PLANS.
IT was difficult to turn from the remembrance of Christina's great
sorrow, besides which Nellie had her own private distress and anxiety
to bear up against and hide as well as she might. At last she managed
to rally herself sufficiently to ask Christina further of her project,
and how she thought of beginning it.
"Yes, and you must advise me," said Christina.
"I am afraid I do not know enough; mamma would help you so much better
than I."
"But then, you see, she is not here."
"She is not very far," answered Nellie, smiling; "and, do you know,
Christina, I should very much like my sister Ada to hear about it;
that is if you do not mind; she is such a bright girl, and would be so
interested, and might perhaps do something to help you."
"Do you think she could? What sort of help do you mean?"
"If you carry out your idea, you will want plenty of little clothes,
for instance."
"Clothes! So I shall; I really think, Nellie, I had only thought
about loving them and teaching them. Look here! Should you consider
me dreadfully unpolite if we went up to consult your mamma after tea,
instead of sitting here?"
"I should like it very much indeed; but your aunt?"
"She will not mind; and I do not wish to say anything till I have my
ideas a little more in shape. Fancy my having forgotten clothes!"
Nellie laughed pleasantly; and as the maid entered at the moment with
the tea, she turned her attention to Lion, who lay with his foot bound
up, looking rather miserable.
"Poor Lion!" she said, stroking his head.
Lion did not condescend to accept her caress, but looked lazily towards
his mistress, who was busy cutting the cake.
"Lion is quite a hero," said she; "he saved a man's life once."
"Did he indeed?"
"It was at Boulogne. There was a wreck, and a good many of the sailors
had been picked up; but Lion saw one floating out to sea, and plunging
in, swam towards him, and dragged him by his hair safely to land."
"How glad you must have been!"
Lion lay looking at them, wagging his tail. He knew he was being talked
about, and had heard the story before.
"Glad? The joy was overpowering. I felt almost as glad as I did that
day when little Tom told me he had come to Jesus."
"Yes," said Nellie earnestly; "it has been such a great blessing. Dear
little Tom has been so different since."
"I felt sure he would."
"He is so much more patient, and bears his sad trial in quite a
different way. He does not say much, you know, but his face looks
altered."
"I have thought so too."
"Dear little Tom!" said Nellie. "You do not know how we all love him
and pity him."
"Will he ever be strong again?" said Christina kindly. "I have not
liked to ask your mamma."
"Papa does not think he will; he does not improve in health as we could
wish; but I am sure mamma's greatest burden is relieved now."
Miss Arbuthnot and the teapot both came in at this moment, and the
conversation turned to other subjects. After tea, Christina said she
should walk home with Nellie.
"So early?" asked her aunt.
"Yes; I have a few things to speak to Mrs. Arundel about that I will
explain to you, dear aunt, to-morrow; so we are going now."
When they entered the passage at the farm, Mrs. Arundel was just coming
down from little Tom. She seemed surprised to see them, and noticed
directly that Nellie looked pale and tired.
"Is anything the matter?" she asked.
"Nothing," said Christina cheerfully; "and you will wonder to see us;
but we want to have a little talk with you. Is Ada in?"
"Yes; just sitting down to mend her stockings," said Mrs. Arundel,
smiling slightly.
They found Ada seated in the bay window, looking rather sulky. She was
watching Arthur, who, across in the orchard, was having a fine swing.
"How early you are!" she said, rather ungraciously. "I thought Arthur
and I were to come and meet you?"
"So we intended; but we have something so interesting to tell you, that
we came up instead," said Nellie.
Mrs. Arundel drew out her work, and Nellie fetched hers, and then they
all sat down comfortably—except that Ada did not look comfortable, and
turned her back upon them.
"Now, Christina," said Nellie, by way of prelude.
Christina coloured. "It seems very formidable to tell you straight
out like this; and I am afraid too, that what Nellie and I have been
looking at with rose-coloured spectacles may seem to you absurd and
impossible," she faltered.
"Let me hear what it is," said Mrs. Arundel.
Still Christina hesitated. At last she said, looking down and speaking
softly, "You know that I am alone in the world, and dreadfully want
something to do. Nellie lent me a paper the other day, in which it
spoke of women who are circumstanced as I am; and it advised them to
fill their homes and their empty hearts with little sad and forlorn
children; and then I felt as if that paragraph had been written
specially to suit me. It seemed to give me hope and joy at once; to
propose to me a work which I feel myself suited for, something I can do
for my God."
"It would be very nice indeed; but have you thought over all the
difficulties it involves?" asked Mrs. Arundel.
"I do not know about all; but I have thought of some of them. I think
perhaps I could find a house somewhere with a garden, and there we
would settle ourselves, my aunt and I, and gather round us two or three
little ones at first. Then I should see how I got on before I sought
any more."
"But supposing you got tired of it, dear Christina, or sickness came,
or you changed your plans? I do not want to object; only to suggest the
things that probably might arise."
"Oh, yes! Please do; it must not be hastily entered into. I have
thought about it a great deal for the last few days, though I did
forget the clothes."
"Clothes?" questioned Mrs. Arundel.
"I forgot they would wear out those they came in," said Christina with
a little laugh; "but Nellie soon brought me up."
"I told her that we could help her in that, Ada," said Nellie, looking
towards the window.
"If I have time," said Ada rather reluctantly.
Christina raised her eyes a little surprised; and Ada got up and
hastily left the room. She flew to her bedroom, locked the door, and
then threw herself across the bottom of her bed.
"How horrid I am with my wretched temper," she moaned. "Here they are
talking over what I should delight to help in, and I must needs sit
like a stone, and never give a word; and Christina will think I do not
care about it at all."
Hot tears forced themselves down her cheeks, and fell heavily on the
counterpane.
"I hate myself," she went on, angrily kicking her foot about; "but it
was all those stockings. Mamma knows I hate mending above everything
else; and do abominate to sit in all the evening doing horrid work.
Certainly mamma did wish me to do them this afternoon; but I did not
wish to, and so there it is. Now I want to go down; they will be
talking all the nice things while I am away, and arranging everything,
and my temper will have lost it all. I don't know how to get over my
temper, I'm sure. It always overcomes me, and always will."
Then, as she lay still, somehow the thought came over her of that
evening before they came to South Bay, and of Nellie's words as she sat
so quietly reading her Bible:
"'I can do all things through Christ, which strengtheneth me.'"
Ada's eyes filled again with softer tears. "How patient Nellie was that
day! Was that Christ's strength? It must have been. Perhaps, if I were
to ask—"
She slipped on to her knees by her bedside, and after a minute or two
she said, in a broken voice—
"Lord Jesus Christ, I am so weak and so wrong, and I do not know how to
get on alone; but, oh, forgive me! Give me of Thy strength, and help me
to overcome!"
It was Ada's first real prayer, and she rose from her knees a new
creature. Yes, a new creature in Christ Jesus. It was very simple, so
simple that she was astonished; but she had found out that she was a
helpless sinner, and Jesus a mighty Saviour. There only wanted the
link between these two truths, and that link was, that she was willing
to take Him for her Saviour. And she did; she knew it distinctly;
and, with a happiness never before experienced, after a few moments'
silence, she unlocked her door and went downstairs. When she re-entered
the dining room, Arthur had joined them, and was sitting with his arms
on the table, looking very interested.
Ada went up to Christina and gave her a soft little kiss, saying
humbly, "I should very much like to help you, if you would let me."
Christina glanced at her, pressed her hand, and said, "Thank you, dear
Ada; there will be plenty to do."
"We were saying," said Nellie, "that it would be difficult to love the
dirty, disagreeable children as well as the nice and clean ones."
"I suppose," said Arthur bluntly, "you will not leave them dirty,
however disagreeable they may be."
"Of course not," said Christina; "I believe a bath is the first duty."
"And I think you will find," said Mrs. Arundel, "that when you have had
them a little while, you will get to love them in spite of their being
tiresome. Like I do mine," she said, smiling.
"Oh, that's different!" said Arthur.
"No, I do not suppose it is, very, if Christina has the motherly heart
in her; and she would not have thought of this plan, if she had not."
"All right," said Arthur, "I give in."
"But who are you going to have?" asked Ada; then turning to her mamma
quickly, "Do you think, mamma, that Mrs. Ross—"
"What, Alfy?" said her mother.
"Yes. Do you not remember how she said she was too old to mind him? And
only yesterday I heard her say to Mary, 'I shall have to send him to
school, a little plague, that I shall.'"
"It might be the very thing; what do you think, Christina?"
At this opportune moment the door opened, and the chubby little urchin
himself trotted in.
"Where's 'dranny?" he asked, without further ceremony.
"I do not know, Alfy," answered Mrs. Arundel. "Come here, dear."
"I shan't! I want 'dranny. 'Dranny p'omised me a bit of sudar if I was
dood; and me am dood, so where's the sudar?"
They all laughed, and Mrs. Arundel went to the cupboard and gave him a
piece.
"Perhaps granny's busy," she said; "so stop here, Alfy."
"I'm doeing to!" said Alfy, putting the piece in all at once.
"What have you been doing to-day?" asked Christina, bending forward and
holding out her hand.
"P'aying in 'darden. 'Dranny says I naughty 'cos I dirty my pinner!"
"Well, it is dirty, Alfy," said Nellie; "but granny won't mind, if you
are obedient."
He stared at her. "Me doe now," he said, and was off to the door and
out before they could persuade him further. After which they heard him
shouting— "Dranny, me dood! Me want my sudar!"
"When you are established," said Arthur condescendingly, "I will come
and visit you, and inspect your arrangements."
"Thank you," answered Christina, making a little bow to him; "I shall
be very happy to see you."
"But now, seriously, Christina," said Mrs. Arundel, "supposing you have
your little ones ill, shall you want to give it up directly?"
"I do not think so; I shall have to bear it, and nurse them. One cannot
expect to go through life without illness and trouble."
"No; and when they come to us in our own family we do not exactly want
to run from it; but I fancy it makes a difference if it seems a thing
we have gone into, as it were, of our own accord."
Christina looked a little puzzled. "Perhaps," she said; "but, dear Mrs.
Arundel, do tell me, am I presumptuous to undertake it at all? Do you
think (and that, after all, is the whole question), do you think it is
God's call to me, or is it all for my own satisfaction?"
There was a pause; Nellie looked up anxiously, and Ada and Arthur
almost exclaimed.
At last Mrs. Arundel said very gently, "You should know yourself, dear
Christina; what was your first thought of all about it?"
"The homeless workhouse children! Then that I might be able, like that
lady, to give my life to them to bring them up for Jesus, instead of
their growing up wicked. Yes; that was what I thought first."
"Then it was, 'Suffer the little children to come unto Me, and forbid
them not: for of such is the kingdom of heaven?'"
"I think it was," said Christina humbly; "but since then, the thought
has become so very delightful."
"Yes, indeed," said Mrs. Arundel; and there was a hearty ring in her
voice that pleased the young, eager listeners very much.
"But you will not want any help that I can see," said Ada grudgingly.
"She will, indeed," said Mrs. Arundel; "more than she guesses now. Will
your aunt agree, dear?"
"I have still to ask her; and if she should strongly object—" Christina
paused, and then finished her sentence gravely: "I suppose I should
have to give it up for the time, as my dear father wished me to make
her a home for a few years."
"Oh, I hope she will not!" said Ada.
"I hope not either. What should you do, Mrs. Arundel, if she does
object at first?"
"I should try to wait, and I should pray. If it really is the path your
heavenly Father has marked out for you, He will bring it all to pass."
There was a pause. The room had grown dark, and they had long since put
down their work.
"Yes," exclaimed Christina in joyful faith, "He will! If it is His
path, He will bring it to pass. I will be content to wait."
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