A FRIEND IN NEED
EVERY week Rhoda wrote to one or two of her brothers. She was
determined to keep up her interest in all their different lives,
especially now that they were so scattered. We may gather something of
her life from the following letter to Rodney:—
MY DEAR RODNEY,
I always feel in writing to you that I can describe the details of my
life better than to any of the others, for you know my surroundings so
well. I am quite settled down now, and am thoroughly enjoying myself.
Would you like an account of my day? But first let me tell you of my
live stock. Of course Tartar need not be mentioned, though I find him
quite a companion. I have a dear little brown cow that I have named
Ginger, and she already allows me to pet and stroke her; two black
pigs; ten hens and one cock; three ducks; a large black cat; and,
lastly, a beautiful black mare named Sultana, who only arrived from
Aldershot a short time ago. She is a present from Edgar, and I took my
first ride on her to-day. She is a beauty; her age is the only thing
against her, but I can detect little feebleness in her movements, and
she is very sure-footed.
Now to give you an idea of how I live. I am called at 6.30, and
generally go into the dairy for half an hour or so before breakfast,
as I make all the butter. At half-past eight I have breakfast, then
prayers with Hannah, and go out to the chicks. I feed them, and potter
round, and start the boy with his morning's work. My garden is still
a great toil; he has been getting the ground into right condition for
potatoes and all sorts of vegetables, but I discover that he wants an
eye over him. He is a steady boy, but as stupid and dense as can be.
The other day he was resting on his spade, and gazing up into the air
with open eyes and mouth.
"What are you thinking about?" I asked him.
"A' baint thinkin' nought. A' were conzeiderin o' her, when she telleth
me to fetch the hoss zome water firzt thing. A' hath not fetched 'un."
"Go and do it at once, then."
He took quite five minutes before he saw the necessity for this. I
wonder how his mind works! This is a digression.
At ten o'clock, I go down to Ashampton for my letters, and generally do
my marketing at the same time. I must tell you I am going to send some
butter to the market every week. I have found a nice old woman who has
a stall there, and I am going to give her a little percentage on all
she sells for me. When the spring comes, I shall send down eggs, and
as my poultry increases, I shall kill some of them, and do likewise.
I think it is the first winter that will be the most expensive one.
My last idea has been to put up a greenhouse, but when I inquired, I
found it would cost too much, and these country people are so slow that
I believe it would take a year to build. I have been looking into my
accounts, and am alarmed at the amount I have spent already.
When I return from the post, I help Hannah in the housework for a
little, and then sit down to my writing till lunch comes at one
o'clock. I very often go into the kitchen in the afternoon and make
cakes or bread, and let Hannah have a rest. She will do so much, and
will allow me to do so little, that I am having constant contentions
with her about it. I generally go out in the afternoon. I am gradually
getting to know my neighbours, and am making friends with all I meet.
I often laugh as I wonder what some of you boys would say if you saw
me drinking tea and gossiping with the postmistress or farmers' wives
about here! But, do you know, I find their conversation much more
edifying than the ordinary gossip of society.
At 4.30, if I am in, I milk Ginger; I like to do it if I can once a
day; then I see that Jock has shut up the stable safely for the night.
I have my afternoon tea, and for the rest of the evening I occupy
myself with books and music. My dinner, as Hannah will call it, is at
seven.
It is quite an old maid's life, isn't it? But oh, how I am getting
to love the moor! If you could only stand with me sometimes and see
some of our wintry sunsets, and watch the soft purple outlines of
the different tors gradually deepen and darken against the golden
background; if you could look down the valley to the other side and
see the lights and shadows on the wooded hills, and note the brown
and golden tints on the low-lying marsh land by the river that winds
like a silver streak of light at the bottom; and then up at the vast
expanse of sky, where every variety of form and colour meets your eye
in the succession of clouds that drift past you—sometimes it may be the
soft fleecy ones, sometimes the wild dark waves that come sweeping by,
heralding the coming storm-oh, I think you would agree with me that
even winter on the moor is grand! What the spring will be I cannot
imagine, but I am keenly looking forward to it. I have had some rose
trees planted in the garden, and fresh shrubs put in front of the house.
