A TALK WITH AUNT JUDITH.
It was evening; the daily routine of work was over, and the time come
for resting and social enjoyment. The ruby curtains were closely drawn
in the cosy parlour at Dingle Cottage; the flames leapt and danced in
the polished grate, and the soft lamplight fell with mellowing gleam
around. Click, click, went Aunt Debby's needles as she sat by the warm
glow, knitting industriously; tick, tick, said the little clock, its
pendulum swinging steadily to and fro. The cat purred in sleepy
content on the rug; and Aunt Judith's gentle voice fell soothingly on
the ear as she read some book aloud from her low seat by Aunt Meg's
couch.
Nellie, curled up in the rocking-chair opposite Aunt Debby, rocked
herself in lazy comfort, and gazed on her invalid relative with rather
a doubtful expression of countenance. Her first impression of Miss
Margaret was certainly not favourable; for the girl, though not very
keen-sighted, saw how the pale pretty face was marred by lines of
peevish discontent, and the brow continually puckered in a fretful
frown. She was not old, Nellie decided--not much over thirty, at the
very most; but oh, how unlike Aunt Judith! What a contrast there was
betwixt that listless, languid form on the sofa, and the quiet figure
on the low chair near! Nellie turned with a positive sigh of relief to
rest her eyes on Miss Latimer's peaceful countenance and wonder at the
marvellous calm that always brooded there.
Every now and then some frivolous demand or complaint would come from
the invalid--her pillows required shaking; the fire was too warm; the
lamplight not sufficiently shaded; what a noise Aunt Debby's pins were
making, and could Aunt Judith not read in a lower tone? Nellie was
surprised at Miss Latimer's good-humoured patience, and thoroughly
enjoyed Miss Deborah's occasional tart remarks, thrown out in sheer
desperation.
"Well, Meg, you would provoke the temper of a saint," she cried,
twitching her wool so violently that the thread snapped, and the ball
rolled under the table; "there you go grumbling from morning till
night, in spite of every endeavour to make you comfortable. Your
nurses have a hard time, I assure you, and are to be pitied sincerely."
Miss Margaret's eyes filled, and a flood of tears being imminent, Miss
Latimer strove to avert the torrent by saying, "Come, come, Debby; that
is strong language to use. You and I great healthy creatures do not
know what it is to be confined to a couch day after day, and suffer
almost constant pain. I should feel it very hard to be unable to go
about and walk in God's beautiful sunshine, and I think one cannot be
sufficiently tender and patient towards the sick and helpless."
"Mental pain is harder to bear than physical," quoth practical Miss
Deborah, in no way convinced of her harshness by the gentle speech.
"If one were to have one's choice, I reckon," with strong Yankeeism, "a
headache would be chosen in preference to a heartache," and Aunt Debby
nodded her head knowingly.
A white, set look crossed Aunt Judith's face, and a shadow crept into
the dark eyes; but they were gone in a moment, and Miss Latimer's lips
wore their own sweet smile as she replied, "God grant you may
experience little of either, Debby; but if you do, trust me you will
find that both bring the richest blessings in their train;" and Aunt
Judith's patient face shone with a glad light as she spoke.
"Meg has failed to seize her blessings, then," said Miss Deborah
composedly. "No, no, Judith, you are a good woman, but you won't
convince me that Margaret is justified in whining and grumbling to the
extent she does."
"I need never look for sympathy from you, Debby," broke in the invalid
with a low sob; "you are very hard-hearted, but the day will come when
all those cruel speeches will rise up and condemn you."
"When?" with provoking gravity.
"When I am no longer here" (low sobs), "and the cold earth hides me for
ever from your sight."
"So let it be," retaliated Miss Deborah, coolly proceeding to turn the
heel of her stocking, and speaking quite placidly. "I shall remember
the amount of exasperation I received when that day comes, and be able
to meet the condemnation with becoming fortitude."
"Debby, Debby," said Miss Latimer's voice reprovingly; but the warning
came too late. A violent fit of hysterics ensued, and Miss Margaret
was borne to her room by the much-enduring sisters, whose services were
both required to quell the outburst and settle her comfortably for the
night.
Nellie, left alone in the snug parlour, drew her chair closer to the
fire, and lifting the cat from its cosy bed on the rug, allowed it to
curl up comfortably on her lap. "What a fuss," said the girl,
shrugging her shoulders and gazing into the bright, glowing fire. "If
I were Aunt Meg, I should be positively ashamed of myself--peevish,
cross thing that she is. What a contrast to Aunt Judith;" and here
Nellie fell into a fit of musing, which lasted till Miss Deborah came
in with the cloth for supper.
"How is Aunt Meg now?" she inquired, watching Aunt Debby bustling about
on hospitable thoughts intent. "Is she better?"
"Well, yes," was the reply, given with a little twinkle of the eye;
"and a good night's rest will work wonders. You must excuse your aunt
this evening, Nellie; she is not always so fretful, and an invalid's
life has its hard times."
Miss Deborah spoke earnestly, for although she felt justified in saying
a sharp word herself, she could ill brook the idea of any one
disparaging or thinking lightly of her invalid sister. Nellie gave a
slight nod of assent, which seemed to signify approval of Aunt Debby's
words. Nevertheless she retained her own opinion, and mentally
condemned poor Miss Margaret as being both weak and silly.
Supper over, Miss Deborah retired to the kitchen, where her reign as
queen was undisputed, and Miss Latimer, bidding Nellie bring a small
stool and sit down at her feet, began to stroke the soft hair gently,
and ask questions as to the day's proceedings.
"Tell me your first impressions, dear child," said the kind voice
pleasantly; and the young girl, whose heart still ached at the
remembrance of Ada Irvine's stinging words, poured forth the whole
story with a force and passion which astonished even herself.
