"If thou art worn and hard beset,
With troubles that thou would'st forget,
If thou would'st read a lesson that will keep
Thy heart from fainting and thy soul from sleep,
Go to the woods and hills! No tears
Dim the sweet look that Nature wears."
--_H. W. Longfellow._
Grace was in deep perplexity. She pondered her problem over and over,
and though in reality she felt more like flinging pride to the winds
than ever before, she was not able to formulate or even consciously name
her thoughts. A strange, unsettled feeling possessed her. She wondered
at herself that she did not contemptuously throw this letter of Leon
Carrington's into the fire, as she had the other two, but for some
reason did not do so. All night she was uneasy and slept but little. The
next morning she announced to Kate that she would spend the day at
Rosewood, sketching.
What the trouble was, Kate could only surmise, but wisely held her peace
feeling instinctively that now was no time for questions. She was
relieved to hear of the prospective recreation, for Grace always came
back from these trips with so much fresh inspiration, and renewed
enthusiasm.
It was a beautiful day, one of those mild, hazy days of October that
seem made to teach humanity some of its most sacred lessons. Nature is
the best of teachers if we know how to read her mystic pages, her many
and varied beauties, her wide diversities of expression, her fine
subtlety of language, for she is the handmaid of Truth, inasmuch as she
holds before our admiring eyes pictures of Truth and its wondrous laws.
If we can interpret the pictures, we are wiser and better and happier.
Grace was ever ready to listen to the oracles of nature, but now they
held a sweeter message than ever before, and she keenly anticipated the
pleasure in store for her as she seated herself in the car and disposed
of her sketching materials for the half hour's ride to Rosewood, a
pretty little woodland station near Hampton.
She generally walked the mile and a half to the farmhouse in the edge of
the woods, where she had made the acquaintance of a kind hearted old
lady, who loaned her a great Newfoundland dog belonging to the house,
for company in her rambles.
Mrs. Clayland was rejoiced to see her, for it had been several weeks
since Grace had called, and she was eager to tell her of the great tree
up in the ravine that had been blasted by the lightning, and about the
beautiful little waterfall caused by the Cherry Creek freshet.
Grace listened patiently as she rested, and asked questions that she had
asked many times before, because it pleased the old lady to tell of all
the beautiful spots and dainty bits of landscape in her vicinity. That
was next to being the artist.
Prince stood by, looking with intelligent eyes, first at the visitor
and then at his mistress, wagging his tail wistfully as though eager to
be off, for he seemed to realize that this was his holiday too.
"Are you ready to go, Prince?" asked Grace, patting the dog on the head
as she looked into his great brown eyes.
Prince licked his mouth and pushed his nose close under her hand while
his tail wagged violently. "Yes, of course he is. I wish my old limbs
would let me go too, but I can't even hobble to-day for the rheumatism
has been dreadful the last week," said Mrs. Clayland, as she wiped her
spectacles.
Grace hardly knew what to say, for here was just the place for a little
sympathy, and yet she must shut her eyes to false beliefs and
conditions, so she wisely talked of the beautiful day, the warm air, and
what not, while secretly resolving that Mrs. Clayland should be her
first patient if she ever knew how to treat patients according to the
Christ method. In the mean time, she would give her some thoughts.
While Mrs. Clayland volubly rattled on, talking of all her aches and
pains, Grace was doing her best to think of the very opposite statement,
that she was well.
At last, however, with Prince trotting gaily in front of her, she began
her rambles in earnest. She knew of a beautiful view from one of the
hills near by, and slowly wended her way thitherward. The hush and quiet
of the place seemed such a relief after the troubled hours of the past
night, and as she came to the gentle slope of the grassy hill, she threw
herself into the soft warm grass, in the shade of a stately elm that
stood there alone, and gave herself up to thinking--thinking of the
deepest and most sacred problems in human experience.
Prince came and laid himself at her feet. The soft autumn sunshine
played here and there upon her form and face through the leaves, while
the occasional note of a bird or hum of an insect were the only sounds
that broke the stillness of the lonely place. What an exquisite pleasure
to lie there and breathe in all this wonderful peace, for it was like a
taste of heaven. Far away from all perplexities and cares, she could
have lost herself in sweet forgetfulness but for this one theme that
would persist in thrusting itself upon her. At last it had resolved
itself into the form of a question. Should she or should she not write
to Leon Carrington? Might it not be possible she had been misinformed,
and that she was mistaken in her hasty conclusions?
Life presented a different aspect now from what it had two years ago.
She was more lenient in her judgments, more charitable in her opinions,
more softened in her pride; changed more than she ever realized until
she began the self examination on this point. To be sure she had desired
to change in these respects, since she had seen a glimpse of the
possibilities of Christian life. She had denied all qualities of
character in herself that seemed undesirable, and had affirmed
charitableness, patience, wisdom, but that she could ever have changed
her mind on this subject seemed incredible and utterly inconsistent.
And yet, what could she say to him? She had no answer, certainly no
encouragement. The only thing she could do would be to tell him frankly
what her thought and judgment had been, without going into details, and
learn the truth of the matter; but that, she would never do. Whatever
injury she had inflicted through her silent, erroneous thoughts should
be as silently redressed by her best and most generous ones.
Over an hour she lay there, no nearer the solution of her problem than
when she began. It was getting late, and she rose hurriedly, shook the
leaves and grass from her dress, and opening her sketch book, set to
work.
An opening to the left in the woods revealed a view of lovely meadows
and wooded hills, clothed in all the gorgeous robes of autumn, with a
misty blue haze enshrouding them, and gleams of a silvery river winding
through meadow and woodland. She rapidly sketched the outlines, studied
the beauteous blending of tints, and wondered meanwhile, what particular
lesson she could learn or give by this beautiful picture. Again she
looked at the scene before her. Suddenly there came into her mind some
lines she had often admired:
"Oh, the peace at the heart of Nature,
Oh, the light that is not of day!
Why seek it afar forever,
When it can not be lifted away?"
Ah, here was the key. "The peace of Nature," typical of divine peace,
"The Light not of day," divine Light itself. How sweet the thought, how
precious the lesson; and the divine Peace and Light _are_ indeed
forever here. Could she throw such a divine message into her prospective
painting? Could she make every form and color, every hint of light and
shadow, tell the sweet story, as this living picture told it? Surely,
the heart that overflows with an inbreathing of the divine, must be able
to teach the common heart of humanity, else what is the use of
inspiration?
On her way back to the house, Grace passed the blasted tree, described
by Mrs. Clayland, but she had no desire to study destruction or death.
It was life, living things, that she would portray. Was there not beauty
and grandeur everywhere, hinting of Infinity? Even the noisy and
monotonous waterfall now had a message for her as it rushed forcefully
on its course, regardless of any and all obstructions.
It was quite late when Grace and Prince returned, much later than she
supposed, so that she missed the train and had to wait for the next,
several hours later. Mr. Clayland kindly volunteered to take her to the
station, an offer she was very glad to accept.
The lamps were already lighted when she entered the car. She slipped
into the first vacant seat, but caught a glimpse of a face several seats
in front of her that made her heart beat hurriedly and her breath come
quick and fast for a few moments.
She resolutely avoided looking anywhere but out of the window, and at
the end of her journey quietly but quickly disappeared in the surging
crowd.