I wonder how you are getting on yourself. Write and tell me of all your
doings. You and I will be able to compare farm and house keeping notes.
And you won't forget in your busy life the things we were talking about
before you left. 'In all thy ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct
thy paths.' I have found it a wonderful help to me. You will say that
'Tabby always ends up with a preach.' Good-bye. May God bless and watch
over you!
Your loving sister,
RHODA.
Jess Tent came over the following Sunday, and Rhoda, after much silent
prayer, strove to make the Bible lesson interesting to her. She found
it hard work. Jess's eyes were rolling round the room most of the time,
and with difficulty she suppressed several yawns. At last, to Rhoda's
consternation, when she hoped she was really listening, a quick drop of
the head and heavy breathing told that she was fast asleep. She woke up
very much ashamed of herself a few minutes after, but Rhoda felt it had
effectually quenched the Bible reading, and, if she had not been rather
a strong-minded young woman, would have shed tears of disappointment at
the apparent failure of her effort.
"It's so dreadful comfortable here," said poor Jess, by way of apology,
"and I have a way of napping in the afternoon, if I'm not doing
anything particular."
"Never mind," said Rhoda, cheerfully; "I wish I could make it as
interesting to you as I find it myself. I suppose it is like this.
Imagine me reading some letters from a great friend of mine to you.
Well, you wouldn't be as interested in them as I should, for my friend
would be a stranger to you; but if you were to meet that friend and get
very fond of her, and she of you, when she had gone away again, you
would look forward to having and hearing letters from her with very
different feelings, wouldn't you?"
"That I should;" and Jess's tone showed she was interested now.
"And that is just how it is with our Saviour. Ah, Jess, if you would
only take Him as your friend and get to know Him, you would have such
joy in your life. He died for you, He loves you, and He wants to have
you in His fold. I have found Him such a friend to me, and He will be
the same to you."
Jess looked into the fire before her, but did not speak.
"And if you know Him," continued Rhoda, softly, "you will love and
enjoy His Word. It will make the Bible a new book to you."
There was no time for further talk, for tea was brought in, and Jess,
thoroughly roused now, brightened up and chatted away on different
subjects. She changed her book and took away another, but before
leaving said,—
"I should like to come next Sunday, and may I bring one of the boys
with me? He would be very good, and he would like it so."
"Bring two of them if they can manage the walk; I shall be delighted to
see them."
When she had gone, Rhoda went to her bedroom, for her heart was heavy,
and kneeling down, she prayed earnestly that the Holy Spirit Himself
would convince Jess of her need of a Saviour.
"It is very good for me to have these failures," she said to herself;
"if I should have nothing but success, I might get uplifted, and think
it was my own powers that were attracting and influencing them. I can
pray the more earnestly for her, and I will do that."
A few days after this she was down in Ashampton in the afternoon, and
when she had done her business, she went to the post-office to post a
parcel.
Miss Frith looked so utterly woebegone and miserable that Rhoda said at
once, "You are not well, I am sure. What is the matter?"
"Nothing particular, only the faceache," was the dry reply.
"Oh, you poor thing, I am so sorry! Can't you do anything for it?"
"It is a tooth that I must have drawn. I didn't have a wink of sleep
last night." Then she added, in a more friendly tone, "Well, I must
bear it. I can't leave the shop to go and have it out. I must wait
till next week. There's a young girl next door at the draper's who has
obliged me sometimes by stepping in and taking my place for a short
time. She is away on a holiday. When she comes back, I'll go."
"But does your sister never take your place? Couldn't she just for half
an hour or so?"
"Lucy is delicate, and she has never been accustomed to do business."
There was no bitterness in her tone. One of Miss Frith's good traits
was that she would never disparage her sister to any one.
"Is there a dentist here?" asked Rhoda, quickly.
"Mr. Thorpe, the chemist, he is very good at teeth. He has taken out
one for me before."
"Well, look here! You let me take your place for a little. I can spare
the time. It is misery for you to go on like this. Now do let me; I
will be very careful. And you will not be gone long if you go at once."
Miss Frith looked astonished, then said doubtfully, "It is very good of
you, but I don't think I ought to let you."
