_SUBMISSION._
THE morning sun streamed into Pollie's room, and her eyes opened to it
with a sense of relief. But soon came back the dull ache of yesterday's
wrong feelings, and she wondered if to-day could possibly be as unhappy
as that had been.
She heard her father moving about in the kitchen, and in another
moment, he put his head in at the door.
"Get up now, Pollie, and light the fire, while I go to see to the mill.
Your mother's a bit better, I hope, to-day."
He went, and Pollie hastened to dress herself. She lighted the fire,
filled the kettle at the well, and then set the breakfast; after which
she called James, and then when her father came in, she asked if she
might take up her mother's breakfast.
Her father hesitated, glanced at her intently, and then gave her
permission.
So Pollie poured out the tea, and slowly began to mount the stairs.
Here was her chance, but though she had assured herself last night that
she had had none, when it came she was not ready to take it.
She entered her mother's room, and crept across to her side.
"I am sorry you are ill, mother," she said gently. "I hope you feel
better now."
Her mother looked pale and quiet, but answered pretty cheerfully that
she did feel better, and should get up after breakfast.
And Pollie, having deposited the little tray, had nothing further to
do, and came down again.
Yes, she had missed her chance! It would be infinitely harder to meet
her mother next time, and have to say it then. How could she have been
so stupid, she thought, not to have done it when she might?
"You can go down to the village after breakfast with those eggs,"
remarked her father, as they sat together. "There's more than we can
eat, and it's a pity to let them spoil."
"The first thing?" asked Pollie, with beating heart. Then she should
perhaps see Miss Loveday, and have to tell her that she had broken her
promise.
"Yes, directly; because if your Uncle Brown is going to sell them, he
will want them early."
So she started at once with her basket of rich brown and white
treasures, and soon her quick steps brought her to the bottom of the
hill, and in front of the church where her Uncle Brown's shop stood.
She handed them across the counter with only the number named, and then
running out of the shop, looked up the street to the vicarage, where
her darling Miss Loveday lived.
Yes, there she was, standing at the gate waiting for the postman, and
Pollie came quite close before the quiet eyes turned in her direction.
"Oh, Miss Loveday!" she exclaimed. "I've never done what I promised! I
said I would tell mother, and I haven't."
Miss Loveday looked down in her face inquiringly.
"I couldn't; I did not see her last night, and then this morning I did
not feel as if I could. Miss Loveday, why is it so hard to do things?"
"Then I am afraid, Pollie dear, you did not ask the Lord Jesus to do
for you what you were not willing to do yourself?"
Pollie hung her head. "I was so vexed I did not care to—"
"Poor little girlie," said her teacher, with tender sympathy, "I know
how hard it must be. I have gone through it myself lately, so I know.
But oh, Pollie, I know one thing too, and that is, that the Lord works
in us by His Spirit to do the things to please Him, which otherwise we
could not do. With God 'nothing' is impossible."
How earnestly she gazed down the road! And what a colour flashed into
her face as the postman came in view, and trudged into one cottage
garden after another.
Pollie stood spell-bound, watching him too. Would he pause at Miss
Loveday's side, and hand her a precious missive? Why had her pale
cheeks turned to deep crimson? Was the letter she was expecting of such
great importance?
No! He came up quickly to where they stood, and with a smiling "None
for you, miss," passed on.
The crimson cheeks were pale now. Miss Loveday seemed as if all life
and hope had gone out of her face.
"Come into the garden, Pollie," said her teacher slowly.
Perhaps she craved human sympathy; perhaps she thought that Pollie's
own struggling little experience would help her to understand better
than anyone at the parsonage.
They walked quickly through the garden, and Miss Loveday led the way
down to the stream which flowed so quietly at the bottom of the hill;
nor did she stop till they stood close to the water's edge.
"Pollie," she said, catching her breath, "I have need to remember what
I have said to you!"
"Did you want a letter so much, dear Miss Loveday?"
"Oh, Pollie!" Miss Loveday sat down on a rock and hid her face.
"Perhaps it will come another day," comforted Pollie.
"I do not think it can. He will have sailed by this time," she
whispered.
Pollie did not know what to answer, for she did not know all that had
come and gone. She laid her little trembling hand on her teacher's
knee, and knelt down by her side in silent sympathy.
"I will tell you, Pollie, because—oh, because I'm so very, very
miserable—because I want to do right, and it is so hard!
"You know I live with my uncle and aunt? My father left me to their
care, to take their advice, to do exactly as they bid me. He made me
promise that I would obey them as if they were my own parents."
Pollie pressed her hand softly; she did not dare to interrupt by a word.
"Then I went on a visit to Devonshire, and while I was there I met
someone who—who wanted me to go out to China with him, to make his home
happy there."
Pollie shrank—Miss Loveday going away! But how selfish of her to think
of herself! It was evident Miss Loveday wanted to go, and that she
thought it would make her happy.
"When I came back from Devonshire I told my uncle and aunt, and they
said they would make inquiries about—my friend—Harry Fulbert.
"When the answer came to their letter, I thought my heart would break.
My uncle forbade me to speak to him again. I was to write to him once
and say so, and that was all."
"Oh!" said Polka with filling eyes. "How dreadful! Did you have to?"
"For days and days I could not—I would not. I felt sure my own father
and mother would not have done such a thing, and my heart was all in a
tumult, and I felt dreadfully angry that my uncle and aunt could be so
cruel.
"I would not speak to them about it, I felt so bad. And so it went on
for nearly a week.
"At last came Sunday, when we had those words in our lesson (do you
remember them, Pollie?): 'If ye do not forgive, neither will your
Father which is in heaven forgive your trespasses'; and I thought how
could I prepare to give you girls that lesson, if I could not say the
words from my heart myself?
"Oh, Pollie, it was dreadful. At last I thought, as I have told you,
that what I could not do of myself God could enable me to do, and I
knelt down and asked Him to help me to submit to His will, and to feel
rightly towards my uncle and aunt.
"Then, Pollie, I went down to them, and I told them how wrong I had
been to be so angry; and then I asked them why it was I might not see
Harry, and begged them to let me do so.
"Then, Pollie, they told me that they had heard, on authority which
they could not question, that Harry was not good and steady, and told
me that I must have nothing to do with him. I cannot tell you all, but
at last I had to let him go; they would not give way, and I dare not
disobey; and that is the end of it!"
Pollie listened intently, her eyes gazing in the sad ones which, like a
dumb suffering animal's, sought her sympathy.
At last she said shyly:
"'Did' God help you to do His will?"
There was an instant's breathless pause. Then Miss Loveday's head sank
lower, and she said brokenly, "There was nothing else to do; I dare not
disobey."
"Then I suppose it must have been," added Pollie reverently.
"And if it was His will—you think I ought to be glad to do it, Pollie?"
Pollie was sobbing now. Miss Loveday opened her arms, and they cried
together for ever so long.
At last, Miss Loveday wiped away her tears, and began to prepare
herself to go back to the house.
"I'll never forget—never," said Pollie, clinging to her; "and I'll pray
every day that God will let him come back!"
"There 'must' be some mistake, Pollie, or I ought not to wish it, of
course. But I am sure—so very sure—that he loves my Saviour, and wishes
to serve Him."
"I will pray," whispered Pollie brokenly, and then she sped home, her
anger all gone, nothing but love left in her heart which had been so
hard.
"Oh, mother!" was all she could say when she found her sitting in the
kitchen. And then she found kisses of forgiveness pressed on her face,
and arms of forgiveness clasping her round.
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