Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
[Illustration: Letitia stood looking in blank dismay, not offering
to help.]
_Little Eyebright_
AND HER PUND O' CARE
BY
AGNES GIBERNE
AUTHOR OF
"THE EARLS OF THE VILLAGE," "IDA'S SECRET," "LIFE TANGLES,"
"FLOSS SILVERTHORN," ETC.
New Edition
John F. Shaw & Co., Ltd.
Publishers
3, Pilgrim Street, London, E.C.
[Illustration]
CONTENTS
CHAP.
I. EUPHRASIA'S HOME
II. EUPHRASIA'S PLANS
III. SOME CAUSE FOR CARE
IV. FOR ONE'S GOOD
V. THE JOHNSTON FAMILY
VI. EUPHRASIA'S FRIEND
VII. FRIENDS _AND_ FRIENDS
VIII. A STEP IN THE DARK
IX. A PRISONER
X. HOW MUCH LONGER?
XI. NEVER SENT!
XII. GENUINE!
XIII. NOT CAST DOWN
XIV. SOMETHING WRONG
XV. "WILL YOU—?"
XVI. HOW "CARE" MAY BE CARRIED
[Illustration]
LITTLE EYEBRIGHT
AND HER PUND O' CARE
———————
CHAPTER I
EUPHRASIA'S HOME
"I DON'T know, I'm sure, Mrs. Landor. I suppose you're right, of
course. People never ought to fret, of course. Mr. Landor would say
just the same if he were preaching. I suppose everybody ought always to
feel sure that everything is always exactly right."
An odd expression crossed the other's face.
"Oh, I know it is quite wrong ever to let one's self get worried. But
then, you see, it always was my way to be easily upset. Some people are
made like that; don't you think so? And other people are made quite
different. I don't see, for my part, how one is to help how one was
made. When things go wrong, I always do get low-spirited. It is very
foolish, perhaps, but then it is my way. I have been harassed half
out of my senses the last week. As fast as ever one trouble clears
off, another comes in its place. That is what I find," sighed Mrs.
Mackenzie. "There's no sort of peace or rest in life,—nothing but
worry!"
"Isn't it a comfort that one trouble does clear away before another
comes?" asked her caller.
"Oh well, when it does. But sometimes everything seems to come
together, all in a heap. I am sure, last winter I didn't know where to
turn or what to do, with the influenza and all! And most likely it will
be just as bad next winter. The influenza is certain to come again."
"Nay! Why certain?"
"Oh, they say it will; people all say so. And if my husband gets it a
fourth time, I don't believe he will pull through. I don't, indeed! He
has never been the same man since those three attacks, one on the top
of another. He isn't fit for his work, and everybody says so, but if he
stops, how in the world are we to pay our way?"
"He might take a holiday if needful. Still, I would not in your place
give much for the opinion of 'everybody.' What does your doctor say?"
"Colin has not been to the doctor lately. He doesn't want to run up
bills, but he looks so ill, I quite dread to see him come in! And Ken's
cough frightens me. He has kept it on the whole summer, and now we
are half-way through September. I suppose he won't lose it before the
winter; and a boy is so exposed to risks . . . And in the middle of all
my worries, my cook has given me warning, just because she wants to
get married. It is hard, when she suited me so nicely, and when I have
so many things weighing on me! And my housemaid has a bad finger, and
can't do half her work . . . And then there is Euphrasia."
"What of Euphrasia? Nothing wrong there surely! Euphrasia looks the
picture of health."
"Oh, as to health—yes, she is well enough. It isn't that, but I do
get so disappointed. I suppose one must expect to be disappointed. I
did think it would be such a comfort to have a daughter at home with
her education done and no lessons, and plenty of time to help me: and
really Euphrasia is as busy as Flo, and not half so pleasant. It is a
sort of way with her—answering so shortly, I mean—but I always do feel
hurt. And then she likes her own way so much! Girls do, I suppose,
pretty nearly always. Flo is different, but then Flo always 'was' a
little angel. It quite frightens me sometimes, she is so good."
"Euphrasia does not frighten you, apparently, in that respect. However,
girls ought not to be too busy to help their mothers."
"Oh, I don't say she is. She means to do right, I dare say. Of course,
she doesn't want to neglect her duties. Only I suppose I'm too
sensitive: and then there is a grudging sort of manner; not that she
means it so, I dare say. It is only awkwardness, only I can't help
noticing. And to have her going away already, just when I was beginning
to find her useful—"
"Going where?"
