NEW FRIENDS.
Oh, world unknown! How charming is thy view,
Thy pleasures many, and each pleasure new.
Oh, world experienced! What of thee is told?
How few thy pleasures, and these few how old!
"AN invitation, Nora," said her aunt, soon after the Christmas holidays
had come to a close, "and for you."
"For me, aunt! Oh, who is it from? And may I accept it?"
Her aunt smiled. "One question at a time, dear. The invitation is from
Mrs. Forbes, asking you and Eric to spend to-morrow at Craiglora, to
meet Clara Ross and her brother from Edinburgh, who, it seems, have
been spending the holidays with the Forbeses. I believe Clara is just
about a year or so older than you, and Alick nearly as old as Ronald.
You know, dear, they are related to you by your father's side."
"And may we go?" repeated the child.
Her aunt hesitated, but replied slowly—
"Yes, I suppose so, dear; that is, if your uncle can conveniently send
you to-morrow; you know Craiglora is nearly ten miles off."
But Nora's shout of delight drowned any more words.
"Oh, how delightful! A day at the Forbeses, and two new companions!
Eric, Eric! do you hear?"
"Yes," he said, bounding, as he spoke, to his aunts side; "it's
splendid. I only wonder what sort of a fellow Alick is. Come off, Nora;
let's run and tell Minnie."
The children ran off; and Mrs. Macleod stood a few moments lost in
thought. The children had mingled so little with companions, and now
she felt she would have liked to know a little more about those strange
cousins: for she felt that the becoming acquainted with them involved
more than Nora knew; for already it had been mooted by the Rosses that,
if the cousins liked each other, Nora should be asked to spend some
months in Edinburgh with Clara.
"O uncle, how lovely everything looks to-day!" said Nora, as she,
accompanied by Eric, sat in the dog-cart beside Mr. Macleod, on their
way to Craiglora.
And, indeed, it was a lovely scene which met their eyes as they drove
along; fields, woods, and mountains wearing a slight robe of pure white
snow, which sparkled under the rays of the winter sun.
"Why, uncle," said Eric, "a few more days of frost and we shall have
skating; shall we not? Only fancy how Ronald will envy us when he hears
of it."
"The frost will need to be much stronger than this, Eric, ere the loch
bears; so, remember, no venturing on the ice to-day on any account.—But
see, Nora, yonder is Craiglora in the distance. I will just drive you
to the door, then go on to Castle Bellmore, where I am to spend the
day, and call for you on my way home. I hope you youngsters will have a
pleasant visit."
As they approached the door, Nora became both excited and shy; she
had mixed so little with other girls, that pain was mingled with
her pleasure. She expected to see her cousin a child like herself,
only, perhaps, a little taller; so she, as well as her uncle, was
much annoyed when Mrs. Forbes met them at the door, accompanied by a
tall, over-dressed, languishing young lady, as Nora thought, whom she
introduced to them as Clara Ross. Nora shrank back abashed. Was this
the girl with whom she had come to play, as she had thought?
Mr. Macleod was the first to break the silence.
"Why, Miss Clara, how you have grown since I saw you last! My little
puss here will be altogether alarmed at your grown-up appearance."
Clara smiled. "Oh, we'll get on nicely, Mr. Macleod," she said in an
affected way; "though I hardly thought that Cousin Nora would be such a
little girl."
In the meantime, Eric and Alick had introduced themselves, and set off
to visit the stables.
Clara Ross was dressed in the height of the then prevailing fashion,
and the number of flounces on her dress struck Nora with surprise,
and, for the moment, made her ashamed of her own neat though plain
plaid frock. The girls soon became friends, Clara chatting away about
Edinburgh and all its attractions.
"Do you go to many parties?" she questioned Nora.
The child smiled.
"Parties, Clara? How could we? There are so few people live here,
and the distance from one house to another is too great for any but
grown-up people to go in the evening. Oh, no, we never go to what you
call parties. But we don't miss them a bit. We have plenty of fun at
home, and we play all sorts of games; and sometimes in the evening,
aunt plays and sings to us; and in summer, we have out-of-door games,
and picnics, and drives. Oh, I assure you, we are never dull, never."
