“He maketh the storm a calm, so that the waters thereof are still.”
About two years after little Bessie’s death, Daisy, whose health had
been failing very much during the summer months, was ordered to go away
for some time to a drier and milder place; and as Mrs. Morley had a
sister, the wife of a farmer, living at a little village on the south
coast, it was arranged that she should spend the winter with her.
Little Lizzie was to go too, partly as a companion for Daisy, and also
because she was far from strong herself; for though in better health
than when she and her sister were received into the Morleys’ home, she
had never thoroughly recovered from the effects of early neglect and
exposure to all weathers. She and Polly had continued to go to the
little school which had been the means, through God’s blessing, of
rescuing them from their life of misery. Their love and gratitude to
the kind friends who had taken them into their home had from the first
been most touching, and amply repaid Mr. Morley and his wife for the
disinterested kindness and tender pity with which they had received
into their home, and treated as their own children, the friendless
little ones, who had no other claim upon them than their misery and
wretchedness.
There were many regrets in the Morleys’ home when the time came for
Daisy and Lizzie to set off on their long journey; for all knew how
sadly Daisy would be missed from her accustomed corner, and little
Lizzie was a general favourite. Mr. Morley went with them the greater
part of the way, and saw them safely into the coach which was to carry
them the last twenty miles.
Daisy bore the journey better than could have been expected; and both
Lizzie and she met with a kindly welcome from the good old farmer and
his wife, who had no children of their own, and were well pleased at
the thought of having some young faces about them. The old-fashioned
farmhouse, nestling down in a sheltered nook, with the hills rising
behind it, was the picture of comfort and peace both within and without.
Early the next morning, as they looked out from the windows of the
snug sitting-room, the quiet beauty of the scene which lay before them
filled both the children with wonder and delight. The farm stood at the
head of a valley well wooded with fir-trees, and opening down on to the
bay; a little stream ran gurgling down its rocky bed only a few yards
from the garden gate, while the cliff itself, down which a winding-path
led to the shore, was covered with creepers and ivy, and rich in every
kind of foliage. The trees were still in the beauty of their autumn
tints, and to Daisy, whose eyes never saw a tree from one year’s end to
another, it seemed a perfect paradise.
But the crowning delight to both the children was the wide sea, which
bounded the view, and which stretched away to right and left, as far as
eye could reach. As they looked out on it for the first time in their
lives, it seemed to them more wondrous and beautiful than anything they
had ever imagined. Here and there in the far distance they could see
the sails of some ships bound for a far-off land, the rising sun just
tipping them with gold; or nearer home, down in the bay below, the
little fishing-boats returning home after the night’s toil. They were
never tired of gazing on the sea with its ever-changing beauty, and the
kind-hearted old farmer would often drive the children in his gig down
to the shore, and leave them there with their books and work for hours
together. Mrs. Morris contrived an easy folding couch for Daisy, which
was carried down without trouble, and on which she was able to rest,
and enjoy the view without fatigue.
[Illustration]
The soft, mild air, with the invigorating sea-breezes, soon brought
returning strength to her and little Lizzie, and the quiet peaceful
life in the old farmhouse was a time of rest and enjoyment long
remembered by them both. The bright mornings were generally spent on
the shore; and in the afternoon, while Daisy rested in the pleasant
bay-window of the parlour, little Lizzie often went with Mrs. Morris
on some mission of love to one or other of the fishermen’s or
farm-labourers’ cottages scattered over the valley.
Sometimes, as a great treat, the child was allowed to go by herself,
to carry a basket of eggs or a pat of home-made butter, with some tea
and sugar, to an aged man and his wife, formerly employed on the farm,
but who were now past work, and lived in a lonely cottage half-way down
the cliff. The little girl was always welcome to the good old couple,
and many a happy half-hour she spent with them, sometimes reading to
them as they sat in the chimney-corner out of the large Bible, which
always lay open on the table; sometimes sitting on a little stool
at their feet, and listening to them as they talked of the days long
gone by, when children’s feet had trodden their cottage-floor, and
another little girl had occupied the same stool Lizzie was sitting on.
Sometimes they would go over the old story, and tell her how, one by
one, all those children had been taken from them, in infancy or early
childhood, and had been laid side by side to rest, in a quiet corner of
the little churchyard under the hill; but how they knew and rejoiced to
think that all were safely gathered into the blessed home to which day
by day they were drawing nearer themselves.
One day, when the wind was rising and the sea very rough, the old man
told Lizzie to watch the fishing-boats coming into the bay, and then
said:
“You see those little storm-tossed boats, my lassie, making for the
harbour; they’ve had a rough time of it, and I’ll venture to say,
there isn’t a man in them who won’t be glad to set his foot on shore.
It’s a rocky coast this, and many’s the brave ship I’ve known in my
time wrecked off the rocks yonder, let alone the little cockleshells
of fishing-boats. Ah, my child, it’s just a picture of our life. We’re
all launched on a stormy sea; and, though some have a smoother passage
than others, I believe there are waves and storms for all. Happy for
those that have with them in the ship the one Pilot that can bring them
safely through all storms, into the quiet haven.”
The child looked up earnestly into the man’s face as he spoke, and then
said: “Daisy says she thinks the haven must be all the more welcome
when the boats have had a rough passage.”
“Ay, and Daisy’s right too, my child; the storms and danger make the
rest and peaceful shelter seem all the sweeter; and heaven will seem
all the more welcome when the voyage has been full of storms.”
The old man murmured softly to himself, “Then are they glad because
they be quiet; so He bringeth them unto their desired haven.”
The wind now began suddenly to increase in violence; and fearing to
detain the child any longer, the old man desired her to hurry home at
once, going with her himself to the top of the zigzag path which led up
the cliff, and watching till he saw her little form disappear through
the gate leading to the farm.
[Illustration]