It was a pleasant relief to our excitement when uncle and Charlotte came
back the following evening, and Susan with them. They were surprised to
hear of our adventure, and deeply thankful that we had escaped without
further injury. Blurdon had not been found, though search had been made in
every direction round the house, and information given to the authorities
in Cape Town, but my aunt remarked that a heavy storm of wind had arisen,
which must have rendered the pursuit difficult. We were all glad to turn
from this painful subject to more ordinary themes of conversation.
While undressing that night, Lotty frankly confessed to Susan that she had
been indebted to me, during the whole of our previous stay in the hotel,
for as skilful attendance as Susan herself could give. "So I have not
missed you a bit, you dear old thing," she concluded with pretended
seriousness.
"And who has done for Miss Mechie?" inquired Susan, gravely.
"Mechie? Oh, she does not want any one to do for her," rejoined Charlotte,
gayly. "Every one has his own peculiar gift, you know, and Mechie's is a
liking and adroitness in waiting upon others; now I have not a bit of
ability—to say nothing of fancy—in that way myself, as you know."
"Well," answered Susan, gruffly, "I always find that Miss Mechie requires
as much proper attendance as you, or any other young lady, and why should
she not? But this I know, that while you are so lazy, Miss Lotty, that you
always want to have everything done for you, and do as little as you can
in return, Miss Mechie is quite contrariwise to that. And who, pray,
minded poor mistress?"
"Oh, I delight in attending to aunty, you know, Susan," I said, "and
indeed it was not Charlotte's fault, for I preferred acting as I did for
both of them. My only regret was that I could not by any amount of love or
labour make dear, darling aunty better and stronger. But, thank God! she
is much better."
"Those are very nice feelings, Mechie," observed Lotty, demurely. "You
cannot do more amiably than encourage them. I wish I could increase your
happiness, dear, by increasing your labour of love. I would set you to
dress my hair every morning, only you have such bad taste you would make a
perfect figure of me."
"Yes, it is very likely I should or I would," replied I, laughing, "so do
not risk it."
"No, that is just what I thought; and—"
"There! don't talk no more nonsense, Miss Charlotte. I can't abide folly,
and that you know, miss," interrupted Susan, peremptorily; "I don't object
to an innocent cheerfulness, as much as you like, but not—"
"In church?" Charlotte said with pretended surprise, remembering a sharp
lecture she had once received from old nurse for irreverent conduct with a
young friend during divine service.
"In church!" repeated Susan. "I was not thinking of church; but no! play
of any kind would no longer be innocent in God's house: you know that,
Miss Lotty, as well as I do. What does the Holy Bible say on that
matter?—'Keep thy foot when thou goest to the house of God, and be more
ready to hear than to give the sacrifice of fools, for they consider not
that they do evil. Be not rash with thy mouth, and let not thine heart be
hasty to utter anything before God, for God is in heaven, and thou upon
earth; therefore let thy words be few.' Now, do you think those few words
ought to be words of lightness or wordliness? Do you go there to speak
such? 'Be not rash with thy mouth.' What does that mean? If you were come
before a great king to make a petition, would you, while standing there
and his eye upon you, begin whispering and giggling with your friends? You
know you wouldn't. And what is any earthly king to our heavenly King of
kings?"
"I can't think what you are so cross with me about, Susy," Charlotte said,
half poutingly. "The fact is you don't like coming to this place, and very
naturally, and so you are trying to lighten your feeling of annoyance by
throwing it upon me. Why don't you make Mechie share it as well?"
"No, I don't object to coming here a bit, miss. I think it a very pleasant
place for a while, and, moreover, if I didn't like it, I shouldn't mind so
long as it did poor, dear mistress good to be here. But what annoys my
feelings, child, is this: there are two weeds growing up in your
character, and though as yet they have made no great show, because
everybody that cares for your future happiness keeps nipping off their
heads and warning you of them, too, that you may try to root them up, they
nevertheless go on throwing out their roots into your heart and soul. Now,
from every fresh root will, in time, spring up another plant, until your
whole mind is at last so overrun with them that they will kill every good
and beautiful thing growing there now, and poison the soul for everything
else."
"In the name of patience, Susan, what do you mean?" asked Charlotte, with
an astonished look in her amused face. "Am I becoming a female Blurdon?
Well, I know somebody who will think me a much more interesting personage
if I do," gayly glancing at me.
Poor old nurse looked puzzled for an instant, as well she might, but,
coming to the conclusion that this was only some of Lotty's usual
nonsense, passed it by, continuing with increased seriousness:
"Many a young person, Miss Charlotte, begins life with laughing at what in
after years she is forced to weep burning, heartfelt tears over."
"Well, but what are these two weeds, Susy, which, according to your
account, are possessed of such life-destroying properties? They must be
very small at present, for I declare I have not the remotest conception of
their existence, in my heart at least."
"No, child, there's the mischief! More's the pity that you haven't. If you
could only see those weeds in your own heart, and were to pull them well
up by the roots instead of being proud of their ugly blossoms, as you
really are, mistaking them, as you do, for things to be admired, you have
no notion how a deal comelier you'd be; ay, that would you."
"What does she mean, Mechie? Can you understand her? I protest I cannot!"
And Charlotte laughingly sat down on the bedside, staring at Susan.
"I'll clear it out for you in two words, Miss Lotty," nurse said, standing
before her with a stern face, while holding in her hands a dress which she
was on the point of folding up. "Selfishness and indolence—they are the
weeds—or indolence and selfishness, it doesn't matter which I put first,
for either of them is parent to the other, as the case may be."