"Oh, nonsense! I shall enjoy it immensely: I have never kept shop
before, but I'm sure I can do it."
"After all, there may not be a customer that will come in. Some
afternoons I get no one, and I shall be back before post-time. It would
be a great relief to me; I almost think I might go."
"That is right. You will feel ever so much better after it is over. Now
will you explain a little to me where you keep the things?"
This Miss Frith did, but just before starting she said, with a dismayed
look, "You don't understand working the telegraph, do you?"
"No, indeed I don't, but I'm sure you don't send or get many telegrams
here. It is not likely that in the short time you will be away, I shall
be called upon for that."
"No," Miss Frith replied, in a reassured tone, "I don't suppose I send
off a telegram once in a week, and receive them as seldom. I shall be
as quick as I can, and you must tell any one, if they especially want
to see me, that I shall be back directly. And I haven't told Lucy I am
going, or that you are here. I thought it might fuss her."
She went, and Rhoda seated herself behind the small counter, very
amused at the part she was going to play. No one came in for some
time, and then it was a small boy demanding a "penn'orth of paper"
and a stamp. Whilst she was serving him, she was startled by the
sudden entrance of Mr. Wallace, who, seizing hold of a telegraph form,
began hastily to write upon it, without noticing the absence of the
postmistress.
"There," he said shortly, handing it across the counter without looking
up, "send that off at once, please."
Certainly it is very often that the unlikely things do happen, and
Rhoda's heart sank from the moment she noted his hurried entrance. For
a minute she was speechless, and glancing up impatiently, he recognized
her, and at once raised his hat, looking intensely bewildered as he did
so.
"I am so sorry," Rhoda said, recovering her self-possession, "but the
postmistress has just gone out. She will be back shortly, and as she is
a friend of mine, I offered to take her place. I am dreadfully sorry—"
here her voice faltered—"but I don't understand the working of the
telegraph. Can this wait until her return?"
"It is most urgent."
A cloud had settled on his brow, but it cleared quickly.
"Do you think I might be allowed to send it myself? I have not knocked
about all over the world for nothing. May I come behind this affair?
Thanks—" as Rhoda gladly made way for him—"now I shall be able to
manage."
He evidently was no novice in the art of telegraphy, from the rapid
way he executed his message; and then he handed the form to Rhoda to
scan, as the telegram was a long one. She gave the required stamps in a
business-like fashion, and he watched her with an amused gleam in his
eyes.
"I certainly do meet you in unexpected places, Miss Carlton. How is
your horse?"
"Very satisfactory for riding, thank you."
"Have you put him in harness yet?"
"No; we are going to try next week."
"And are you going to do any hunting with him this winter?"
Rhoda laughed.
"No, I haven't come down here to hunt."
He looked as if he would like to ask her what she had come for.
She added, "I don't think my mare would be up to hunting; she is not so
young as she was. Don't you find the moor rather treacherous riding?
There seem to be so many bogs."
"A great many, and unless you know how the land lies, you may often
find yourself in one of them before you know where you are."
He turned to go, then added, "By-the-by, you may be pleased to hear
that Mr. Rokeby has reconsidered the peat question, and the Tents may
go on using it as they have done heretofore."
Rhoda's face brightened with pleasure.
"That is good news indeed. I am so much obliged to you for mentioning
the matter to him."
"At the same time I may give you a friendly hint that Mr. Rokeby is not
fond of interference between himself and the tenants."
"I am quite aware of that," said Rhoda, calmly, "but if I see wrongs
that might be righted, I shall always raise my voice in protest, and I
should tell Mr. Rokeby so himself, were I to see him."
"Perhaps you are better qualified for that 'rôle' than for that
of postmistress," was the retort, given with twinkling eyes; and
bidding her "Good afternoon," Mr. Wallace went his way, leaving her
half-chagrined, half-amused at his words.
The next customer was an old countryman in smock-frock and leather
gaiters, but when he saw Rhoda, he looked very perplexed, and rubbed
his fingers through his hair in a bewildered fashion.
"Bain't the missus in?"
"She will be here very soon. Can I do anything for you, or would you
rather wait?"
"Her have wrote a letter for us on occasions."
"I think I can manage that, if you will let me," said Rhoda, very
gently.
