SUNDAY

Saturday was the busiest day in the week at Thankful Rest. There was

churning to be done, extra cooking for Sunday, mending and darning,

and the weekly polishing of every bit of brass, and copper, and tin

in the establishment. Lucy rubbed at them till her arms ached,

without bringing them to the required height of brightness, and was

at last sent off to pick the few remaining gooseberries for a tart.

That was a piece of work much more to her liking, and she lingered so

long out in the sunshine that Aunt Hepsy came at last, and scolded

her long and shrilly; which took all the enjoyment away. Tom received

his lessons from Uncle Josh outside; and, judging from his face when

he came in at dinner-time, he had not found them particularly

agreeable. Tom Hurst was a dainty youth, in fact, and shrank from

soiling his fingers with the tasks allotted to him: and seeing that

grim Uncle Josh had not spared him, the forenoon had been one long

battle; for, try as he might, Tom could not keep a bridle on his

tongue.

"I guess I'll hev a pesky deal o' trouble with that young 'un,

Hepsy," his uncle said that night when the children had gone to bed.

"He doesn't take to farm work; an' he's that peart I durstn't speak

to him. Queer thing if we've got to keep the young upstart in

idleness."

"Idleness!" quoth Miss Hepsy wrathfully. "I'd take a rope's end to

him if he didn't keep a civil tongue in his head. The gal's bad

enough; though she never speaks back she looks at me that proud-like

wi' them great eyes o' her'n, I feel as if I'd like to shake her.

There'll never be a day's peace now they've come."

"Tell ye what, though, Hepsy," said Josh. "I'm gwine to pay off

Brahm, an' make Tom do his work. He ain't that much younger, an' he

looks strong enough! Couldn't you do without Keziah, and that would

square expenses?"

"I'll see how the child turns out in a week or so. She's a pinin'

thing--doesn't eat enough to keep a mouse alive."

"It's a thankless thing, any way ye like to take it, Hepsy, hevin'

other folks' youngsters round. I don't see why we should be bothered

with 'em;" with which remark Josh went to bed.

Lucy awoke next morning, remembering it was Sunday, with a feeling of

gladness that they might perhaps chance to see their friend Mr.

Goldthwaite at church. The Strongs were regular as clock-work in

their half-day attendance at the meeting-house. The morn'ng was

devoted to feeding cattle, pigs, and poultry, and tidying up the

house; and after dinner the premises were left in charge of Brahm and

Keziah, and the master and mistress turned their footsteps towards

Pendlepoint. The meeting-house was almost close to the parsonage, and

was a pretty, primitive structure, with no attempt at display or

decoration, and yet so pleasant and homelike inside that Lucy felt a

sense of rest as her eyes wandered round it. Tom nudged her and

whispered, "Nice little chapel, Lucy;" at which Miss Hepsy held up a

warning finger and shook her head. Tom blushed and laughed, Aunt

Hepsy looked so intensely comical. Then she became very red in the

face, and opening her hymn-book, kept her eyes on its pages till Mr.

Goldthwaite came in. His eyes travelled straight to the Strongs' pew,

and Lucy thought she saw a kindly gleam of recognition in his eyes.

Carrie was at the harmonium. She, too, looked once or twice in their

direction; and both children found her face so sweet and pleasant

that they could not lift their eyes off it. The chapel was full, and

the singing of the hymn was so hearty and so sweet, that Lucy felt

her eyes dim, she could not tell why. But it seemed to remind her of

her mother.

Mr. Goldthwaite preached only half an hour; but his sermon was so

beautiful and comforting, and so easily understood, that Lucy thought

Sunday would recompense her for all the troubles of the week. Tom's

eyes never left Mr. Goldthwaite's earnest face, and I believe that

the memory of his words remained with the boy for weeks after. He had

never heard a sermon in his life he had understood and _felt_ like

this one. Uncle Josh snored rather noisily in the corner, and Aunt

Hepsy nodded occasionally over her Bible--the minister's message did

not even reach their ears.

When the service was over and they reached the church porch, they

found Miss Goldthwaite standing there. She had a nod and a smile for

every one, but her particular mission was with Tom and Lucy. She

shook hands with the uncle and aunt, and then bent her sweet eyes on

the children's faces.

"These be Hetty's children, Miss Goldthwaite," said Miss Hepsy. "Lucy

and Tom."

"Yes, I know," nodded Miss Goldthwaite. "I came round to see them. I

want them to take tea with me to-day, at my brother's special

request."

