Gertrude could not find her book. All that Christie could tell her
about it was that she had seen it in Mr Sherwood's hand in the cedar
walk, and that he did not leave it when he went away. She looked for it
in the library and in the drawing-room, but it was nowhere to be seen.
She had a great objection to asking him for it. Mr Sherwood sometimes
condescended to jest with the young lady on some subjects about which
they did not agree; and she did not like his jests. So time passed on,
till the third day.
"I'll ask him for it at dinner," she said to herself. "He is never so
provoking when father is there."
But a good opportunity occurred before dinner. Mr Sherwood was
standing in the hall, waiting for Mrs Seaton, whom he was to take into
town, when Miss Gertrude passed him on her way up-stairs.
"Mr Sherwood," she said, "you picked up a book in the garden the other
day. It was very careless in me to leave it there. Will you give it to
me now?"
"I ought to apologise to you for having kept it so long," he answered,
gravely. "I will get it for you this moment."
Miss Gertrude looked up to see whether there was not a smile upon his
face. She had no idea that her new "whim" for serious reading was to be
allowed to pass without remark. But his look was quite grave as he
turned into the library.
"Do you like this?" he asked, when he came out with the book in his
hand.
"I don't know. I have not read much of it," she answered, quickly,
moving towards him to take the book. He gave it to her without
speaking.
A glance at his face induced her to say, "Are you not well to-day,
Cousin Charles?"
It was one of Miss Gertrude's "whims" always to address him formally as
"Mr Sherwood"; and in his agreeable surprise at her familiarity, he
smiled brightly. But his face grew grave again as he said:
"Yes; I am quite well--only, perhaps, a little more indolent and
self-indulgent than usual."
About this time there came a letter from Effie, in which there was one
sentence that cost Christie many a wondering and anxious thought.
"My dear little sister, let your light shine, and who knows but you may
be the means of blessing to this household also?"
"Effie doesn't know," said Christie to herself. "She thinks I have
grown good and wise, but she is much mistaken. I am sure if I did any
good to Mrs Lee I don't know how it happened. And besides, she was ill
and in trouble, and had need of the little help and comfort I could give
her. But Miss Gertrude! She is the only one I come very near to here;
and she is so quick and beautiful and strong--so much above me in every
way. Oh, if Effie were to see her, she would never think of my being
able to influence her. Everybody admires Miss Gertrude; and I am but a
nursemaid, and hardly that."
And yet the humble little maid did influence Gertrude as the days and
months passed on; but Mrs Seaton and her gay friends in the
drawing-room were not more unconscious of the influence for good she was
exerting over the wayward young lady than was the little maid herself.
Gertrude only vaguely realised that she was beginning to see and
estimate things differently from what she used to do--half thinking, as
her mother did, that it was because she was growing older and more
sensible. She found herself thinking, now and then, that her standard
of right was not exactly what it used to be before she had compared
opinions with Christie. In her intercourse with her own family and with
others also, she often found herself measuring their opinions and
actions by Christie's rule. But she by no means realised that her own
opinions and actions were gradually adjusting themselves to the same
rule. Yet so it was.
She liked to watch Christie. She was never weary of admiring the
patience with which she bore the changing moods of her little charge,
when illness made him fretful or exacting. Gertrude saw that she was
learning to love the little boy dearly; but she also saw that it was not
merely her love for him that made her so faithful in doing her duty to
him, nor was it to please the mother and sister or win their confidence,
for she was equally faithful in matters that could never come to Mrs
Seaton's knowledge, and Gertrude knew by experience that _her_ pleasure
was never suffered to interfere where Claude's interest or comfort was
concerned.
No; Christie lived that useful, patient life from higher motives than
these. "She does what is right because it is right," said Gertrude to
herself. She saw her quite cheerful and contented from day to day,
doing the same things over and over again, with few pleasures--with
none, indeed, unless the hour or two of reading which they managed
almost daily to get could be called such.
And yet, by a thousand tokens, Gertrude knew that she would have enjoyed
keenly many pleasures that were quite beyond her hopes--leisure, and
books, and going to school, and the power to give gifts and confer
favours. To be able to live at home, with no heavy cares pressing on
the family, would be real happiness for her. All this Gertrude gathered
from the conversations they sometimes had, from occasional remarks, and
from her intense delight when letters from home came.
And yet she did not repine in the absence of these things. She was
happy in the performance of her duties, whether they were easy or not,
and enjoyed the few simple pleasures that came in her way.
"It is not because she is stupid, or that she does not know anything
else," said Gertrude to herself. "She enjoys reading and learning as
well as I do, and makes a far better use of the chance she has: and yet
she lives on from day to day, wearying herself with little Claude, and
stitching away, as though she cared for nothing beyond. Wouldn't she
enjoy being rich, and sending things to her family! Why, the delight
she had over that common grey plaid that she sent to her aunt was quite
absurd--and quite touching too. It cost her two months' wages at the
very least, but she did not seem to think of that. The only thing that
marred her happiness at all that day was the want of a few pence that
would have enabled her to buy a warm pair of slippers to go with the
shawl. She doesn't seem to think of herself. I wonder why?"
