CHAPTER III._Amy Herbert

"There are only six days now, mamma," said Amy, as she sat at work by

her mother's side, about a week after their visit to Emmerton; "only six

days, and then my cousins will be come; but they seem dreadfully long;

and I have been thinking, too, that perhaps I shall not be liked; and if

so, you know all my pleasure will be at an end."

"You had better not think anything about that, my dear," answered Mrs

Herbert; "it is nearly the certain way of preventing yourself from being

agreeable. If you are good-natured and sweet-tempered, there is very

little doubt of your being liked; but if you make any great efforts to

please, you will probably be led into saying and doing things that are

not quite natural, and you will at once become disagreeable; besides,

you may be tempted to act wrongly in order to suit your cousins'

inclinations. You know, Amy, we ought to try not to be liked, but to be

good."

"But will you just tell me everything about my cousins, mamma, that I

may know what to expect? There will be Dora, and Margaret, and Frank,

and Rose; four of them. Now, what will Dora be like?"

"I really can tell you very little," replied Mrs Herbert; "it is a long

time since I have seen any of them, and you have heard almost as much

as I have. Dora, I believe, has been brought forward a good deal, and

probably, therefore, considers herself older than she really is; she

must be more than fourteen, and I should think would not be so much your

companion as Margaret, who is a year younger. Frank you will not see a

great deal of, as he is at school the chief part of the year; though,

perhaps, now, the difference of his position in the family may make some

change in his fathers plans for him. Little Rose, who is not quite six,

is the pet of the whole house, and especially doated upon by her mother;

and this is nearly all the information I can give you."

"And will the young lady I have so often heard you speak of come with

them, or will my aunt teach them as you do me?"

"She will come with them, I have no doubt," replied Mrs Herbert; "for

although your aunt objects to a regular governess, and has educated your

cousins almost entirely herself, yet, lately, Miss Morton has assisted

her very much in their music and drawing."

"Miss Morton is the daughter of a clergyman who lived very near

Wayland--is she not, mamma?" said Amy.

"Yes," answered her mother. "He died suddenly, and his wife only

survived him about a month, and this poor girl was left quite unprovided

for. Some of her relations interested themselves for her, and placed her

at a very excellent school, where she had great advantages; and having

a superior talent for music and drawing, she made very rapid progress.

When she was nearly nineteen, she entered your uncle's family, and has

lived with them now for two years."

"Will she be with them always?" asked Amy, "or will she have separate

rooms, as I have heard most governesses have?"

"I believe she has been accustomed to have a sitting-room to herself,"

said Mrs Herbert; "or, at least the schoolroom has been considered hers,

and she seldom joins the rest of the party."

"Poor thing!" said Amy; "without any father or mother, it must be very

sad in the long winter evenings."

Mrs Herbert thought the same, but she did not wish to express her

opinion; and Amy, having finished her work, was told to go and prepare

for a walk, her mother being glad to find an excuse for breaking off the

conversation, and so avoiding any further questions.

The arrival of her brother's family was, indeed, a subject of anxious

consideration for Mrs Herbert. It must have a great influence on Amy's

mind, either for good or evil; and there was much reason to fear that

the evil would preponderate. Mr Harrington was a man of high honour

and extreme benevolence; but he was constitutionally indolent, and had

allowed his wife to gain so much influence over him, that the management

of everything was chiefly in her hands. It certainly might have been

entrusted to worse, for Mrs Harrington had good judgment, superior sense

in all worldly affairs, and a never-failing activity. Her establishment

was the best ordered, her dinners were the best dressed, her farm and

dairy were the best supplied of any in the county--all was in a style

of first-rate elegance, without any pretension or extravagance, but when

she attempted to apply her sense and her activity to the management of

her children, she failed essentially, for the one thing was wanting--she

had no real principle of religion.

She had, it is true, taken care that they should be taught their

Catechism, almost as soon as they could speak; but she had never

endeavoured to explain to them its meaning; they had been accustomed

to repeat a hasty prayer every morning and evening, but they had never

learned how solemn a duty they were performing; and every Sunday they

had been in the habit of reading a chapter in the Bible, but it was

hurried through without the smallest thought, partly as a task, and

partly as a means of passing away the time. If it had not been for this

great deficiency, Mrs Harrington would have been well calculated for the

task of education; caring, however, only for accomplishments which

might make a show in the world, she considered the cultivation of her

children's minds a matter of secondary importance; and although she was

desirous they should be clever and well-read, that they might appear

to advantage in society, she thought very little of the effect their

studies might have upon their general character.