The offended expression that came into Charlotte's face pleased me much
better than its preceding one of levity and indifference.
"Well, I must say I see no just reason why you should accuse me of so bad
a fault as selfishness any more than Mechie," she exclaimed, warmly. "I
may be indolent, if not liking disagreeable trouble is being so, but
selfish I am certainly not; or if I am, so is everybody else, for I see no
difference between me and others, excepting, perhaps, that I am more
good-natured."
"Now, listen to me, Miss Lotty, and judge for yourself if I am right or
wrong. You say you are not selfish, and you question being indolent
because you only don't like disagreeable trouble. You are not indolent?
Then what is it, in the first place, makes you such a sluggard in your
duties to your God that if it were not for others there's scarce a morning
you'd be down in time for the Bible and prayers? You know very well, too,
that your poor aunt is a deal better in this place from the change than
she was before, and yet you have done nothing but grumble and complain,
and that because things aren't so straight and pleasant or so gay as at
Fern Bank. Isn't that selfish? And hasn't it to do with indolence? You
haven't many servants to be attending to you here, and that obliges you to
attend to yourself and to wait upon your aunt—at least, you ought to wait
upon her, and you can't help feeling and seeing that you ought, whether
you choose to do so or not. Then you haven't a carriage to be driving you
out in whenever you fancy it, and that obliges you to walk, which you
don't like either; and the conclusion of all is, that if you could make us
all go home this minute, you would gladly. And if you could avoid doing
anything that gives you trouble and get other people to do all for you,
you would be quite contented and very good tempered, and think yourself
all the while one of the most amiable, obliging young ladies at the Cape.
But is that what you have been taught to be, Miss Lotty? Is that the sort
of life which is pleasing in God's sight? Oh, child! child! remember what
our blessed Saviour's example was while on earth—how he spent the whole of
every day in teaching and benefitting poor human beings, pleasing not
himself in anything except in doing good."
"Dear me!" sighed Charlotte, wearily, passing her hands over her face
after a fashion of her own; "now I do wish that all that is pleasant
wasn't wrong, and all that's wrong—Well, no matter; it can't be helped, I
suppose. I will try and be better, if only just to please you, dear old
nursey; see if I don't!" and, jumping up, she threw her arms round Susan's
neck and impetuously kissed her check several times. "There! dear old
thing; don't scold any more."
Susan, with whom Charlotte was secretly at heart the favourite, warmly
returned her embrace, and her eyes filled with tears as she said
earnestly, "If I did not love you two children as though you were my own,
I shouldn't grieve over your faults so much, nor scold you so much, maybe;
but don't you say that, dear—don't encourage them hard thoughts against
the all-wise, all-merciful God, for it is against God we grumble when we
murmur at the dispensation of his laws on earth."
"What thoughts, you dear old scold?" and Lotty laid her soft young cheek
caressingly against Susan's.
"Why, that everything pleasant is wrong, and—"
"Well, but is it not so, nursey? I declare, I rarely, if ever, do anything
pleasant, or wish to do it, that I don't find out that it is in some way
wrong, and things I generally dislike you tell me are right;" and
Charlotte hid her face on Susan's shoulder.
"It is true, dear, that many besides yourself have that notion about right
and wrong, but then they are unthinking, foolish-headed young things like
you" (Charlotte did not look particularly flattered by this definition of
herself), "or, if they are older, they are no wiser. But come! get into
bed, both of you, and I'll just set that error to rights in your mind,
then leave you to go to sleep."
We did as she desired, and seating herself beside Charlotte, Susan
continued: "In just those very words you used, Miss Lotty, lies right and
wrong most times. 'In some way,' you said, if you remember. Well, that's
just it. Very often it is not the thing itself that's wrong, but the abuse
of it; it's the degree it's given way to that makes it either wrong or
right. Can't you see that running through almost everything? God has put
us here to learn self-control and moderation and obedience to his will.
'Thus far shalt thou go and no farther,' is the boundary line to many of
our enjoyments, if not to every affair and act in life. I can see with
half an eye that since you have been here you've given way to all your
whimsies and humours to their fullest extent, and how much happier have
you really been? And mark, it was the abuse mostly, not the moderate use,
of your liberty that spoiled your pleasure. Miss Mechie was wrong to
encourage you, and I hope she will not do it again. And now, before I go
listen to this text, and keep it always in mind."
"But just tell me this, Susan," interposed Charlotte. "You say that God
shows us things are harmful if we abuse their use, but how? I don't
understand you."
"You have seen those things they call buoys floating on the water?"
questioned Susan.
"Yes."
"What do they put them out there for?"
"For? Oh, to denote danger of some kind and to warn vessels not to come
any farther, lest they be lost or seriously injured."
"That's it—that's it exactly. The instant the feeling of wrong, or the
appearance of wrong, comes up into any pleasant thing, depend upon it that
is, as it were, a buoy floating over some hidden danger to the soul. When
amusements or feastings begin to bring uneasy sensations to the body, be
sure you are going too far—you are passing the buoy! God has given us all
things richly to enjoy, but only in moderation and in the way in which he
sees best for our temporal and eternal interests; and when in our
obstinacy we choose either to have things different from his will or in
greater excess than is good for us, then the pleasantest things become
hurtful—become wrong. But I must go to mistress now, so I will just leave
you a text or two and then run away."
Taking her Bible, Susan read the following: "Let your moderation be known
unto all men. The Lord is at hand." And again: "And every man that
striveth for the mastery is temperate in all things." And once more:
"Better is little with the fear of the Lord than great treasure and
trouble therewith."