{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_18248/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_18248","id":"gutenberg_18248","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/18248","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Novels","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Children -- Religious life"],"text":"Produced by Robert Cicconetti, Sankar Viswanathan, and the\nOnline Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net\n(This file was produced from images generously made\navailable by the Canadian Institute for Historical\nMicroreproductions (www.canadiana.org))\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                            Lucy Raymond;\n\n                                 OR,\n\n                      THE CHILDREN'S WATCHWORD.\n\n\n\n\n                           BY THE AUTHOR OF\n\n                      'KATIE JOHNSTONE'S CROSS.'\n\n\n\n\n\n                               TORONTO:\n                       JAMES CAMPBELL AND SON.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\nCHAP.\n\n    I. MISS PRESTON'S LAST SUNDAY,\n\n   II. LUCY'S HOME,\n\n  III. MORE HOME SCENES,\n\n   IV. NELLY'S SUNDAY EVENING,\n\n    V. STRAWBERRYING,\n\n   VI. A MISSION,\n\n  VII. TEMPTATIONS,\n\n VIII. PARTINGS,\n\n   IX. INTRODUCTIONS,\n\n    X. NEW EXPERIENCES,\n\n   XI. A START IN LIFE,\n\n  XII. AMBITION,\n\n XIII. A FRIENDSHIP,\n\n  XIV. AN UNEXPECTED RECOGNITION,\n\n   XV. THE FLOWER FADETH,\n\n  XVI. DARKNESS AND LIGHT,\n\n XVII. HOME AGAIN,\n\nXVIII. A FAREWELL CHAPTER,\n\n\n\n\nLUCY RAYMOND.\n\nI.\n\n_Miss Preston's Last Sunday_.\n\n    \"Tell me the old, old story\n      Of unseen things above--\n      Of Jesus and His glory,\n      Of Jesus and His love.\"\n\n\nThe light of a lovely Sabbath afternoon in June lay on the rich green\nwoodlands, still bright with the vivid green of early summer, and\nsparkled on the broad river, tossed by the breeze into a thousand\nripples, that swept past the village of Ashleigh. It would have been\noppressively warm, but for the breeze which was swaying the long\nbranches of the pine-trees around the little church, which from its\nelevation on the higher ground looked down upon the straggling\nclusters of white houses nestling in their orchards and gardens that\nsloped away below. The same breeze, pleasantly laden with the mingled\nfragrance of the pines and of the newly-cut hay, fanned the faces of\nthe children, who in pretty little groups--the flickering shadows of\nthe pines falling on their light, fluttering summer dresses--were\napproaching the church, the grave demeanour of a few of the elder ones\nshowing that their thoughts were already occupied by the pleasant\nexercises of the Sunday school.\n\nAlong a quiet, shady path, also leading to the church, a lady was\nslowly and thoughtfully walking, on whose countenance a slight shade\nof sadness, apparently, contended with happier thoughts. It was Mary\nPreston's last Sunday in her old home, previous to exchanging it for\nthe new one to which she had been looking forward so long; and full as\nher heart was of thankfulness to God for the blessings He had\nbestowed, she could not take farewell of the Sunday school in which\nshe had taught for several years, without some regret and many\nmisgivings. Where, indeed, is the earnest teacher, however faithful,\nwho can lay down the self-imposed task without some such feelings? Has\nthe _heart_ been in the work? Have thought and earnestness entered\ninto the weekly instruction? Has a Christian example given force to\nthe precepts inculcated? Above all, has there been earnest,\npersevering prayer to the Lord of the harvest, in dependence on whom\nalone the joyful reaping time can be expected?\n\nSuch were some of the questions which had been passing through Miss\nPreston's mind; and the smile with which she greeted her class as she\ntook her place was a little shadowed by her self-condemning\nreflections--reflections which her fellow-teachers would have thought\nquite uncalled for in one who had been the most zealous and\nconscientious worker in that Sunday school. But Mary Preston little\nthought of comparing herself with others. She knew that to whom \"much\nis given, of him shall be much required;\" and judging herself by this\nstandard, she felt how little she had rendered to the Lord for His\nbenefits to her. As her wistful glance strayed during the opening hymn\nto the faces of her scholars, she could not help wondering what\ninfluence the remembrance of what she had tried to teach them would\nexert on their future lives.\n\nAs her class had been much diminished by recent changes, and in view\nof her approaching departure the blanks had not been filled up, it\nconsisted on this Sunday of only three girls, of ages varying from\ntwelve to fourteen, but differing much in appearance, and still more\nwidely in character and in the circumstances of their lives.\n\nClose to Miss Preston, and watching every look of the teacher she\nloved and grieved at losing, sat Lucy Raymond, the minister's\nmotherless daughter, a slight, delicate-looking girl, with dark hair\nand bright grey eyes, full of energy and thought, but possessing a\ngood deal of self-will and love of approbation,--dangerous elements of\ncharacter unless modified and restrained by divine grace.