THE FIRST EFFORT
"IF you please, ma'am, are you at home?"
Tomina was writing a letter to her beloved brother.
"Who is it, Susan?" she asked.
"'Tis Miss Merryweather."
"Oh yes, let her come in."
And Tomina greeted her visitor with unusual warmth.
"I haven't seen you for ages."
"No, I respect your wish for solitude, and I'm that way myself. But as
I'm going back to town next week, I thought I would like to wish you
good-bye."
"Then you're a perfect cure?"
Alice Merryweather laughed.
"Yes, I can say I am. An idle summer ought to have cured me. I sleep
better, and feel able to tackle all my work again."
"And do you like going back?"
"I love it. Sweet stagnation does not suit me. I chafe and get restive.
I am tingling to be up and doing. How are you? You are looking very
well."
"Yes, but I am not ready to go back to town. You see, I have no work
awaiting me there, only pleasure. It makes a difference."
"So you are going on with your carrier work? Won't you find it very
cold in the winter?"
"I dare say. I'm going to begin to court difficulties now, having
evaded them all my life."
There was something so radiant and alert in Tomina's tones, that Alice
looked at her in a puzzled sort of way.
"Do you remember advising me to cultivate my spiritual part?" asked
Tomina, suddenly. "You told me how to do it."
"Oh, surely not!"
Alice looked quite astonished.
"Yes, you told me to read the Bible, and I did—and I have been slowly
learning ever since. I don't seem able to talk about these things yet,
but I'd like you to know that I've never been so happy in my life as
I am now. It seems as if God has reached right down from heaven and
taken me by the hand. I've been in a great worry about myself for a
long time, but dear old Mrs. Cayley gave me a very simple solution to
my worries. I was worrying over my worthlessness and inability to be
unselfish, and she told me just to ask for what I wanted, so I asked
for a few big things—forgiveness for the past, and for my soul to be
given fresh life, and to be helped to be, as the children put it,
'good.' It has all been given me, I do believe. Isn't it wonderful?"
Alice sat silent. Tomina's glowing enthusiasm touched her.
"I'm so glad," she said slowly.
"I knew you would be. I never thought I would ever be enthusiastic
about religion. But it's a new life, and I love, I love our Master."
Tomina's eyes were shining softly through a mist of tears as she spoke.
Then she said more lightly—
"I've confided in you, because you are one of those who have helped me,
and I'm sorry you are going."
"You won't stay here very long," said Alice. "I am sure the winter in
the country will prove too much for you."
"Perhaps it may," said Tomina, quietly; "I don't feel so sure of
myself as I used to do. And I shall want to make up for a good deal of
lost time. But I'm not going to give up my vocation. Dr. Merton told
me I could have no better one. I hope I shall always be 'Tomina the
Carrier.'"
Alice knew there was meaning underlying her words, but she did not
remark upon them, and her visit was very short. She and Tomina parted
with regret, for though they seldom met, they mutually liked each other.
When she had gone, Tomina sat by her bright little fire with rather a
sober face. One by one her friends seemed leaving her—Colonel Norman,
Harry, and now Alice Merryweather.
She was thinking of her 'rôle' as carrier, and wondering in what way
she could widen and deepen that vocation, when her eye fell upon a
picture that hung upon the wall and which belonged to Harry. It had
been given to him by Mrs. Francis, and represented the Christ Child
upon the shoulders of St. Christopher as he waded through the river.
A sudden light flashed into her face.
"Delicious! St. Christoforos, the Carrier, for that is what he was!
Giving up his great strength to the humble service of carrying the
feeble over the stream of life. And in doing it, he found he was
carrying his Master. And I can copy his example, and try to carry some
burdens for the weak and heavy-laden ones, and the children; I haven't
to go away from here to do that. My passengers in my van alone will
give me plenty of scope."
She still sat on by the fire, but there was a happy glow in her heart,
and she longed at once to put her thoughts into practice.
The very next Friday, as she went into Damerton, something occurred
which made her wonder if it possibly might mean an opportunity for her.
About three miles out of Damerton, they overtook a girl plodding along
wearily in front of them.
Tomina called out brightly to her—
"Would you like a lift?"
And then she saw as she turned round that she was not an ordinary
country girl. She had the appearance of a lady, and her voice was as
soft and refined as Tomina's own.
"I should very much," she said.
Tomina made room for her on the front seat by her, and asked her if she
had been walking long.
"Only from Dutterton. We have lately come there, but it is nearly four
miles from Damerton, and I was wondering how I could walk both ways. My
cycle is broken, and I am obliged to come."
