"WHAT MADE YOU COME?"
"WILL you tell us now what you meant when you spoke to Dinah?" said
Harry, when, after tea, the children gathered round Myra with a sense
of protection and comfort to which they had lately been strangers.
"What is she to pack up for? Where are we going to?" another asked.
Myra felt very desolate, her thoughts were gone back to Mentone, and
the dear ones there, to whom she had just completed a letter. But she
roused herself to attend to her young questioners.
"I think," said she, taking little Elsie into her lap, "that it will be
right for us to leave this house as soon as possible."
"I'd like to go to-morrow," said Harry; "we have no right here now."
"Well, of course we cannot settle in a moment where we may wish to
live; so I think we will find lodgings for a week or two in a pretty
part of Wales, where you can run about among the mountains and get rosy
cheeks again."
"Capital!" exclaimed Harry. "Won't you like that, girls?"
"I shall be delighted," said Florence.
"And you, Margaret and Leonard, will you like it too, or is there any
other place you like better?" said Myra kindly.
"I didn't suppose you meant us," said Margaret. "Harry and Florence are
your brother and sister, we are nothing to you."
"But you are to them,—brother and sister, and through them to me; so
let us all be one family, unless Mr. Haynes has something better to
arrange for you. Come, dear Margaret, try to own me, and let us all
love each other, sharing everything that God has given to us. Let me
share your sorrow, and comfort you if I may, and you share my love and
sympathy, and everything in my power to give. If you will, I cannot be
thankful enough to God for bringing me to you."
Poor Margaret broke down a little, and suffered a kiss to close upon
Myra's lips.
"Myra, what's the reason you have got plenty of money, and we have
none?" bluntly asked Harry. "Florence and I are Sherwoods as well as
you."
It was a hard question, and lay at the root of all the estrangement, as
Myra had been obliged to learn; yet the wisdom that had so decreed her
inheritance was never so fully appreciated as now.
"Don't you know?" demanded Harry again.
"Yes, I believe I know, but it is not, perhaps, wise for you and me to
talk about it," said Myra.
"But I can understand if you tell me, and I want to know," persisted
the boy. "I like to think right about things, and there must be right
or wrong in it."
"There is nothing wrong in it, Harry. If you have anything entirely
your own, you do what you please with it, don't you? And whether others
think you do wisely or not, they have no right to interfere."
"No, of course not."
"This is the reason that I have property of my own, but it has nothing
at all to do with your not having any. My dear mother died when I was a
baby, and the money which her father had intended for her, he desired
to be kept for her child. Is there anything wrong in that?"
"No, to be sure not," said Harry; "I don't know how anybody could say a
word against it. If Florrie and I had been your mother's children, he
would have had some kept for us. I wonder why our own papa didn't do
the same."
"That is not for us to inquire about, dear Harry, but I hope you will
thank God with me that my grandfather's plan has made up for it, by
enabling me to share with you all now that which his wisdom and care
provided. Are you satisfied?"
Harry did not look perfectly satisfied, and sat for some time in deep
thought.
And Myra, changing the subject, began to tell Elsie some little story
of Italian children whom she had taught to read the Bible.
Presently Harry burst out again with one of his plain questions, thus
betraying the subject of his reverie.
"Myra, what made you come?"
Every eye was fixed upon Myra's face, and the words were re-echoed.
"Ah, what was it? You have not been for so long, we thought you had
forgotten us; what made you come?"
Myra looked grave, and felt glad that the question was not, What made
you stay away so long? But,—What made you come now?
With those young eyes fixed upon her, with impressions, probably for
life, hanging on this trying crisis of their history, she must not
evade that question, but tell the simple truth, whether they could
understand it or not.
"You pitied us, didn't you, sister?" said Florence, seeing that Myra
paused.
"Yes, but it was not that. I could pity you at a distance."
"You wanted us to have some of your money, I suppose; was that it?"
said Margaret.
"I could have sent that," said Myra.
"Then what was it? I can't guess," said Harry.
"It was—yes, I believe, I am sure it was—the religion of Jesus," said
Myra softly. "There is a sentence in the Bible which says of 'pure
religion' that one of its features is 'to visit the fatherless in their
affliction.' And another bids us 'be followers,' or imitators, 'of God,
as dear children.' When the Lord saw the sorrows and wants of men, He
was not content with pitying them at a distance, or with sending to
them, 'He came Himself;' for He knew that man needed a Friend as well
as a Saviour. And I thought perhaps it might happen that you, dear
brothers and sisters, might need a friend, and be as glad of a heart to
love you as of a hand to help you."
