can quite understand that Lily feels she owes a good deal to her. I
hope that she will one day be a star in Monica's crown. I am so glad
that they have begun to attend St. Paul's."
"Mrs. Howell and Lily were both at church twice last Sunday, mumsie, and
Mr. Howell was there in the evening. I remember noticing him, because I
did think father must have chosen his text on purpose for him, only of
course he didn't, because he couldn't possibly have known he would be
there."
And Mrs. Drury, who had vivid recollections of the intense earnestness
with which her husband had preached from Mark viii. 36, on the subject
of Eternal Profit and Loss, said, softly, as they turned in at the
Vicarage gates: "Father always asks God to give him the right text to
preach from, girlie, and _He_ knew just who would be hearing the
sermon."
Shrewd little Amethyst had been fairly correct in her rough-and-ready
epitome of the happenings of the last six months, which had certainly
left their mark on all concerned, and, in every case, for the better, to
a greater or smaller degree.
The missionary working-party prospered and increased, and, by the time
Christmas drew near, the number of members had risen to fourteen; quite
a large drawer full of "gifts" had been already neatly and carefully
made, and the Expenses Fund was almost exhausted! The committee began
to consider how it was to be replenished, and hazy ideas of "collecting"
(which they dreaded) or else having a little sale of work during the
Christmas holidays, formed in their enthusiastic minds.
But they were still only ideas, when, one Saturday afternoon, Lily
Howell, who, upon one pretext or another, had waited until all but the
quartette had gone, slipped a sealed envelope into Monica's hand, and
merely whispering: "Pa told me to give it to you," was gone before the
astonished girl could say a word.
The excitement of the committee when they found that the envelope
contained a cheque for L10, "To be used for your Chinese folks, and ask
for more when you want it," was tremendous.
"How splendid! Now we sha'n't have either to beg, borrow, or steal,"
cried Olive. "It is a good thing we let Lily come, after all."
And Monica, who remembered the opposition which she had met with upon
proposing Lily's name, could not refrain from smiling.
Those were happy days for Monica: her school life was most interesting,
and now that she bicycled into Osmington, instead of being dependent
upon the pony-trap, she enjoyed the ride to and fro immensely,
especially as either one or two of her friends accompanied her most of
the way to Carson Rise, on the days that she remained at school until
the afternoon, for music or some other extra.
Then the missionary work was a source of great pleasure to her, and her
enthusiasm was kept very keen by long letters from Robina Herschel, and
an occasional one from Miss Daverel.
Sometimes, when Monica was poring over a missionary magazine, or
exercising her ingenuity in making something fresh for the girls to copy
at the working-party, her grandmother would tease her by saying she was
"missionary mad." But Monica would only look up and smile, knowing that
in her heart of hearts the old lady was well-content that her grandchild
should seek to help forward, even in the simplest way, the spread of the
"good news," which had brought light at eventide to her own dark heart.
And every day was bringing Colonel Beauchamp nearer. Several letters
had come from him, but in none of them had he been able, definitely, to
say when he would reach England; he hoped, as he had said at first, to
spend Christmas Day at home, but it was uncertain. Monica was counting
the days, in true school-girl fashion, by marking off on a little
calendar each day at its close; and the number had steadily decreased
until very few remained to be crossed off now.
She stood before the little calendar on the bedroom wall one night,
pencil in hand, and crossed off the twenty-first of December. "Only
four more days to Christmas now, and by then, my darling dad will be
here. Oh, how I am longing to see him, and tell him everything! I have
tried to explain in my letters, but it is so difficult to write just
what one feels, and I _do_ want to feel his hand on my head once more,
just as he used to do, and hear his dear voice saying, 'God bless my
darling child.'"
Here Monica's feelings overcame her, and her eyes brimmed with tears for
a moment. But they were soon chased away, and a happy smile played
about her lips, as she began to undress, and put the various articles of
her attire neatly away. "I do hope he will think I have improved, and
that I am growing up a little bit like he wanted me to. If I am, it is
all owing to the Herschels," and Monica took up the frame containing the
pictured faces of her seaside friends, and gazed thoughtfully at them.