He looked doubtfully at her, then pulled out of his pocket half a crown.
"A' be after one o' they money orders to zend to our zon Tom. He be
awful zick in 'Mericky, an' t' old woman an a' want 'un to go by the
night's post!"
"I see. Now will you sit down and tell me what to say?"
"The missus here cud allays put 'un well for me wi'out a many words
from a'! Her be a brave zcholar!"
He took out his red cotton handkerchief, mopped his head well, and then
sat down.
After some consideration, he continued, "Tell 'un as us have heerd from
his missis, an' thank her kindly for what she have a-written. Her be a
good missis to 'un, an' us be vairly well conzeiderin' all things, an'
Jenny she be out to zarvice, an' t' old woman zends her love, an' us be
hopin' to hear 'un make a good end. He were a good little lad at home,
an' us 'll grieve a'ter 'un zadly. But us must all die when our time
do come. The half-croon 'll maybe cheer of 'un up. An' us hopeth he'll
make a good end."
The old man paused, drew his cuff across his eyes, and then watched
Rhoda's pen fly over the paper with anxiety.
At last she looked up.
"May I tell him how to make a good end?" she asked softly.
"Eh? A' be hard o' heerin'. Tom were a good lad, 'un were; he knawed
his A B C when he were but vour year old, an' went to Zunday zchool,
an' the Cateky were no trouble to 'un, right bravely did 'un zay it!
A' be lookin' for 'un to do his dooty, an' us be hopin' he'll go eazy
like."
"If he knows his Saviour, and trusts in Him for forgiveness, I think he
will make a good end."
"Ay, ay—" for Rhoda's clear, distinct voice had made itself heard—"'ee
can put 'un in a tex'. A' did go to chapel once on a toime, an' a tex'
be a brave thing fur a man on the death-bed."
Rhoda sighed as she finished her task.
"Is there no hope for him?" she asked.
The old man pulled out the letter.
"Jenny were to home lazt week, an' her did read 'un to we. Tom be vurry
zick, as 'ee can zee!"
It was with difficulty that Rhoda could decipher the badly written
epistle, but she gathered from it that the old man was only too right
in his supposition that his son was dying.
"Do you live far from here?" was her next question.
"Up on moor yonner. Do 'ee know Hazel Varm?"
"No; at least I think I have heard the Tents speak of it."
"'Tis this zide o' the Tents, doan agen a sma' copse over the railway
cooting."
"I know," Rhoda said brightly; "it is a little black house. I have seen
it. May I come and see your wife one day? I should like to so much."
"Be 'ee one o' the missus' vrends here?" he asked, glancing at her
furtively. "If zo be 'ee're a respectibble young pusson, a' don't mind
a-zeein' of 'ee agen; t' old woman, her be vurry vond o' visitors, if
zo be they be zteady an' zober volk."
"I think I am respectable and sober," Rhoda said modestly, trying to
restrain a smile. "Now do you want a stamp? That will be a penny, and a
penny for the order. Thank you. Would you like to put the stamp on?"
He stood up, and with his trembling old work-worn hand drew the letter
to him, and squaring his elbow bent mind and body to the task before
him. The perspiration stood out on his brow with the effort, and then
his old head shook solemnly from side to side.
"A' hope as how he'll make a good end!" he repeated.
Rhoda felt the pathos in his tone, and looking up, she saw his old eyes
full of tears. Her own filled with sympathy, and she laid her hand
gently on his arm.
"Ask God that he may," she said.
He shook his head again.
"The parson doeth zo. A' baint a good hand at prayer. A' knoweth a man
that cood pray winderful—Zam Black; he were a deal over an hour in
chapel one night over the prayer; but there, my old woman an' me, us be
var too old to learn noo!"
"Let us speak to God here," Rhoda said; and bending her head and
clasping the old withered hands in hers, in a few short, simple words
she commended the dying son to God's most loving keeping.
The old man gazed at her in astonishment, ejaculated, "Umun!" And
departed muttering to himself, "She be a winderful pious young pusson;
the parson coodn't 'a-done it better, but there warn't much on 'un. It
were too short for good. If it had a-bin Zam Black noo! There warn't
much on 'un."