And Gertrude watched her still, thinking her often needlessly particular
in the performance of small duties, and losing patience now and then,
when these things interfered with her wishes. But the more she watched
her daily life the more sure she felt that Christie had some secret of
sweet peace which she had not yet found. She knew that her strength and
cheerfulness daily renewed came from none of the helps to which one in
her circumstances might naturally look. It was not the knowledge that
she was valued, nor the feeling that little Claude was beginning to love
her dearly, that sustained her; though Gertrude could see that these
were pleasant and precious to the little maid. It was not even the
thought of home, or Effie's letters, or the pleasant word they brought
of how she was missed and how they wished her with them. It was not the
hope of the time when they should all be together again. To these
ardent young people this re-union seemed by no means impossible, or even
distant. With Gertrude's help, Christie often built castles in the air,
about a farm which was to be the wonder of the country-side, where they
were all to live together, and where Gertrude herself was to pass many a
pleasant day.
But it was not this, nor all of these, that brought the look of sweet
contentment to that pale face, when she thought herself quite
unobserved. It was there sometimes when she was wearied. She was not
naturally hopeful or cheerful. She had none of that happy
self-confidence which makes burdens light and causes difficulties to
disappear. The source of her courage and patience was out of herself.
Her gentle cheerfulness, flowing evenly through long days and weeks,
sprang from some unseen fountain, pure and free and never-failing.
Sometimes it came into the young lady's mind that Christie's constant
study of her little Bible had something to do with her being so
different from any one she had ever known before. But both of them were
a little shy about speaking of these things. They talked about the
histories, and even about the doctrines, of the Bible. The stories that
little Claude so delighted in all came from the Bible; and Christie had
no shyness in speaking to him. To these stories, and the simple
comments made on them, Gertrude sometimes listened when she seemed to be
occupied with far other matters, and she would have liked very much to
have heard more on some of the themes of which these conversations gave
her only a hint. But Christie seldom talked about herself. It was only
by slow degrees that she came to understand the secret of her content.
Coming one night later than usual into the upper nursery, she found
Christie sitting with her little Bible in her hand. She shut it as
Gertrude sat down beside her, but she did not put it away.
"I suppose it is too late to begin to read anything now?" said Gertrude.
"I have been helping Miss Atherton to dress. You should have seen her!
Her dress was splendid--too splendid for so small a party, mother
thought. I wish I had called you to see her."
"I wish you had, indeed," said Christie, with real interest, for she was
a great admirer of anything pretty. "I should like to have seen her.
She is beautiful always."
"Yes, but dress makes a difference even in beautiful people. I have
seen ladies who looked quite plain at home by daylight, who were thought
great beauties by those who only saw them at parties. But Miss Atherton
is always beautiful. She will shine to-night."
Gertrude sat for a little while gazing into the fire.
"Would you like to have gone with her?" asked Christie.
"No, I think not; I am sure not. I was asked, you know, and I dare say
mother would not have objected to my going. But I find these parties
very stupid."
"Miss Atherton does not find them stupid, I should think."
"Miss Atherton! Oh, no! But she is quite different. I dare say I
should like them well enough too, if I were quite grown up, and a belle
like her. But one like me is only in the way in such a place, unless
she sits quiet in a corner. That is all very well for a little time,
but it soon becomes stupid enough."
"But you are not a little girl. You are fifteen," said Christie.
"Yes, I am too old to be contented with a seat in a corner, so I don't
like parties yet. And I do believe father thinks it is because I am so
sensible."
Christie could not help laughing at the half-grave, half-comic way in
which this was spoken.
"It must be very pleasant to be a belle, however," continued Gertrude,
meditatively, "to have all eyes fixed on you in admiration, and to
eclipse all the rest of the stars."
"But that doesn't often happen, except in books, I fancy," said
Christie.
"Well, I suppose not. It couldn't happen very often. But it must be
delightful when it _does_ happen. Don't you think so?" she added, as
Christie's face grew grave. "Wouldn't you like to shine, as Miss
Atherton will, at the Youngs' to-night?"
"You forget I don't know about these things," said Christie.
"Nonsense! You can imagine how it would seem. I can imagine how it
would seem to be drawn over the snow by reindeer, or to be carried away
in a balloon. Now, tell me--wouldn't you like to be beautiful and rich,
and admired by everybody?"
"I can imagine something I would like far better."
"What, the model farm, and to live at home? Oh, but if you are to wish,
you know, you may as well wish for riches and beauty and all the rest at
once! You would never stop short at your farm and contentment, if you
had your wish."