Myra's voice sank very low over little Elsie's head, and her tears
mingled with the shining curls. There was dead silence, interrupted by
two or three little sobs, while Elsie's wondering face was upturned to
kiss her, and Florence held fast round her waist.
Harry felt as if something stuck in his throat, but he looked straight
down at his boots, and even Margaret and Leonard drew closer to their
new-found friend. It was a moment fraught with many issues for the
future, though, after the immediate spell of its strange influence
passed away, all did not consider it alike.
Beneath the window of the room assigned to Myra were the children's
gardens. She had dressed, and was reading by the open window, when the
sound of several voices was heard below.
"Here, let us gather them all; it doesn't matter about keeping them
now, you know."
"Stop. I want a little bouquet for Myra, just one of your beat sprigs,
Harry, and my prettiest rose; there, you may do what you like with the
rest."
"What a fuss you make, Florence! Perhaps she doesn't care for your
flowers. I remember very well that papa said she was a Methodist, and
thought herself better than other people, and so did her aunt. And
mamma said she meant well, only she was foolish and strange, and we
were not to be like her, so she didn't ask her often to visit us."
"I say, Florrie—" and Myra had no difficulty in recognising the voice
of Harry,—"I am glad she didn't say last night that she came because
she loved us, for I shouldn't have believed her; and if I had, I
should be pretty sure she wouldn't love us always. Where are all the
fine people who used to call us clever and pretty, and such stuff, and
invite us to their houses? Not one has been here since our trouble."
"Do you know, Harry," answered Florence, confidentially it seemed, as
they busied over their plants, "she made me think of that text of his
sermon that Dr. Walker said over so many times last Sunday; do you
remember it?"
"No, stop, yes, I see,—
"'Jesus Christ the same yesterday, and to-day, and for ever.'
"Wasn't that it?"
"Yes, and perhaps as He is always the same, and Myra's religion is the
religion of Jesus, she is always the same too; she won't love us one
day, and care nothing about us the next."
"We'll watch and see what this religion is like," said Harry. "I feel
as if I shall love her out and out if she goes on like last night,
but, you see, she is quite different from anybody we know, and I don't
exactly know what to make of it yet."
"I love her already," said Florence, "and I shall ask her to teach me
the religion of Jesus. I expect it makes people good."
"I hate people that think themselves good," said Harry. "She doesn't
seem like that, but we'll watch her."
Myra did not wait to hear more, but, kneeling down, she fervently
implored the grace that is ready for every time of need.
"O my Lord," she cried, "let me not misrepresent Thee and Thine, keep
me stedfast, make me act from principle, let me adorn Thy religion so
that they shall learn to love it and Theo. Keep me from yielding to
excited feeling, or temper, or disappointment. Give me victory over
self, and give the honour of it to Jesus. Help me to be consistent,
patient, forbearing, the same all day long, as I desire to be when
before Thee."
"My grace is sufficient for thee," was the word which seemed floated
on the breath of love into her mind, and Myra was comforted and
strengthened.
The morning post brought to the children the intelligence that Mr.
Haynes would be with them that evening. And the day was enlivened by a
kind, long visit from Dr. and Mrs. Walker, who entered with interest
into the circumstances of Myra's position, and, having known her
father, they were at once welcomed as friends. But, better still, they
knew Myra's heavenly Father, and rejoiced over His work in her heart
and character.
They remained until Mr. Haynes's arrival. He came with slackened
step and depressed appearance, deeply conscious of a responsibility
concerning his brother's children, and bowed down with a painful
conviction of inability to fulfil it to their advantage. He had a
large family of his own, and his means were now very limited. How,
then, could he burden them with the education and maintenance of five
children?
The young party clustered round him, introducing Myra in bewildering
terms. And it was not until after a quiet conversation with the good
pastor in the library that Mr. Haynes was enabled to comprehend the
immense relief which her presence was intended to afford in his
difficulty.
"And am I to understand, my dear Miss Sherwood, that you are willing to
take charge of my brother's children as well as of his step-children?"
he asked, when they again met.
"Unless you and they prefer otherwise, and you have some better place
arranged for them, sir."
"Better! All I can do is to let them share my roof, until they are
old enough to get their own living. And, in consequence of a heavy
loss through my late brother, that will no longer be what it has been.