Miss Hepsy did not look at all delighted. "They'll jes' bother ye,

Miss Goldthwaite," said she; "an' besides, 'taint no use visitin' on

Sundays--I don't like it."

"It's hardly visiting, Miss Hepsy," said the young lady in the same

pleasant voice. "And when they are at Pendlepoint you may as well let

them. We will bring them safely home. Come now, Miss Hepsy, you know

nobody ever refuses me anything."

"Let them bide, Hepsy," said Uncle Josh, remembering what trouble and

expense the minister had spared him, and not wishing to appear so

unmindful of it. "I guess they won't come to no harm at the

parson's."

So Miss Hepsy was forced to grant a reluctant consent, and Miss

Carrie bore off the happy children in triumph. At the parsonage gate

Mr. Goldthwaite joined them, and gave them both a hearty welcome.

Even shy Lucy was at her ease immediately with Miss Carrie; for who

could resist that bright, caressing manner, and those beaming, loving

eyes? She carried Lucy off to her own pretty room to take off her

hat, and kept her there talking and showing her the beautiful view

from the window till Mr. Goldthwaite had to call to them to come to

tea. What a pleasant meal it was, and how the little company enjoyed

themselves. Then, when it was over, Mr. Goldthwaite took Tom to the

garden, and drew him on to talk of himself, of his hopes and

ambitions, and sympathized so heartily and cheerfully with him that

Tom began to think it was worth while coming to Thankful Rest, if for

nothing else than this pleasant hour at the parsonage. Meanwhile

Carrie had opened the piano, and sang low and softly one or two

hymns; and when she looked round, wondering why Lucy had moved from

her side, she saw her on the sofa with her face hidden. She rose, and

sitting down beside her, put her arm about her, and whispered

gently,--

"My poor child, what is it?"

"Mamma, Miss Goldthwaite," sobbed Lucy. "She used always to sing to

us on Sunday evenings just so, and it makes me feel dreadful to think

she never will any more."

"Yes, Lucy, I understand," said Carrie; and the very sound of her

voice soothed the child's troubled heart. "But you know who has

promised to comfort the mourning heart if we will but ask Him? Our

God is 'the Father of mercies, and the God of all comfort.'"

A quick smile broke through Lucy's tears. "If it were not for that,

Miss Goldthwaite," she said simply, "I should have died when mamma

did."

"And just think, dear," went on the sweet voice, "of the glad time

coming when we shall all meet, please God, in a happier world than

this. We shall not remember these sad hours then, shall we, Lucy? I

know, my dear, how lonely and sad and strange you feel here now; but

God can make us happy anywhere."

"Yes, Miss Carrie, I know it," returned the child simply and

earnestly; "only I am so troubled sometimes about Tom. Mamma was

often troubled about him too. He is so passionate and quick and

proud. Oh, I don't know how he is to get on with Uncle Joshua and

Aunt Hepsy!"

"We will hope for the best," said Miss Carrie cheerfully; "and

by-and-by, perhaps, a way may be opened up for him to get his heart's

desire.--Would you like to see my pets, Lucy? I have chickens, and

pigeons, and dogs, and kittens, and all sorts of things. Frank says

the yard is a menagerie."

"Yes, I would like it very much. There are some pretty chickens and

kittens at Aunt Hepsy's, but she won't let me pet them."

In the delight of examining Miss Goldthwaite's menagerie sadder

thoughts flew, and the evening sped on golden wings. The time came at

last for the two to bid a regretful good-bye to the parsonage and

turn their faces homewards. The minister and his sister accompanied

them half across the meadow, and bade them good-night, with many

promises of future meetings.

Tom and Lucy walked on in silence till they reached the paddock, and

then the lad said abruptly, "It will not be so hard to live here,

Lucy, if we can see them sometimes. I don't believe there's another

minister like Mr. Goldthwaite in the State; nor another minister's

sister either."

Lucy smiled, her heart re-echoing her brother's words.

"I have not felt so happy since mamma died," she said softly. "O Tom,

is it not true what she used to say--'That God gives us something to

be grateful for everywhere'?"

"Yes," said Tom soberly; and the next moment Aunt Hepsy's tall figure

appeared at the kitchen door, and her shrill voice broke the pleasant

Sabbath calm.

"Here, come in, you two. Air you going to stand there all night? It's

'most nine o'clock--time you were in bed. I guess you won't go

visitin' on Sunday any more."