Aunt Judith listened quietly--so quietly, indeed, that Nellie felt half
ashamed of her vehemence, and imagined she had been making "much ado
about nothing;" but in a few minutes Miss Latimer spoke, and her tones
were very tender as she said:--"So my little Nellie has learned that
school is not the sunny place she fancied it was. Dear child, I think
your new friend gave you very good advice. Don't be a coward, Nellie,
and allow your happiness to be marred by the insolent tongue of a
spoilt girl. Show her a true lady is characterized, not by outward
dress and appearance, but by the innate beauty of heart and soul, and
leave your quiet endurance and pleasant courtesy to speak for
themselves. Dear, it seems to me as if you were just beginning life
now--as if you had but newly entered the lists, and were preparing for
that battle which we have all to fight in this world. The warfare is
seldom, if ever, an easy one, and the little stings of everyday life
are harder to bear than many a heavy trial; but you must determine to
be a brave, true soldier, Nellie, and make your life a grand, noble
one. You may say to me it is easy to speak, but difficult to act,
which I readily grant; but, my child, although the acting may seem
almost impossible, we have one Friend ever able and willing to help us.
If we choose Him in all sincerity of heart for our Captain, we need not
fear to engage in the very thick of the fight."
Aunt Judith paused; and Nellie, seizing the gentle hand which was
stroking her head with tender touch, said, "You make me think of my
father, auntie; he speaks so often to us just as you are doing now.
Every Sabbath evening, when the little ones are in bed, he gathers us
round him; and after reading a portion of the Bible, he closes the book
and talks in the same way. Oh, I feel so strong and brave while I
listen--I feel as if I could face the heaviest sorrow with all courage;
but when Monday comes my good resolutions vanish, and I find myself
yielding and sinning as before."
The girl gazed straight at her aunt as she spoke, fearing to see a look
of disapprobation over her weakness; but Miss Latimer's face was as
calm as ever, only the eyes seemed softer and full of such a tender,
loving light as she replied,--
"We have most of us the same story to tell, child,--a story of bravery
so long as the battle is far off, but of cowardly shrinking when the
time for hand-to-hand conflict comes. Whilst the sunshine is all
around us and our hearts full of great gladness, we look up and thank
the good Father for his precious blessings, feeling nerved for the
fiercest fight; but when the storm-clouds gather and the golden
brightness is withdrawn, we bow before the blinding tempest and writhe
under our pain, unless--and the kind voice spoke very softly--the
Master has our hearts in his own safe keeping, unless we have learned
to love his will. Then we can discern the bright stars of his love
shining through the darkness, and find that the apparently pitiless
storm has left diamond drops of blessing behind it. Never despair,
Nellie; strive and pray for grace to follow in the Master's footsteps,
and you will learn what a grand, noble thing the consecrated life is,
and how truly worth living. You know those lines of Kingsley's, do you
not?--
'Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever;
_Do_ noble things, not _dream_ them all day long;
And so make life, death, and the vast forever,
One grand sweet song.'"
There was a long silence after this, during which Nellie thought
deeply, and Aunt Judith lay back in her chair with quietly-folded hands
and a far-seeing look in her patient eyes. Then the girl said
earnestly, "Aunt Judith, I will try very hard to do my best, I will
indeed; and oh, may I come to you when things go wrong, and I can't or
won't see the right way? It does me good to have a talk with you, and
takes half the home-sickness away. Say yes; please do, dear, dear,
dear auntie;" and Nellie's voice sounded very earnest.
"I shall be only too glad, my child," replied Miss Latimer with her
rare sweet smile. "Treat me as you would your own mother, dear, and
let me help you so far as I am able; only, Nellie, don't depend on your
own strength or my aid, but go straight to the Fountain-head, and find
the never-failing strength and grace for the needs of every day."
"Thank you, Aunt Judith," was the fervent response; then Aunt Debby
entered, and the conversation ceased.
Bedtime came. Nellie retired for the night; Miss Deborah 'followed
suit;' and Miss Latimer, extinguishing the light, crossed the tiny
hall, and opening a door to the left, entered, and closed it softly
behind her.
This, her private sanctum, was like the other apartments--small and
plainly furnished, but with the same air of neatness and comfort. A
book-case lined one side of the room entirely; a small round table
stood close to the window, bright with autumn flowers; a larger one in
the centre of the room held a desk, and was strown with papers,
magazines, etc.; while soft chairs inviting one to luxurious ease faced
the ruddy hearth, and various little nick-nacks scattered here and
there showed the graceful touch of a woman's hand.
Going to the centre table, Aunt Judith seated herself before the open
desk, looked over several closely-written sheets of manuscript, and
then furnishing herself with fresh paper, began to write rapidly.
The fire burned slowly out, and the midnight hour had long sounded ere
Miss Latimer dried her pen and laid aside her work with a tired sigh.
Crossing to the window, she raised the blind, and leaning against the
casement, looked away up at the quiet night sky. There was no moon;
but the happy stars, shining with frosty brightness, kept their silent
watch over the sleeping world. Oh, how still, how very hushed it was!
what a great infinite peace seemed brooding over all--a peace such as
millions of weary souls were longing to possess; not a sound to be
heard, not a ripple of unrest--only that wondrous calm. For a long
time Miss Latimer stood drinking in the sweetness and beauty of the
nature-world, and letting her thoughts soar up, upwards to the great
Father of all, who neither slumbers nor sleeps. What those thoughts
were we do not know; but surely some of that vast peace must have
stolen softly, silently, into her patient heart, for when she turned
away and entered a tiny bedroom leading off from her sanctum, Aunt
Judith's face seemed as it were the face of an angel.