"Dear Robina, and--and Leslie, too; what sort of girl should I have been
by now, if God had not sent you into my life? I can never, never thank
Him enough for all His goodness to me, and so the only thing I can do is
to seek to 'walk worthy of the Lord unto all pleasing,' as my motto
says, and do what I can to get others to follow Him, too."
Monica never crossed off December the twenty-second on her little
calendar; indeed, she forgot all about it, for a telegram the next
afternoon informed them that the colonel had already left London, and in
less than a couple of hours Monica was in her father's arms.
"My darling child!"
"Dearest dad!"
What else they said was unintelligible for the next few moments, and
then Colonel Beauchamp held his daughter at arm's length, and critically
examined her.
"Shall I pass muster, daddy dear?" she asked, merrily; but there was
more behind the words than appeared on the surface.
And the proud father, noting the purposeful face, so full of expression,
and reading true nobility of character therein, held out his arms, and
Monica slipped confidingly into them, while he bent his soldierly head
and pressed a long, long kiss upon her broad white brow, murmuring, as
he did so, in tones so low as only to reach his daughter's ears: "I
think my Monica deserves the V.C., for it is evident she has fought
successfully against heavy odds, under fire of the enemy, and won a
brilliant victory."
"Oh, dad, I don't think I have," whispered the happy girl, her head on
his shoulder; "but whatever good there is about me, is all owing to my
having enlisted under the banner of Jesus Christ."
"His arm hath gotten him the victory," repeated the colonel reverently,
and Monica knew that her father understood.
*CHAPTER XXV*
*"THE CHILD HAS CHOSEN WELL."*
Our story is done. With the retirement of her son from the army, and
his return to England, and subsequent settling down at Carson Rise, Mrs.
Beauchamp's responsibility over her once troublesome granddaughter
ceased. But to those readers who have been interested in the quartette,
during a few months of their school life, a glimpse at them all, seven
years after the events recorded, will not come amiss.
Olive Franklyn, having excelled in various drawing examinations, was
fortunate in securing an exhibition which admitted her, at a nominal
fee, as student at a much-sought-after School of Art for a couple of
years upon leaving the High School. From thence, she went over to
Paris, in order to perfect herself in her particular branch of art, and
so talented are her sketches that already there seems a brilliant future
stretching out before her. She has made many friends among her fellow
students, for Olive Franklyn is not only a clever artist, but a
congenial companion as well. But in her inmost heart, she feels that no
one will ever take Monica's place. They are friends still, although for
several years they have only met occasionally; but they have very little
in common, for Olive has not yet surrendered to the King of kings,
although Monica and Elsa have faith enough to believe that she will do
so, sooner or later. She says she never intends to marry, for she is
wedded already to her art, and that suffices her.
Elsa has been able to carry out her girlish ambition, and for the last
two years has been a nurse in the children's ward of a large London
hospital. Her heart, brimming over with love for the pitiful specimens
of humanity entrusted to her care, has found an outlet in tending the
little ones, for as each newcomer arrives she seems to hear the Divine
commission, "Take this child, and nurse it _for Me_." She is beloved by
all the staff for her gentle, helpful ways, and her influence over the
little inmates of the cots in her ward is marvellous. Seldom indeed
does a child remain refractory after Nurse Franklyn has spoken a few
words to it, in her soft girlish tones; and the Sister persists in
saying that even the tiniest baby knows when it is in her arms, and
leaves off crying instantly! But it was not merely for the sake of
helping to alleviate pain that Elsa made choice of hospital nursing as a
profession. That is a noble work; but it is a nobler still when the sad
and suffering hearts of even little children are pointed to the tender
Shepherd who said: "Suffer the little children to come unto Me." And
that was Elsa's aim in all her work, and many were the young lives won
for her Master in that large children's ward. She is hoping, some day,
to become Sister of her ward if all goes well, and not one of her
fellow-nurses would grudge her the honour; but the Rev. Marcus Drury,
senior curate of Monkrigg, has other views for her, and, possibly, when
he obtains a living, Nurse Franklyn will be persuaded to say "good-bye"
to her bairnies; and if so, there will be much wailing and many regrets.