From these circumstances, as might easily be supposed, Dora and Margaret

grew up with all their natural evil inclinations unchecked and the good

unimproved. Dora's temper, originally haughty, had become year by year

more overbearing, as she found that, from her father's rank and fortune,

and from being herself the eldest daughter of the family, she could

exact attention, not only from her brothers and sisters, but from

most of her playmates, and all the servants and dependents; and if

occasionally she excited her mother's displeasure, when a music lesson

had been particularly bad, or a drawing very carelessly executed, her

talents easily enabled her to regain that place in Mrs Harrington's

affection, which depended so much upon external superiority. And yet,

under good guidance, Dora Harrington might have become a very admirable

person. Her disposition was generous and candid, and her feelings were

warm and easily excited; but her pride and self-will had hitherto marred

every better quality.

Margaret was very different: she was more inclined to be gentle and

yielding, but this rather from indolence than amiability; and her vanity

and selfishness rendered her, perhaps, even less agreeable than her

sister, when she became more intimately known. There was, indeed,

one peculiarity about her, which, on a first acquaintance, was very

winning--a great desire of gaining the love of others! and for this

purpose she would use the most affectionate expressions, and profess

the greatest interest in their happiness; but her young companions

soon found that she was seldom willing to make the sacrifice of her own

inclinations to theirs; and persons who were older, and could see deeper

into her character, discovered that her love of affection differed but

little from her love of admiration, as she only valued it because it

gained her attention; and the same vanity which made her delight in the

praises of her delicate complexion, and fair hair, and bright blue

eyes, made her also take pleasure in knowing that she was an object of

interest and regard to those around her.

Such were probably to be Amy's companions for the next few years of her

life. Rose being too young to be considered of the number; and it was

well for Mrs Herbert's happiness that she was little aware of their

dispositions. Yet she had some fears as to the principle on which her

nieces had been educated; and she could not but be thankful that she

should, as she hoped, be at hand for at least some time to come, to

watch the effect of the intimacy upon Amy's mind, and to warn her

against any evil which might result from it; as she felt that, in the

event of her own death and her husband's prolonged absence, it would be

upon her brother's family alone that she could depend for friendship and

protection to her almost orphan child.

Amy herself, with all the thoughtlessness of her age, looked forward to

nothing but enjoyment; and when the first rays of the sun shone through

her window, on the morning of the day that was to witness her meeting

with her cousins, and awakened her from her quiet sleep and her peaceful

dreams, it was only to give her the expectation of a yet brighter

reality. For the next hour she lay awake, imagining the grandeur of

Emmerton Hall in its best furniture, the delight of driving in her

uncle's carriage, and the probability that she might have beautiful

presents made her,--new books, or a watch, or a pony, or, what would be

still better, a pony-chaise for her mamma, now that she was unable to

walk far. She even went on to count up the books she should wish for,

and to settle the colour of the pony, not doubting that her uncle would

be willing to give her everything; for she had always been told he was

very kind; and a person who could live at Emmerton, she was sure, must

be able to purchase whatever he desired.

"Oh mamma, I am so happy!" was her first exclamation, as she seated

herself at the breakfast-table. "Do see what a beautiful day it is; and

I have been awake so long this morning, thinking over what we shall do

in the afternoon. I am sure you must be happy too."

"Happy to see you so, my love," said Mrs Herbert, as she kissed her.

"But why not happy in yourself, mamma; are you ill?" and she looked at

Mrs Herbert anxiously; then suddenly becoming grave, she said, "Dear

mamma, it was very wrong in me, but I did not think about poor Edward."

"It was very natural, my dear, and you need not be distressed because

you cannot feel for him as I do, who knew him when he was a healthy,

merry child, the delight of every one."

"Then there is no harm in being happy?" said Amy; "but I will try to be

so to myself, though I should like you to smile too; but, perhaps, you

will when you see them quite settled at Emmerton."

"I hope every one will be reconciled to the loss in time," replied Mrs

Herbert; "and, perhaps, Amy, it will be a greater pleasure to me, by and

by, to know that your uncle is so near than it will be to you."

"Oh mamma! how can that be? you know you are so much older; and you

always tell me that grown-up people do not enjoy things so much as

children."

"But supposing, my dear, that your cousins' being at Emmerton should

make you envious and discontented with your own home, you would not be

happy then?"

For a few moments Amy did not speak; a grave expression came over

her face; and, allowing her breakfast to remain untouched, she sat

apparently deep in thought. At last she said, "Mamma, people must be

very unhappy when they are envious."

"Yes, indeed they must," replied Mrs Herbert; "for they are always

longing for things which God has not chosen to give them, and are

unthankful for those which they possess; besides, they often dislike the

persons whom they fancy more blessed than themselves."