Clara shrugged her shoulders. "Ah well, you see, you know no other
kind of life; but as for me, I would die, if I lived here. Why, Laura
and Jane, my elder sisters, say life here is not life at all, only
vegetation. The poor people can have no ideas, nothing to take them out
of themselves."
"Vegetation!" repeated Nora. "Why, Clara, I'm sure you don't know
what you are talking about. If you visited in the cottages, you would
see how clever and thoughtful the people are; fond of their country,
I grant you, as who would not be?" said the girl with the enthusiasm
of a young Highlander. "And fond of their Bibles, too. But they have
plenty of interests that carry their thoughts to other places and
other lands, as well as their own. I know aunt would tell you so.
Why, there's hardly a family in the village near us but some of them
are abroad, or, at all events, away in town—some in Perth, Glasgow,
Edinburgh, Aberdeen, London, and in America as well. Oh! Life here is
not vegetation, I assure you;" and Nora's shyness vanished as she stood
up for her people and her country.
"Indeed, Nora, you are right," said Mrs. Forbes, who, unknown to the
girls, had entered and heard their conversation. "It is only foolish
people who talk that way. Believe me, Clara, that life lived truly
in such a place as this, is as full, as noble, as great as that
lived elsewhere. Nay, I question if those who speak of such lives as
vegetation know anything at all of what real life is, or value it as
God's great gift. True, many of our people have not many books; but
the few they have are well read and thoroughly understood. And though
they know nothing of life as spent in towns, that does not prove that
their minds are narrow. The truly narrow minds, Clara, are those which
have no resources within themselves which can enable them to spend
time profitably and pleasantly, without the constant excitement of
society.—But there, now, we must not waste all the day in talking;
suppose you join the boys in their game of battledoor and shuttlecock
in the library?"
Clara tossed her head a little at the proposal, muttering something
about childish; but seeing Nora's delight at the idea, she yielded, and
soon the house resounded with the laughter of young voices, in which
Clara's was loudest. With none of her foolish companions to laugh at
her, the girl was good-natured and childlike; but long ere they parted,
Nora got a vivid account of town pleasures, parties, and dress, which
certainly gave her a great longing for a peep at them all; and when she
told Clara about her beautiful diadem, her companion's interest was
much excited.
"A diadem, Nora! How lovely! They are quite the fashion just now. You
must come to visit us soon, and learn town ways and manners; and then
in a few years, when you are come out, you will wear the diadem at
parties. How I wish I had one! Do you know, when I look at you I see
you have a head and brow just suited for a crown."
What had she said that brought a cloud across the girl's face? A very
momentary one, no doubt, for it soon passed. Yet long after, when Nora
was outwardly engaged at a game with her cousins and Eric, she seemed
to feel the touch of a hand on her head and brow, and to hear the old
nurse's voice as she said:
"I was wonderin', my lambie, what kind o' a crown is to sit on your
bonnie brow. Is it to be the crown o' a vain world's folly, or the
everlasting ane your mother prayed might rest there? Ye canna hae
baith, I'm thinkin', missie."
Why not? She was asking herself, when Eric spoke impatiently:—
"Nora, it is your turn now. What are you dreaming about? I declare you
just looked like Ronald in a dreamy fit just now."
Nora started. "All right; I forgot it was my turn."
And then the game went on.
The girls became great friends. Clara was much attracted by her bright
young cousin, and determined to ask her parents, on her return home,
to invite her to come and live with them for a while. There was much
that was amiable and lovable in Clara's nature; but the crust which a
worldly upbringing causes to grow over the heart and affections was
beginning to grow on hers. An ardent nature, which in her early days
sought eagerly for love, for love's own sweet sake, was now seeking
rather for admiration, with its deadening influences. No one had spoken
to her of that which is "better than gold, and above rubies."