"It's an invitation from a school friend, Letitia Johnston. Euphrasia
is so odd; she makes hardly any friends. She only has this one, and
really I don't know anything about the girl's family. There's been a
sort of promise that Euphrasia should pay them a visit when she had
done with school, and now Colin says we can't well refuse. We had
Letitia here once for a week; and she seemed nice, rather. But still—"
Mrs. Landor made no immediate answer. She was a graceful woman, over
middle height, and perhaps beyond middle age, with hair already
silvered, and a certain innate queenliness of bearing, not lessened by
the severe plainness of her black merino dress and close gray bonnet.
Serene eyes beneath a broad brow studied the pretty woman opposite—for
Mrs. Mackenzie, wife of the Manager of West Norton Bank, was a
decidedly pretty woman still, despite her forty years. She might have
been a very attractive one, had her lips fallen habitually into less
fretted curves; had her blue eyes been habitually less full of trouble
and self-condolence.
"Still if you do not feel that you can spare her—"
"I don't suppose it will make much difference. She has to go some day,
and the visit may as well be got over. Euphrasia would not like to give
it up, and any time, almost, would be as bad. Women's lives are just
made up of harass and bother."
"Are they?" queried Mrs. Landor soberly. "Mrs. Mackenzie, if I didn't
know you quite so well, I should venture to say something . . . One can
speak more freely, I think, on some subjects as a stranger than as a
friend."
"I hope she isn't going to begin preaching," darted through Mrs.
Mackenzie's mind. And then came a swift recollection of innumerable
kindnesses, followed by the resolve, "I mustn't seem to be vexed."
Aloud she said cautiously, "I should think you might say anything you
liked to me!"
"Then may I ask a question? You have a good deal to say about harass
and worry, and, of course, life does mean a fair amount of them for
most people. Yet there is another side of the question. I wonder
whether that side ever presents itself to you . . . When our Lord
said, 'Come unto Me . . . and I will give you rest'—what do you think
He really intended to do? Is absolute rest a thing compatible with
perpetual mental harass? For surely harass means unrest! If the two are
not compatible—then, what did He mean?"
Mrs. Mackenzie was silent.
"If I were you, I would find an answer to that question," continued
Mrs. Landor softly. She was not at all a demonstrative person, but for
once she stooped and kissed the plaintive downcast face. "We may be
sure of one thing, that what Christ said, He meant, and that what He
meant was something very real and practical . . . Perhaps the question
resolves itself into not so much what HE means by rest, as what 'we'
mean when we ask for rest; and whether we ever do actually take Him
at His word! . . . It seems such a pity, if He is willing and waiting
to give us rest, that we don't trouble ourselves to receive it . . .
Forgive me for saying so much. Good-bye."
"It's all very well, but Mrs. Landor doesn't know what life means with
such an income as ours," sighed Mrs. Mackenzie. "If she did, she might
have a right to speak. If her husband died to-morrow, it wouldn't make
a farthing's difference to her comforts. And if Colin were to break
down, we should just be at the end of everything. It's bad enough now,
trying to make both ends meet and never able to get a quarter of the
things we need. Of course, it is quite right to have a proper amount of
trust, but all the same one must be anxious. Mrs. Landor would in my
place, whatever she may say now. And there's nobody to understand, nor
to be the least help to me. Colin never will talk over things till he
has made up his mind what to do, and Euphrasia is wrapped up in her own
concerns. I did think Mrs. Landor would give me a little sympathy, but
she is no better than anybody else. I might just as well have kept it
all to myself . . . Why, there's Colin coming home now! What can be the
matter? O dear!"
Mrs. Mackenzie ran to the front door and flung it open in a tremor of
alarm. A tall man of somewhat solid build, not amounting to stoutness,
came slowly up the little garden. His face, albeit by no means
handsome, had good strong outlines, but the complexion at this moment
showed an unnatural pallor.
"Colin! What has brought you back? Do tell me—quick! Is anything the
matter? I am so frightened! Oh, make haste and speak! I know something
is dreadfully wrong."
"Nothing for you to be frightened about, my dear. I am merely—a little
out of sorts to-day." He spoke with a touch of breathlessness, as if
the walk home had been too fatiguing. "I'll be all right presently."
Making his way past her into the small drawing-room, he sat down in his
favourite arm-chair.
[Illustration]