"And should you love me, mamma, if I were envious?" continued Amy,

looking intently at her mother as she spoke.

"It would be a dreadful thing indeed, my love, which would prevent me

from loving you; but I should be very, very sorry to see you so."

Again Amy was silent, and began eating her breakfast hastily; but it

seemed an effort, and Mrs Herbert presently saw that the tears were fast

rolling down her cheeks.

"Amy, my dear child, what is the matter?" she exclaimed.

Amy tried to answer, but her voice failed her; and rising from her seat

she hid her face on her mother's neck, and then said, in a low tone,

"Mamma, I know I have been envious."

"If you have, my dear, you are, I am sure, very sorry for it now; and

you must not vex yourself too much when you discover you have a fault,

since you know that if you pray to God He will forgive you, and help you

to overcome it."

"But, mamma," said Amy, "I did not think it was envy till just now.

It was the other evening when we came back from Emmerton, and I was

fancying how beautiful the house would be when it was all furnished, and

how I should like to live there; and then, when we got near home, I did

not like the cottage as much as I used to do, it appeared so small; and

I began to think I should be happier if I were one of my cousins, and

had a carriage, and horses, and servants. But, Oh mamma! it was very

wicked"--and here Amy's tears again fell fast--"for I forgot that I had

you."

"The feeling was very natural," said Mrs Herbert, "though I will not

say it was right. I have often been afraid lest seeing your nearest

relations so much richer than yourself might make you uncomfortable; but

you know I told you before, that God sends to each of us some particular

trial or temptation, to prove whether we will love and serve Him, or

give way to our own evil inclinations; and this will probably be yours

through the greater part of your life. But when the feeling of envy

arises in your heart, will you, my darling Amy, pray to God to help you,

and teach you to remember that at your baptism you received the promise

of infinitely greater happiness and glory than any which this world can

give? And now you must finish your breakfast, or you will make yourself

quite ill and unfit for the day's pleasure; and, after our reading and

your morning lessons, we will have a very early dinner, so that we may

have time to call at Colworth parsonage before we go to Emmerton. Mrs

Saville has sent me word, that the story the poor girl told us the other

evening is quite true, and I should like to inquire how her mother is."

Amy reseated herself at the breakfast-table; but she could not easily

recover her spirits, and during the whole morning there was a grave tone

in her voice, and a slight melancholy in her countenance, which only

disappeared when Mr Walton's carriage came to the door at two o'clock,

and she found herself actually on the road to Emmerton to receive her

cousins. The increased distance by Colworth was about two miles, and, at

another time, it would have added to her enjoyment to go by a new road;

but every moment's unnecessary delay now made her feel impatient, and

she was only quieted by her mamma's reminding her that her uncle could

not possibly arrive before half-past four or five o'clock, and therefore

it would be a pleasant way of spending the intervening time. "Besides,"

said Mrs Herbert, "we must not forget others, Amy, because we are happy

ourselves; perhaps we may be of use to the poor woman." Amy sighed, and

wished she could be like her mother, and never forget what was right;

and the consciousness of one fault brought back the remembrance of

another, and with it the morning's conversation; and this again reminded

her of their last evening at Emmerton, and her mamma's story, till her

mind became so occupied that she forgot the novelty of the road, and

her impatience to be at the end of her journey; and when the carriage

stopped at the gate at Colworth, she was thinking of what Mrs Herbert

had said about her uncle Harrington, and the poor woman having the

same prospect for the future, and wondering whether they either of them

thought of it as her mamma seemed to do.

Mrs Saville was almost a stranger to Amy; but her kind manner quickly

made her feel at ease, and she became much interested in the account

that was given of the poor woman's sufferings, and the dutiful affection

shown by her eldest girl.

"Is it the one, mamma, whom we saw at Emmerton?" whispered Amy.

"Yes," replied Mrs Saville, who had overheard the question; "she came

home that evening almost happy, notwithstanding her mother's poverty

and illness; for it had been the first time she had ever been obliged to

beg, and she had begun to despair of getting anything, when your mamma

was so good to her. I learned the whole story when she brought me the

note, and scolded her a little for not coming to me at once; but we

had done something for her before, and she did not like to ask again. I

cannot think," she continued, turning to Mrs Herbert, "what the children

will do; for the mother is rapidly sinking in a decline; and she tells

me they have no near relation, excepting a grandmother, who is old and

in want."

"How far off is their parish?" asked Mrs Herbert.

"About ten miles; it is impossible to think of their being moved now;

for the poor woman can scarcely live more than a few days longer; yet

the eldest girl seems to have no notion of her danger, and I dread the

consequences of telling her, she is so fond of her mother."