The drive home in the evening light was a quiet one. Even Eric's
spirits were subdued by the day's frolic, and Nora was more than
usually thoughtful. Clara's words, unwilling as she was to allow
it, had done their work: the visions of a town life, and plenty of
companions and amusements, were strangely blended in her young mind
with thoughts of sparkling rubies and an unfading crown.
At last she broke the silence by the question—
"Uncle, do you and aunt never mean to go to Edinburgh for the winter,
even after Minnie and Charlie are old enough for school?"
Mr. Macintosh smiled. "'Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof,'
Nora," he said; "and an evil indeed it would seem to me, to be obliged
to live even a few months of each year in any town. But as yet we
need hardly think on the subject, so far as Minnie and Charlie are
concerned; and no doubt, if it be found advisable for us to go when
they are old enough, the way will be made plain, and duty must come
before pleasure. Would you like to live in Edinburgh, Nora?"
The child flushed up. "No," and "yes, uncle. I would be sorry, of
course, to leave Benvourd; but I do think it would be pleasant to live
in a town for a while."
"That it would," chimed in Eric. "Alick says they have splendid fun in
their house, and parties every week."
Their uncle gave a low whistle. "Ha, ha!" he said. "Is this the effect
of the day's pleasure?" Then he added more gravely—"Do you think,
children, that your cousins have a happier home than you have?"
Nora's impulsive throw of her arms round his neck at that speech
was rather embarrassing, as he was the driver. And her indignant
declaration of "No, no! They could not have a happier home than we
have!" All but started the horse with its vehemence.
Whilst Eric, too, said indignantly, "That wasn't what we meant; only—"
But what was to follow the "only" was not disclosed; for at that
moment, they stopped at the door of their home, and both children ran
off eagerly to rehearse to their aunt the story of the day.
That visit, as Mrs. Macleod had anticipated, resulted in an invitation
for both children to spend the winter in Edinburgh with their cousins
the Rosses, and have the advantage of schools there.
"I have been fearing this," said Mrs. Macleod, as she handed the letter
to her husband. "How shall we answer it? There are advantages, we must
own; and yet, without being uncharitable, we cannot shut our eyes to
the fact that the Rosses bring up their children only for this world,
and God is shut out from their house."
Mr. Macleod laid his hand gently on his wife's shoulder. "Mary," he
said, "the Lord can find his own way into homes from which he is
apparently shut out. We must not decide this matter hastily, nor
without asking counsel of him. If we could always keep those children
guarded from evil, gladly would I do so; but I question if already a
spirit of discontent has not arisen in the hearts of both of them, as
regards the quiet life we lead here. If we let them go, it may be God's
way of showing them in what real happiness consists. Remember, as their
father's nearest relations, the Rosses have a right to have them visit
them for a while. But we must take time to consider such a proposal."
Three days after that morning, the children were told of the
invitation, and of the arrangement that their uncle and aunt had made
regarding it.
Eric was to go first, starting almost immediately, and remaining till
the end of the school season. Then next year, when Nora was a little
older, she should go, God willing, for some months also.
Few words were spoken by either of the children as this announcement
was made; though, boylike, Eric was delighted to go, and Nora, for the
while disappointed that her turn would be so long deferred. Still,
we must own that her loving heart shrank from the thought of leaving
those she loved so dearly. There were tears in her eyes on the morning
that Eric set off from the home-nest, leaving her the only one of the
orphans remaining there; but she only threw herself into Mrs. Macleod's
arms, and said quietly—"Oh, I am so glad that I have you and uncle to
love me still!"
Many anxious thoughts followed Eric as he left his home. There was no
evidence that any thoughts of heavenly things were in his heart; and
yet, though his friends failed to realize it, the seed sown was not in
vain. The day-by-day power of a good example, the blessed influence of
a Christian home, are never wholly without effect; though it was no
hand in that happy home that was commissioned from on high to lead Eric
to seek what is better than gold.