She was a nice-looking girl, but was evidently in trouble; her eyes
were red with crying, and she was very unhappy.
"Is your home near here?" Tomina asked idly.
"Oh, I wish it were! I live in the north of Yorkshire. My father was a
clergyman, and he died last year. I am the eldest, and I was engaged to
be a companion to a Mrs. Cuthbert. She has lately taken a house near
here. I have been with her over a year, and I was looking forward to
going home for a month's holiday. Two of my brothers are going out to
New Zealand. I shall not be able to say good-bye to them now."
"Why?"
"Mrs. Cuthbert's maid has gone home ill; and she can't spare me, she
says."
Then Tomina's sympathetic face drew out more of the girl's story. She
had a large family of brothers and sisters, and they had been much
looking forward to being all together before the brothers left home.
Mrs. Cuthbert was a hard and exacting employer, but she paid her a
good salary, and in the absence of her maid expected her to do all her
duties as well as her own.
"I am now going into Damerton to get a library book. I went in
yesterday, but Mrs. Cuthbert did not like my choice and I have to
change it. I sometimes feel that I cannot go on. I never seem able
to please her. Please forgive my grumbling, but I am so bitterly
disappointed that I cannot get home. I am just homesick!"
"I wish I could help you," said Tomina. "Can't you get somebody to take
your place for a month?"
"Oh, I wish I could! But who would do it? And Mrs. Cuthbert might not
allow it."
"I'll see if I can hear of any one," said Tomina, cheerfully. "You
don't know how many people I meet, or know through this van. Let me
have your address, and I'll write if I hear of any one. I don't know
your name yet. Christabel Avenel? What a pretty name!"
When they reached Damerton, Tomina asked her if she could wait till the
return journey. But she could not do that, and they parted the best of
friends.
"Susan," said Tomina that evening just before she went to bed, "if I
went away for a month, could you carry on here, and take care of Thor?"
Susan looked very surprised.
"But what about the van?"
"Ah!" said Tomina. "That's a difficulty, isn't it? But I could trust
Joe to take my place for a few weeks, and you could go in the van
occasionally just to see that everybody was comfortable."
Susan smiled.
"You do be an uncommon carrier, ma'am. I'm sorry you're going back to
London."
"I'm not going near it. I'm—I'm just going to pay a visit in the
neighbourhood—if I'm allowed."
Susan asked no more questions. Tomina continually astonished her by
her rapid movements. But when she carried two letters to the post that
evening in time for the local morning delivery, she could not forbear
glancing at the envelopes. One was addressed to—
"Mrs. Cuthbert,
White Gables, Dutterton."
The other to—
"Miss Christabel Avenel,
White Gables, Dutterton."
Susan shook her head, for she was none the wiser. And the post-office
woman could not enlighten her.
"New town people, I reckon. There be so many of them taking up houses
nowadays in this part of the country."
In two days' time, Tomina received answers to her letters. Mrs.
Cuthbert was willing to accept her services, provided she gave her a
personal interview, and it proved satisfactory. Christabel wrote in the
seventh heaven of delight.
Then Tomina took Susan into her confidence and told her what she meant
to do, and Susan did not know whether to laugh or to be horrified.
"My dear ma'am, you can't even lace your own boots, or mend your own
stockings. You've always been waited on, hand and foot. How on, you
wait on a lady? It would be so demeaning."
"But I am not going as her servant; I am going as a companion and
friend."
Susan gave a little sniff.
"Those poor young ladies are worked harder than any servant. I've seen
ladies' companions, and I know how they're worked."
"Well," said Tomina, "if work has been strange to me all my life, the
sooner I make acquaintance with it the better. So you must wait upon me
no more, Susan. I must get into training. I shall not be able to take
you with me, so I must learn to do without you now."
"But I love waiting on you, ma'am, and you really can't do things like
my Miss Wadhurst could."
"I can try."
And "try" Tomina did. She laughed at her own clumsiness, and more than
once Susan had to come to her aid. But day by day she grew more apt
in waiting upon herself and in tidying and mending. Then she went off
to Dutterton to interview the old lady. She dressed in her plainest,
neatest attire, and began to enjoy the novel prospect before her.
She was shown into a library by a very important old butler, and
presently Mrs. Cuthbert sailed into the room. At the first glance,
Tomina's spirits quailed, for here was no aristocratic old lady, but
one who had evidently acquired her wealth late in life.
Mrs. Cuthbert was the widow of a City man who had once been Lord Mayor
of London. And she lived still on the past glories of that wonderful
year.
