A STRANGE KIND OF PREACHING
The afternoon Mrs. Marchant came into "Love's Hospital," Bessie was very
excited. Mrs. Marchant had previously sent word of her intended visit.
"Are you pleased your mother is coming?" whispered Nanna to Bessie as
they met on the stairs.
"Of course,--but you might as well ask a magpie if it liked black and
white feathers."
"Well, don't act like a magpie, if you can help it, there's a dear," and
Nanna patted the girl's cheek lovingly.
Nanna saw to it that it was a specially grand tea, being anxious that
their neighbour should realise they were desirous of doing her honour.
To grace the occasion still further Nanna wore her Sunday gown and black
silk apron; and Phebe, catching the contagion, put on a light coloured
cashmere dress which Nanna had presented her with, having specially
commissioned a traveller to buy it while on a visit to Paris.
Bessie did not dare to do anything extra in the way of smartening
herself up, except putting a red flower in her dress, for fear her
mother should openly chide her for her extravagance. And that would be
dreadful, if she did it before Reynolds--or--D.J.!
"Do you think there is any chance that Mrs. Marchant will think we are
trying to show off?" Phebe asked Nanna. "I should be so sorry if she
did."
"She will take it as a compliment, I am sure," replied Nanna.
The fact was Phebe was not quite at home in her new dress, though she
had a great liking for it, not only because it was Nanna's love-gift,
but also because of its restful colour. She called it her "hope dress."
It was a pale heliotrope colour, with silk flowers on it of the same
shade, and to Phebe it seemed to speak of the hopefulness and gladness
of the springtime. As a girl she had often gathered the wild crocuses in
the meadows, and her dress was of the same hue; and the gladness of her
girlhood days seemed to shine out at her from its folds. Though her
dress was always of the simplest kind, she had a great liking for dashes
of colour--not splashes. Nanna shared with her this love of colour,
going in as she did for everything that increased true cheeriness. One
of Phebe's favourite ideas was that there could not possibly be a "glum"
mealtime if a red geranium in full blossom was on the table.
Nanna presided at the tea-table; Phebe sat at the foot of the table,
with Mrs. Marchant and Jack on her left, and Bessie and Reynolds on her
right.
Both Phebe and Nanna did their best to keep up a bright conversation. At
first Bessie was very quiet, but when she did wake up all lost time was
more than atoned for; indeed, Phebe had to give her several quiet
touches under the table.
When once Bessie started she always found it difficult to "slow up."
Phebe could see that her mother was looking at her in a rather ominous
manner, and feared there might be trouble.
Reynolds happened to refer to some comical customer they had just had,
and Bessie at once began a humorous description of the whole scene.
"But, Bessie," said Phebe, "it is not kind, when you know the poor thing
cannot help her singular ways."
But it was too rich a bit of description for Bessie to let drop quickly,
and she went on waving her arms in a dramatic manner.
Just at the moment Phebe was taking a cup of tea from Mrs. Marchant,
Bessie was exclaiming, "She perfectly waltzed up to Reynolds," when, lo!
with a backward wave of her hand, she caused the cup with its contents
to fall into Phebe's lap.
[Illustration: "SHE CAUSED THE CUP, WITH ITS CONTENTS, TO FALL INTO
PHEBE'S LAP."]
In a moment there seemed a tempest in the room.
Reynolds exclaimed, "Now you've done something!"
Nanna screwed her lips up so tightly that only a little "Oh" came out.
"Oh, mummy, your French dress!" cried out young Jack.
Mrs. Marchant sprang to her feet and made a dash over the table as
though she was going to box Bessie's ears. The table, however, being too
broad she sank back into her chair, exclaiming: "There never, never was
such a provoking girl, never! You may thank your stars, young madam,
this did not happen in your own home!"
Phebe was the only quiet one in the company. She had placed the empty
cup-and-saucer on the table, and as she stood up, the tea streaming down
the front of her dress on to the floor, she said, in a calm, low voice,
"Pray, Mrs. Marchant, do not trouble about it, I can soon change my
dress," but before moving away she bent down and kissed Bessie, who was
sitting gazing fixedly at the havoc she had made. The kiss seemed to
waken her, and she exclaimed, as the tears streamed down her face, "What
shall I do? What shall I do?"
"Do!" exclaimed Mrs. Marchant--"get some more sense into your head,
that's what you should do, and drop all your wretched, nonsensical
ways."
When Phebe returned Nanna had wisely arranged that she and Mrs. Marchant
should finish their tea alone.
Mrs. Marchant's first words were: "Now I know that what our Phill said
was true."
"What was that, Mrs. Marchant?"
"That you possess something I don't. If I had had a dress like that
spoilt I should have gone into a towering passion, I know I should. But
to see you taking it all so calmly, fairly staggered me. Tell me what it
is that makes this difference between us?" Mrs. Marchant's voice was
quite eager, and she looked beseechingly into Phebe's face.
"Perhaps several things," said Phebe, after a moment's hesitation; "I
have trained myself not to get into flurries if I can help it, for they
never accomplish anything. Then I knew Bessie was grieved enough without
me adding one word more. But the chief thing is--shall I tell you?--do
you really want to know?"
"Yes, I do, for I long to be like you." There was a catch in her voice
that quite went to Phebe's heart.
"My first thought was, Jesus is here, and He would not like to see me
agitated over such a little thing."
"Jesus!"
"Yes,--Jesus."
"Oh." There was a world of meaning in that one word.
"I think the difference between us is this," said Phebe, taking Mrs.
Marchant's bony hand and gently stroking it: "I have put my life
entirely into God's hands, and knowing He rules over everything, I can
well afford to take things restfully."
"Then it is your religion that makes the difference?"
"Yes, if you like to put it that way."
"And would it make the same difference to me?"
"Of course it would."
"Well, I shall never forget the sight of your face when that tea went
over. That sight was worth all the sermons I ever heard!"
"Wouldn't Bessie be glad if she knew! I'm not a bit sorry she spilt the
tea, now. It would be worth the spoiling of all my dresses if it makes
you want--_Him!_"--the last word very softly. Her eyes were on the
silver star, but the secret of the star was too sacred to speak of.
"But," added Phebe, "you must not give me one bit of praise for keeping
calm; I should have been as mad as anybody,--_but for Him_."
"And do you think of Him as always with you?"
"Sometimes I forget, and it is then that things go wrong."
That evening Phebe found Bessie busily engaged in unpicking the skirt of
the unfortunate dress.
"I'll buy stuff to match it," exclaimed Bessie, "if I have to walk all
the way to Paris!"
"Well, my dear, you cannot do that, because of the English Channel, but
I want you to thank God you spilt that tea."
"Thank God I spilt that tea! What do you mean?"
And then Phebe told her story.
"Ah, it was not the tea, it was the blessed peace in your dear face that
did it! It's just like your dear loving ways to want to give me a share
in it! I tell you, mother is quite correct, I am the most exasperating
girl that ever was! But"--and she looked up with a tender little
smile--"I've caught a little bit of your secret to-day. As you stood up
there with the tea all trickling down your dress, I fancied I saw Jesus
just behind you! It was that which kept me from answering mother back."
"That was just splendid, Bessie, I am proud of you!"
"What, in spite of this!" holding up the stained breadth.
"Yes, in spite of that and a dozen like it! What is that worth compared
with my Bessie? And Nanna would say just the same."