not take any money."
"It seems to me no one wants my money," Stella said regretfully,
"and I do so want it to do some good."
Dr. Knight was silent for a few minutes, then he drew Stella down
on his knee and kissed her affectionately.
"You dear little mouse!" he exclaimed.
"Oh!" she cried, pouting. "A mouse is such a silly useless thing!"
"Oh! is it indeed? Perhaps you never heard of the mouse that
liberated the lion?" Stella laughed, for she knew the fable well.
"Seriously, my dear, your money has done good already, and I will
tell you how. Your mother made a provision in her will that if I
consented to become your guardian, and you made your home with us,
a certain sum was to be paid to me every year. Now this money has
been a great help to us, because, you know, I am not rich, and it has
considerably lightened the burden on my shoulders, and eased your
aunt's mind of a great deal of anxiety and worry. I believe that it
is because she has had fewer cares this last year that her condition
is improving, as I have little doubt it is. So you see, Stella, your
money has begun to do good already. The little town mouse brought
a blessing with her."
"Oh, uncle, really?"
"Really and truly! Bear in mind you are not such an insignificant
little animal after all."
Stella laughed merrily, and after kissing her uncle good-night went
to bed one of the happiest children in the world; and when on the
morrow the London doctor agreed with Dr. Knight that his wife was
certainly better, her joy knew no bounds.
To the invalid the knowledge that it was possible she might some day
be able to stand and even walk a few steps came as a shock of joyful
surprise. Her husband broke the news to her before the children
returned from school, and when they came trooping in her glad tears
of thankfulness had been shed, and she was ready to greet them with
her own bright smile.
But it was many months before Mrs. Knight could stand, and then many
weeks before she could move a few steps across the room. At length
the day came when, with her husband's strong arm to support her,
she walked downstairs once more, and had tea with the family in the
sitting-room. The children had decked the apartment with autumn
flowers, for it was October again, and two years since Stella had
come to them.
Mrs. Knight sat at the head of the table, looking very frail and
white, but pretty and smiling. Her blue eyes shone with glad tears
as she listened to the merry chatter of the young people. The doctor
was content to sit at his wife's right hand, and watch her dear face
as it turned from one to the other of the little group.
"Children," Mrs. Knight said presently, "do you know that I have had
a letter from Mrs. Gray this morning, and she has a little baby boy!
She and Mr. Gray are going to have a holiday soon, and they hope
to come and see us."
"Oh, I am glad!" cried Nellie, whilst the others looked delighted.
"Will they bring the baby, do you think, mother?"
"I think it is very likely they will."
"Stella had a letter just now," Dora announced.
"Yes," said Stella, "from Sarah. You remember my telling you about
Sarah, Aunt Mary?"
"Yes, certainly."
"She is in a situation at Margate as maid to an old lady, who is very
kind to her. She says she is perfectly happy, and she sent me a
present. I will run upstairs after tea and bring it down to show
you."
"It is so pretty," said Nellie; "a shell-box with 'A present from
Margate' on it, and a little looking-glass fastened in the lid
inside."
"I was so glad to hear from Sarah," Stella said softly; "she was the
first real friend I ever had. She asks," with a vivid blush, and
lowering her voice so that the words only reached her aunt's ear,
"if I am still nervous at night and afraid of ghosts. I shall be able
to tell her I have overcome my old fears."
"See what a bright colour Stella has!" Dr. Knight exclaimed. "I am
sure, Mary, it's time to stop calling her a town mouse; I don't
believe those roses could ever have grown in London!"
"But she's so gentle and quiet," Dora interposed, "and she has such
bright, dark eyes and sleek brown hair."
"Just like a mouse, I suppose you mean," the doctor conducted,
laughing; and they all joined in the merriment.
So Stella was happy and contented with her cousins, and grew up with
them, sharing their interests, loved by all, and returning their
affection with the warmth of a naturally loving and grateful heart.
In that quiet household we will leave her to pass from childhood to
womanhood, in the fear of the Lord and in the wisdom that cometh from
above, in readiness for the future, with its responsibilities of
wealth, to be employed, by the help of God, for good.
THE END
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BUNGAY. SUFFOLK.