WITH MISS WILMOT.
"PLEASE, Miss Wilmot, there's a young girl wants to see you. She says
her name's Nancy Dunn," announced the Rectory parlour-maid.
Annie Wilmot looked up with a smile. "O yes, I expected Nancy Dunn,"
she said. "Please show her in here."
Nancy entered shyly, with her usual pretty and modest manner. Annie,
used to the bold and rough bearing of too many Littleburgh girls, was
taken by Nancy's manner directly. She came forward, saying, "How do you
do? I am so glad to see you, Nancy. My father told me that you would
come."
"He said it was to be about this time, Miss," said Nancy timidly. "I
hope I haven't kept you in."
"No, you have not kept me in, because I kept myself in," said Annie's
kind tones. "Generally I have a class in the Sunday school; but a lady
is here to-day who used to take that class, and she wanted to take it
again. So I have nothing to do, and it is the right time for you to
come. Now you will sit down here, and tell me all about yourselves."
Nancy felt rather at a loss. Telling "all about themselves" sounded
formidable. But a few questions soon set her off, and in a very short
space, Annie knew something of the pretty home that the Deans had left,
and the regret they felt in leaving it; also of the good father and
mother that Nancy had, and the little brother and sister.
"And you are sixteen years old—just about my age," said Annie, who was
much taken with her timid visitor.
Nancy smiled. She liked its being so said; though really Annie's ease
made her seem much the older of the two.
"My father tells me that you want to go to a Bible Class," observed
Annie presently.
"I always used to go to one; and it was such a help," said Nancy.
"Yes, I have been thinking about it," said Annie. "There is a class
here, held in the Church schoolroom by a lady, for young women and big
girls. More than a hundred belong to it."
Nancy looked rather alarmed. Fresh from country life, she did not quite
like the notion of such a number.
"There wasn't ever more than twelve in the class I've been used to go
to," she said.
"You like that better, perhaps. This class is meant for all sorts of
girls, and some of them are terribly ignorant. The teaching has to
be very simple, that they may all understand. I have been thinking—"
continued Annie. "My father has wanted for a long while to get up
another class—quite a small one. We hoped a lady was coming who could
take it; but she cannot come. And now my father wants me—we have been
wondering whether perhaps I could not do it instead."
Annie blushed a little, and spoke half apologetically. "It seems almost
as if I were too young; but I do so love teaching; and of course I have
a great deal more time for working up subjects than many can have—those
who have to work hard in other ways, I mean. And then there is always
my father at hand to help me. So I have been planning whether perhaps
you, and three or four other nice girls that I know of, would like to
come here for an hour every Sunday afternoon, and read the Bible with
me. I think it would be so pleasant—don't you? And I shall want you all
to talk as well as myself—to ask questions, or say anything you like.
If we get puzzled over a text, I can ask my father about it before the
next time. What do you think, Nancy?"
Nancy looked bright. "I should like it ever so much, Miss," she said.
"We can sing hymns together," pursued Annie. "I do so love singing
hymns—don't you too? It always seems to me to come nearer than anything
else to what the angels do in heaven. We'll begin and end with a hymn.
Then will you count it a settled thing to come at half-past three next
Sunday afternoon? The lady who has taken my class this afternoon wants
to have it again regularly, so that will be all right. I will see about
the other girls before the week is over."
Nancy assented with her shy smile, and stood up, thinking that she was
meant to go.
"Oh, don't leave just yet," said Annie; "I haven't done with you
yet,—unless you are in a hurry to get to your home."
Nancy was not in a hurry, and she sat down again willingly.
"I have been thinking so much about you, ever since you were nearly
bitten by that dreadful dog," murmured Annie. "It was such a thing to
happen in Littleburgh! And if anybody had been hurt! My own dear father
was in terrible danger, you know, and oh, so brave! I am very proud of
him, but I can't bear to think of the danger he was in; and your father
and mother must feel the same about you."
"Yes," Nancy answered; "Mother has scarce liked me to go out of her
sight till to-day."
"I wonder," Annie said slowly, "I wonder how you or I would feel now,
if the dog really had bitten one of us?"
"I think it would be very dreadful," Nancy said, with a shudder.
"Yes—dreadful. It could not help being that. But I do think it would
make such a difference, if one could look quietly on to the beyond
without any fear—to beyond death, I mean. What lay between might look
dreadful; but if the 'beyond' were all sure peace, then the 'between'
wouldn't matter so very very much—would it, Nancy?"
Two large tears gathered in Nancy's eyes, and fell.
"No, Miss," she said; "it's just that. I've had it, in my mind so often
since. If one could be sure—"
"I have had it in my mind too," said Annie. "A thing of that sort
happening does make one think. It makes death seem so much nearer, and
life so much smaller. Oh, I do think it ought to make one very very
earnest in seeking Christ, in praying Him to forgive us and make us His
own; and in giving up ourselves to live only for Him. And I am hoping
that perhaps our Sunday afternoons together will be a help to all of
us."
Half-an-hour later Nancy wended her way homewards, to find her parents
alone. The "little ones" had not yet returned.
"Well, Nannie?" her father said.
"I'm going to the Rectory, father. Miss Wilmot means to have a small
class herself; of just a few girls; and I do think I shall like it.
Miss Wilmot is such a sweet young lady; she don't seem to have a bit of
pride. I do love her already."
"Hallo, my girl, you're going on fast! Forsaking old friends for new
ones already!"
"O no, father, please don't say that. I couldn't forsake old friends,
and I love everybody at home as much as ever."
Littleburgh was not yet "home" to the Dunns.
"But I do think Miss Wilmot is sweet, and I'm so glad she will have the
class herself."