"I should like to go to the cottage, if it is near," said Mrs Herbert;

"or, at least, I should be glad to see the girl; for I suppose her

mother had better not be disturbed."

"It will be very easy, if you desire it," replied Mrs Saville; "for the

children are kept in a separate room. I should wish you to see the woman

herself, if she were equal to the sight of a stranger, for I am sure you

would be pleased with her contentment and resignation."

"May I go too?" asked Amy, when Mrs Saville left the room.

Mrs Herbert thought for a moment, and then replied, "You may, my dear,

if you are willing to assist in helping these poor people; I mean by

working for them, or doing anything else which may be in your power;

but it never does any one good to go and see people who are suffering,

merely from curiosity."

"I think, mamma," said Amy, "I should be very willing to do something

for them, if you would tell me what it should be."

"We must see them before we are able to decide," replied Mrs Herbert;

"but we shall soon know, for here is Mrs Saville ready for her walk."

The cottage was but a short distance from the parsonage, and on the road

to Emmerton, and the carriage was ordered to meet them there, that Mrs

Herbert might be spared any unnecessary fatigue. Cottage it could not

well be called, for it was little more than a hovel, divided into two

parts; but it was the only one vacant in the neighbourhood, and the poor

woman had gladly availed herself of any shelter when she became so ill;

and though Mrs Saville's kindness had made it assume a more comfortable

appearance than it had done at first, it was still very destitute of

furniture, and, to Amy's eyes, looked the picture of wretchedness.

The eldest girl was attending to her mother, and the five younger ones

playing before the door. At the appearance of the strangers, they all

rushed into the house; but Mrs Saville was an old friend, and, at her

order, Amy's former acquaintance, Susan Reynolds, was called in. At

first, Amy thought she should scarcely have known her again,--she

was looking so much neater than when she had seen her that evening at

Emmerton; but she soon remembered her face, and the frightened manner

which she still retained.

Mrs Herbert made many inquiries as to the state of the family,--who were

their relations, what they intended to do, and whether any of them had

ever been to school; and the girl showed by her answers that she had no

idea of her mother's danger. When she got well, she said, they should

all go home, and live with grandmother, and go to school. She had

learned to read and write herself; but the little ones never had, only

sometimes she had tried to teach them; but now her whole time was taken

up in nursing, and it was all she could do to keep them out of mischief,

and mend their clothes.

Amy looked with a wondering eye upon the poor girl, as she gave this

account of herself, and thought how impossible it would be for her to

do as much; and yet there seemed to be but a slight difference in their

ages, and the advantages of health and strength were all on her side.

Mrs Herbert also remarked Susan's sickly countenance, and asked some

questions as to her general health, but she could get very little

information. Susan's care was entirely given to others, and she thought

but little of her own feelings. At times, she said, she was very tired,

and she did not sleep well at night; but then the baby often cried, and

she was anxious about her mother, and so it was very natural. Again

Amy felt surprised as she remembered her comfortable bed, and her quiet

sleep, and her mamma's watchfulness on the slightest appearance of

illness.

"Does it not make you very unhappy," she asked, "to see your mother

suffer so much?"

"Yes, Miss," replied the girl; "but then I think of the time when she

will get well."

"But supposing she should never get well?" continued Amy.

Poor Susan started, as if the idea had never entered her head before;

her eyes filled with tears; and, after a great struggle, she said, in a

broken voice: "Mother hopes to go to heaven." As she spoke, Mrs Herbert

looked at her child, and Amy knew what the look meant; for it reminded

her of the conversation at Emmerton, and she understood how true her

mamma's words on that evening had been; for her uncle Harrington, with

all his riches, could not expect a greater comfort than this for his

death-bed. Conscious, however, that she had been the cause of a great

deal of pain, her chief desire now was to make some amends; and, as they

were about to go away, she whispered to her mamma, "I should like so

much to do something for her."

"I will ask what would be most useful," replied Mrs Herbert. "This young

lady," she added, turning to Susan, "wishes to make something which may

be of service to you. Should you like it to be a frock for yourself, or

for one of the children?"

"For Bessy, ma'am, if you please," said Susan; "her frock is all in

rags, and it was quite old when she first had it." Bessy, who had run

into the road to avoid the strangers, was summoned, and her measure

properly taken; and Mrs Herbert, slipping a shilling into Susan's

hand, and telling her she should have the frock in a few days, left the

cottage, followed by Mrs Saville and Amy. Mrs Saville promised to send

word if any plan were proposed which could be a comfort to the poor

woman, or an assistance to her children; and then, wishing her good

morning, Mrs Herbert and Amy stepped into the carriage, and were once