We have to begin life again, as it were; and they can but share my
poverty."
"I have enough, with economy," said Myra, "to make a home for them all;
and in case you approve, Dr. Walker advises me to reside near a good
public school, where the boys can be thoroughly educated. My sisters
will, I hope, be content with my instruction."
"Margaret should be prepared for taking a situation as governess, that
she may not burden you too long," said Mr. Haynes doubtfully.
"And you think I may not accomplish that," said Myra, smiling. "Allow
me to try."
"My dear young lady, I am thinking of your interest also," he replied,
gazing with fatherly kindness on the young bright face and youthful
figure of this girl of one-and-twenty, about to overwhelm herself with
such a charge.
"You must not estimate the cost by money only," he continued. "Your
beauty will fade, your health will fail, your spirit will weary under
years of care and exertion, and toil and anxiety, such as the bringing
up of all these children will entail. I am not sure that I am justified
in permitting it."
"Dear sir, let me try," said Myra earnestly. "I could easily devote
a portion to their maintenance, and save myself what you think will
be troublesome, but I do not feel that to be the way in which best
to benefit them. If I can give them home and love and watchful care,
should I not do it, in grateful remembrance of all that has been done
for me, and try so to form their characters that they may fill some
honourable post of duty in their turn?"
"God bless you, my dear young friend. Most thankfully I yield to your
decision, and beg to take off your hands all the trouble of the needful
arrangements."
"I shall be very grateful for that," said Myra; "and while we are
staying in the country, I will try to decide on our future residence.
At present, it seems desirable to leave this house as soon as possible."
Mr. Haynes agreed, and proceeded to settle with the remaining servants,
who were to leave when the family removed.
But there was a meeting in the kitchen.
"I suppose Miss will want servants," said Peggy, the bad-tempered
kitchenmaid; "I shall just say I'm willing to go with her—I like her."
And away went Peggy to settle the matter with Myra.
"She's an awful temper," said the housemaid, "else I'd offer too. And
yet she's a right good worker, and there may be worse to live with."
"If I wished you ill, Janet, I couldn't do it better than wishing you
to stop with them," said Mrs. Dinah scornfully. "But if Miss Sherwood
thinks she has seen the last of me, she is mistaken. 'Tis my duty to
look after my poor dear missis's children, and I shall do it. I can see
how she is going to tyrannise over them, poor dears."
"Aren't you going to stay with them?" asked Janet in surprise, having
heard this intention so often declared.
"No, not as 'her' servant, indeed! I shouldn't demean myself to such a
thing."
Whereupon Janet, thinking it decidedly an improvement on the state of
the new household, went and offered her services to Myra. Thus, one
of the first perplexities was removed, and two willing servants would
be ready to proceed to the new house when it should be taken, Janet
accompanying her mistress on the short tour into Wales in the meantime.
Mr. Haynes took his own young relatives apart, and explained to them,
as simply as he could, the exact position of their affairs, impressing
them with the assurance that nothing in his power to do for them
could approach the benefit they would in every way derive from Myra's
generous offer.
"At the same time, my children," said he, "if either of you prefer to
go and share my frugal home, you shall be kindly received, and taught
to provide for yourself in due time. For Elsie, I decidedly give her up
to Miss Sherwood's care."
"Oh, uncle, we must go where Elsie is," said Margaret complainingly,
"and I don't know that I shall like Myra. She's very odd indeed."
"Very," said Mr. Haynes; "I don't know one to match her, who would
give up a home and friends like hers, to come and care for five orphan
children, three of them having no claim upon her but the one she has
found in her own kind heart."
"She says it was the religion of Jesus that made her come," said
Margaret. "And you know, uncle, that mamma didn't want us to have much
to do with her, because she thinks herself so good."
"Margaret," said Mr. Haynes almost sternly, "if it be possible for your
mother to know what is passing here now, Myra is the one person in all
the world to whom she would entrust you, and whom she would desire you
to obey and imitate. Any mistake about her is cleared up now. If you
are not happy with her, look first for any cause in yourself; and if
you cannot find it, then come to me, my house will always be open to
you. As for you, Leonard, nothing can be better for you than to share
Harry's advantages: are you content?"
Leonard did not care much about it any way; he would go with Margaret,
and when he was a man, he would take her and Elsie to live with him.
"Very well; the sooner the better," said his uncle, smiling; "and a
good education is the first step to your plan."