"I understand you're a friend of my young companion. Have you brought
any references?" was her opening inquiry.
"Do you mean a character?" asked Tomina, with a blank look of dismay.
"I mean I can 'ardly take a young person into my household without the
assurance that she is honest and respectable."
"Oh yes—yes, certainly. I have several friends—people who will write to
you to that effect."
"I want a good-tempered, obliging girl, who will do 'everything' she is
told."
"Yes," murmured Tomina, not liking the small black eyes that were fixed
so unwaveringly upon her.
"My maid has left me, so I shall want extra assistance with my toilet.
Do you understand dressing the coiffure?"
Tomina glanced at the coils of black plaits that mounted in pyramid
form upon her head surmounted with a handsome tortoiseshell comb and a
pink ribbon bow.
"I should try my best to suit you," she said meekly.
A few more questions were put to her, and then the old lady rose.
"I 'ope your references will be satisfactory, and then you can commence
your duties with me next Tuesday. It is a great kindness, I consider,
in allowing the young person who is with me to leave at this juncture;
but I always was soft-'earted to my own detriment."
Tomina bowed and withdrew, but she was seized hold of by Christabel on
the way down the drive.
"Oh, how can I thank you! I do hope you will be able to bear with her.
I never, never thought you would be willing to take my place."
"It will do me all the good in the world," said Tomina, brightly. "I
shall be on my mettle to supply your place satisfactorily. But I am
rather frightened of your old lady."
"As long as you never object to anything she says to you, you will get
on," said Christabel, earnestly.
Tomina looked, and felt more than doubtful about her capability in that
way, but she said nothing to damp Christabel's delight.
The next step was to get a reference. Tomina wrote to Dr. Merton that
same night.
"MY DEAR DOCTOR,
"Will you just sit down and write me a testimonial for honesty,
sobriety, and respectability? I assure you that you can safely do it,
but I should be glad of it by return of post.
"Yours sincerely,
"TOMINA GAVIN."
And the next morning, before she had finished breakfast, brought the
doctor in person to her gate.
"I really must have a few more details," said Dr. Merton. "Will you
kindly tell me what you propose doing? For I still consider you as
under my charge."
"I think I'm a cure by this time," said Tomina; "I feel a new creature
at last—through and through."
There was meaning in her last words. Dr. Merton looked keenly at her.
"I congratulate you," he said.
Then she told him quite simply of her plan.
"It's folly!" he exclaimed. "You are the last person in the world to
carry through a thing of that sort satisfactorily. It will be a dead
failure."
"You are very unkind. Did you not advise me to become a carrier and
stick to that vocation through life? I'm only going to try to carry a
burden of another girl's for a month!"
"But it is too big a one for you," said Dr. Merton.
"She is no stronger than I am; she bears it all the year round. Don't
dishearten me. In my heart of hearts I'm so afraid I may prove a
failure, and I do want to be a success."
She spoke so sweetly and wistfully that Dr. Merton surrendered at once.
"Let me have a sheet of paper," he said. And sitting down, he scribbled
off the desired reference.
Then he looked at her with a smile.
"You have found your feet," he said, "but don't try to run before you
can walk."
She laughed, then grew grave.
"I do feel in some ways just born. If it were spring, I should say my
sap was rising. Oh, Dr. Merton, what a lot I have to unlearn, and to
learn! Do you remember your wish for me a short time ago—to be reformed
and transformed inside and out? Rather a big wish, wasn't it? But not
too big for God Who made us. So I asked Him to make a new creature of
me altogether, and—and I really believe He has begun to do it."
Dr. Merton stood up; then he took her hand in his.
"No wonder you look so happy!" he said. "If you've got a new centre in
your life, you'll be all right where you're going, and don't forget to
pass your good things on."
His grip of her hand left it aching, but Tomina's heart glowed afresh
at his words.
She sent off her reference, and heard from Mrs. Cuthbert that she would
be expected in two days' time.
Then Tomina completed her arrangements for leaving her cottage. Joe was
proud to under take the carrier business without her; and then Tomina
tackled Susan.
"Now, Susan, you must please keep your mouth closely shut about my
absence. Just say I have gone away for a visit, for that is strictly
true. I won't have Mrs. Herbert or any one else know the reasons of my
going."
"You may come back at the end of a week, I'm hopin'," said Susan,
cheerfully. "I'm quite certain, ma'am, 'tis an impossible place for
you."