Amethyst Drury has not developed into a "platform woman" yet; but one
cannot tell what the future has in store for her, as she has only lately
celebrated her twenty-first birthday. She has improved wonderfully
since her school-days, and is her mother's right hand in the parish,
while Miss Drury's Bible Class for girls just too old for Sunday School,
but not yet "young women," is remarkably well-attended. She has a very
pretty, clear soprano voice, and is much in request at various choral
classes and concerts, and in that way has commenced platform work. And
as Amethyst long ago, in the words of Miss Havergal's hymn had said,
Take my voice, and let me sing
Always, only, for my King,
her mother and father feel that she is speaking for Him, in words of
sacred song, just as clearly, and sometimes far more tellingly, than she
could ever hope to do as a lecturer.
The Drurys are still at Osmington, and Amethyst carries on the
missionary working party begun so many years ago in the old playroom.
Not one of the original members is still on the spot except her, but the
younger sisters of some of those girls have taken their places, Joan
Franklyn, who will soon be leaving school, being the oldest member. A
very special interest is attached to the work this year, for it is all
destined for the mission station in China, where Lily Howell has been
working with an older missionary (none other than Hope Daverel herself!)
for some few months. Little did any of the quartette dream, when two of
them so reluctantly admitted her to their working-party, that she would
become their "first-fruits." But it seems that Monica's disinterested
action on Lily's behalf, and subsequent Christlike life, influenced the
girl who was keenly criticising all her actions, with the result that
she became an earnest Christian, while a great desire took root in her
heart to go to the poor Chinese and tell them of the Saviour she had
found. At first, her father was unwilling, and Lily felt she would have
to give up her cherished desire; but eventually all hindrances were
removed, and after training she went out as an honorary missionary to
inland China.
But what of Monica? Well, Monica Beauchamp is Monica Herschel now, and
so, at last, she has a sister of her own in Robina, whom she dearly
loves. Life has not been all unclouded sunshine to Monica, for, soon
after her engagement to Leslie Herschel, who was home on furlough, he
became seriously ill with African fever, and for days his life hung in
the balance. But God was with her through it all, and her faith, which
never wavered, was eventually rewarded by the giving back to her of the
one whom she had always enshrined in her heart, as her ideal, because it
was he who had been the means of her salvation.
Leslie's serious illness put an end to their hopes of working side by
side for Christ in the Soudan, for the time being, at any rate; but they
still look forward to it, in the future, if God so wills it. Meanwhile,
they are very happy in their work for Him at West Port, a large
seafaring town, where Leslie is acting as curate-in-charge for an
elderly and infirm vicar. The work is arduous, for the fisher-folk at
West Port are hardly less heathen than the natives of Africa, but the
seed is being faithfully sown there, and already a harvest of precious
souls is being reaped.
"Parson's lady" is a great favourite among the women, to whom Monica
devotes all her energies, and not a few among them will one day "rise up
and call her blessed," for from her lips and life they have learnt the
way into the Kingdom.
Perhaps the daily teaching, and oftentimes tending, of these poor
ignorant fisherwomen, was not just the career that Colonel Beauchamp
would have chosen for his handsome daughter; and when he gave his
consent to her marriage with Leslie Herschel such a future for her was
an undreamt-of thing.
But who could resist her pleading tones and soft caress, when, with
cheeks like damask roses, she whispered, "Oh, dad, I love him! I think
I always have, since the old Sandyshore days. There never _could_ be
any one but Leslie for me, and he says just the same!" So her fond
father, remembering the sadness of his own short married life, confessed
that he was conquered.
"She might have married anybody, with her face and fortune," demurred
Mrs. Beauchamp, who was very little altered, outwardly, despite her
seventy-six years; "but she always would have her own way."
"Well, I must say I think the child has chosen well," said the colonel.
"Leslie is a man in a thousand, and worthy even of our dearest Monica."
"Perhaps, as he was the means of my losing the troublesome part of my
granddaughter seven years ago, he has the best right to have her
altogether," murmured the old lady, more to herself than to her son, and
she fell into a reverie, and lived over again the days that are no more.
THE END.
_Printed by Hazell, Watson & Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury._