MOTHER AND DAUGHTER.
When she woke it was to a blaze of sunlight, but caught in the net of
her closed curtains. The night had passed and carried the tears of the
day with it. Ah, how much is done in the night when we sleep and know
nothing! Things never stop. The sun was shining as if he too had wept
and repented. All the earth beneath him was like the face of a child who
has ceased to weep and begun to smile, but has not yet wiped away his
tears.
Raindrops everywhere! millions upon millions of them! every one of them
with a sun in it? For Hester had sprung from her bed, and opened the
eyes of her room. How different was the sight from what she saw when she
looked out in Addison square! If heaven be as different from this earth,
and as much better than it, we shall be happy children--except indeed we
be but fit to stand in a corner, with our backs to the blessedness. On
each side she saw green, undulating lawn, with trees and meadows beyond;
but just in front the ground sloped rapidly, still in grass, grew steep,
and fell into the swift river--which, swollen almost to unwieldiness,
went rolling and sliding brown and heavy towards the far off sea; when
its swelling and tumult were over it would sing; now it tumbled along
with a roaring muffled in sullenness. Beyond the river the bank rose
into a wooded hill. She could see walks winding through the wood, here
appearing, there vanishing, and, a little way up the valley, the rails
of a rustic bridge that led to them. It was a paradise! For the roar of
London along Oxford street, there was the sound of the river; for the
cries of rough human voices, the soprano of birds, and the soft mellow
bass of the cattle in the meadows. The only harsh sound in this new
world was the cry of the peacock, but that had somehow got the color of
his tail in it, and was not unpleasant. The sky was a shining blue. Not
a cloud was to be seen upon it. Quietly it looked down, as if saying to
the world over which it stood vaulted, "Yes, you are welcome to it all!"
She thanked God for the country, but soon was praying to him for the
town. The neighborly offer of the country to console her for the loss of
the town she received with alarm, hastening to bethink herself that God
cared more for one miserable, selfish, wife-and-donkey-beating
costermonger of unsavory Shoreditch, than for all the hills and dales of
Cumberland, yea and all the starry things of his heavens.
She would care only as God cared, and from all this beauty gather
strength to give to sorrow.
She dressed quickly, and went to her mother's room. Her father was
already out of doors, but her mother was having breakfast in bed. They
greeted each other with such smiles as made words almost unnecessary.
"What a _lovely_ place it is, mamma! You did not say half enough
about it," exclaimed Hester.
"Wasn't it better to let you discover for yourself, my child?" answered
her mother. "You were so sorry to leave London, that I would not praise
Yrndale for fear of prejudicing you against it."
"Mother," said Hester, with something in her throat, "I did not want to
change; I was content, and had my work to do! I never was one to turn
easily to new things. And perhaps I need hardly tell you that the
conviction has been growing upon me for years and years that my calling
is among my fellow-creatures in London!"
She had never yet, even to her mother, spoken out plainly concerning the
things most occupying her heart and mind. Every one of the family,
except Saffy, found it difficult to communicate--and perhaps to Saffy it
might become so as she grew. Hester trembled as if confessing a fault.
What if to her mother the mere idea of having a calling should seem a
presumption!
"Two things must go, I think, to make up a call," said her mother,
greatly to Hester's relief. "You must not imagine, my child, that
because you have never opened your mind to me, I have not known what you
were thinking, or have left you to think alone about it. Mother and
daughter are too near not to hear each other without words. There is
between you and me a constant undercurrent of communion, and
occasionally a passing of almost definite thought, I believe. We may not
be aware of it at the time, but none the less it has its result."
"O mother!" cried Hester, overjoyed to find she thought them thus near
to each other, "I am _so_ glad! Please tell me the two things you
mean."
"To make up a _call_, I think both impulse and possibility are
wanted," replied Mrs. Raymount. "The first you know well; but have you
sufficiently considered the second? One whose impulse or desire was
continually thwarted could scarcely go on believing herself called. The
half that lies in an open door is wanting. If a call come to a man in
prison it will be by an angel who can let him out. Neither does
inclination always determine fitness. When your father was an editor, he
was astonished at the bad verse he received from some who had a genuine
delight in good verse."
"I can't believe, mamma," returned Hester, "that God gives any special
gift, particularly when accompanied by a special desire to use it, and
that for a special purpose, without intending it should be used. That
would be to mock his creature in the very act of making her."
"You must allow there are some who never find a use for their special
gifts."
"Yes; but may not that be that they have not sufficiently cultivated
their gifts, or that they have not done their best to bring them into
use? Or may they not have wanted to use them for ends of their own and
not of God's? I feel as if I must stand up against every difficulty lest
God should be disappointed in me. Surely any frustration of the ends to
which their very being points must be the person's own fault? May it not
be because they have not yielded to the calling voice that they are all
their life a prey to unsatisfied longings? They may have gone picking
and choosing, instead of obeying."
"There must be truth in what you say, Hester, but I am pretty sure it
does not reach every case. At what point would you pronounce a calling
frustrated? You think yours is to help your poor friends: you are not
with them now: is your calling frustrated? Surely there may be delay
without frustration! Or, is it for you to say when you are _ready_?
Willingness is not everything. Might not one fancy her hour come when it
was not come? May not part of the preparation for work be the mental
discipline of imagined postponements? And then, Hester--now I think I
have found my answer--you do not surely imagine such a breach in the
continuity of our existence, that our gifts and training here have
nothing to do with our life beyond the grave. All good old people will
tell you they feel this life but a beginning. Cultivating your gift, and
waiting the indubitable call, you may be in active preparation for the
work in the coming life for which God intended you when he made you."
Hester gave a great sigh. Postponement indefinite is terrible to the
young and eager.
"That is a dreary thought, mother," she said.
"Is it, my child?" returned her mother. "Painful the will of God may
be--that I well know, as who that cares anything about it does not! but
_dreary_, no! Have patience, my love. Your heart's deepest desire
must be the will of God, for he cannot have made you so that your heart
should run counter to his will; let him but have his own way with you,
and your desire he will give you. To that goes his path. He delights in
his children; so soon as they can be indulged without ruin, he will heap
upon them their desires; they are his too."
I confess I have, chiefly by compression, put the utterance both of
mother and of daughter into rather better logical form than they gave
it; but the substance of it is thus only the more correctly rendered.
Hester was astonished at the grasp and power of her mother. The child
may for many years have but little idea of the thought and life within
the form and face he knows and loves better than any; but at last the
predestined moment arrives, the two minds meet, and the child
understands the parent. Hester threw herself on her knees, and buried
her face in her mother's lap. The same moment she began to discover that
she had been proud, imagining herself more awake to duty than the rest
around her. She began, too, to understand that if God has called, he
will also open the door. She kissed her mother as she had never kissed
her before, and went to her own room.