It was a bright cold afternoon when Tomina had herself and her luggage
driven over to the White Gables. She arrived there as it was getting
dusk. The portly butler looked at her a little disapprovingly, but
showed her into the drawing-room, where Mrs. Cuthbert was sitting
dozing over a huge fire. She put out a fat and limp hand.
"Glad to see you. Miss Avenel left me this morning, and I almost wished
I had detained her. She knows where all my things are. I want some
more wool for my knitting now. You must go up to my room and find it
somewhere. In my boudoir it is, I think. Ask the housemaid to tell you
where it is. She'll show you your room, but I'm wanting that wool, so
as soon as you 'ave removed your walking things, come down with it to
me."
Tomina obediently made her way up the soft-carpeted stairs. Everything
on all sides betokened money and luxury, but everything was too new to
obtain favour in her sight. Her bedroom was, thoroughly comfortable,
but its glaring paper and gaudy cheap coloured prints on the walls
offended her eyes, and the furniture was showy and pretentious. The
housemaid who showed her upstairs was rather pert.
"I wish you joy of your job," she said. "I wouldn't be Mrs. Cuthbert's
companion for a hundred pounds. This door behind the curtain here leads
into her room. It's never locked, so as she may come in and catch you
out if she can."
"Where do you think I can find some wool for her?" Tomina asked
quietly, turning round upon the girl with one of her smiles.
Gertrude from that moment became her staunch ally.
"I can make a good guess. Didn't she give you her keys? Then there's
only one drawer unlocked in her room."
She led the way into Mrs. Cuthbert's handsome room. A roaring fire was
in the grate. Half the room was taken up with a massive carved mahogany
four-post bed, draped in crimson satin; a couch upholstered in blue
cretonne covered with large pink roses stood at the foot of it. The
amber-coloured lace curtains to the three windows were tied back with
crimson satin bows. There were two big wardrobes, and in the bottom
drawer of one of these the wool was found.
"Thank you very much," Tomina said to Gertrude, as she pulled open the
drawer. "You have saved me a search."
"All right, and you just give me a call down the back stairs if you
want anything. 'Tis rather awkward for you at first. You have a
dreadful time in front of you, I warn you!"
"Oh, I mean to be very happy and comfortable here, I assure you," said
Tomina, and she laughed gaily as she spoke.
Gertrude stared at her, then muttered as she left the room—
"You'll sing a different song by this time to-morrow."
Tomina ran lightly downstairs to the drawing-room with the wool. Her
bright smiling face, as she came into the room, struck Mrs. Cuthbert
as unusual. She looked at her suspiciously, ready to discover, if she
could, the reason for her smile.
"Sit down in that chair, and wind me off two skeins as quick as you
can. And I'll tell you some of your duties. We have tea at five
o'clock, after which you read aloud to me till the first dressing-gong
sounds. Then you go up and put out my dinner dress. To-night I 'ave the
rector and his wife dining here. I like to give them a good dinner now
and then, poor souls! Not that I feed myself down in the country as I
used to do in town."
She gave a fat sigh.
"If you give me satisfaction, I'll let you look at some of our 'menoos'
the year I was Lady Mayoress in London. I've kept them all. We 'ad
the highest in the land to our dinners, I can tell you, and the gold
plate and the powdered footmen, and all the ceremonial pomp was beyond
description! What was I telling you?—Oh, you go up and get ready for
my toilet. When I have visitors, you have your dinner in the library,
that is where I allow you to sit, and there's generally some mending or
making to be done. Miss Avenel began to embroider my initials on some
sheets, but she is a slow worker. I 'ope you will be quicker."
Tomina was both interested and amused. At present, this was but a game
of play to her. She was awkward at the wool winding, but was quite
ready to talk.
"I'll do my very best to supply Miss Avenel's place satisfactorily,"
she said, "but I am not a very clever needlewoman. And I shall be
very glad to dine alone when you have visitors. I'm not very sociably
inclined. I—"
"Perhaps you'll kindly listen to the list of your duties, instead of
talking."
Mrs. Cuthbert's tone was crushing. Tomina was mute.
"I retire to bed at ten o'clock. I take a cup of Benger's food the last
thing, and my back is rubbed with liniment. I am a great sufferer from
rheumatism."
"Do I rub your back?"
Tomina's dismayed tone brought an extra touch of sternness in her
employer's voice.
"Most certainly you do, and anything and everything that I tell you to
do whilst you are in my service."
There was a moment's silence, then the butler appeared with the
tea. Tomina poured it out and waited upon Mrs. Cuthbert with pretty
deference, but all the time she was saying to herself—
"I draw the line at the liniment. How can I stay here?"