\n\nNext to her sat fair, plump, rosy-cheeked, curly-haired Bessie Ford,\nfrom the Mill Bank Farm--an amiable, kind-hearted little damsel, and a\nfavourite with all her companions, but careless and thoughtless, with\na want of steadiness and moral principle which made her teacher long\nto see the taking root of the good seed, whose development might\nsupply what was lacking.\n\nVery different from both seemed the third member of the class--a\nforlorn-looking child, who sat shyly apart from the others, shrinking\nfrom proximity with their neat, tasteful summer attire, as if she felt\nthe contrast between her own dress and appearance and that of her\nschool-fellows. Poor Nelly Connor's dingy straw hat and tattered\ncotton dress, as well as her pale, meagre face, with its bright hazel\neyes gleaming from under the tangled brown hair, showed evident signs\nof poverty and neglect. She was a stranger there, having only recently\ncome to Ashleigh, and had been found wandering about, a Sunday or two\nbefore, by Miss Preston, who had coaxed her into the Sunday school,\nand had kept her in her own class until she should become a little\nmore familiar with scenes so strange and new. Curiosity and wonder\nseemed at first to absorb all her faculties, and her senses seemed so\nevidently engrossed with the novelty of what she saw around her, that\nher teacher could scarcely hope she took in any of the instruction\nwhich in the most simple words she tried to impress on her wandering\nmind. And so very ignorant was she of the most elementary truths of\nChristianity, that Miss Preston scarcely dared to ask her the simplest\nquestion, for fear of drawing towards her the wondering gaze of her\nmore favoured classmates, who, accustomed from infancy to hear of a\nSaviour's love and sacrifice for sin, could scarcely comprehend how\nany child,\n\n    \"Born in Christian lands,\n    And not a heathen or a Jew,\"\n\ncould have grown up to nearly their own age, ignorant of things which\nwere familiar to them as household words.\n\nLucy and Bessie, in their happy ignorance and inexperience, little\ndreamed how many thousands in Christian cities full of stately\nchurches, whose lofty spires seem to proclaim afar the Christianity of\nthe inhabitants, grow up even to manhood and womanhood with as little\nknowledge of the glorious redemption provided to rescue them from\ntheir sin and degradation as if they were sunk in the thickest\ndarkness of heathenism. Strange that congregations of professed\nfollowers of Christ, whose consciences will not let them refuse to\ncontribute some small portion of their substance to convey the glad\ntidings of the gospel to distant lands, will yet, as they seek their\ncomfortable churches, pass calmly by whole districts where so many of\ntheir fellow-countrymen are perishing for lack of that very gospel,\nwithout making one personal effort to save them! Will they not have to\ngive an account for these things?\n\nNelly Connor's life had for the last two or three years been spent in\none of the lowest districts of the city in which her father had fixed\nhis abode after his emigration from the \"old sod\" to the New World.\nThe horrors of that emigration she could still remember--the\novercrowded steerage, where foul air bred the dreaded \"ship-fever,\"\nand where the moans of the sick and dying weighed down the hearts of\nthose whom the disease had spared. Her two little sisters had died\nduring that dreadful voyage; and her mother, heart-broken and worn out\nwith fatigue and watching, only lived to reach land and die in the\nnearest hospital. An elder brother, who was to have accompanied them,\nhad by some accident lost his passage; and though he had, they\nsupposed, followed them in the next ship that sailed, they never\ndiscovered any further trace of him. So, when Nelly's father had\nfollowed his wife to the grave in the poor coffin he had with\ndifficulty provided for her, he and his daughter were all that\nremained of the family which had set out from their dear Irish home,\nhoping, in the strange land they sought, to lay the foundation of\nhappier fortunes.\n\nThey led an uncomfortable, unsettled life for a year or two after\nthat, exchanging one miserable lodging for another--rarely for the\nbetter. The father obtained an uncertain employment as a deck hand on\na steamboat during the summer, subsisting as best he could on odd jobs\nduring the winter, and too often drowning his sorrows and cares in the\ntempting but fatal cup. Poor Nelly, left without any care or teaching,\nsoon forgot all she had ever learned; and running wild with the\nneglected children around her, became, as might have been expected, a\nlittle street Arab, full of shrewd, quick observation, and utter\naversion to restraint of any kind.\n\nSuddenly, to Nelly's consternation, her father brought home a second\nwife, a comrade's widow, with two or three young children. In the new\nhousehold Nelly was at once expected to take the place of nurse and\ngeneral drudge, a part for which her habits of unrestrained freedom\nand idleness had thoroughly disqualified her; and the results were\nwhat might have been expected. There was a good deal of heedlessness\nand neglect on Nelly's part, and nearly constant scolding on that of\nher new mother. And as the latter was neither patient nor judicious,\nand was, moreover, unreasonable in what she demanded from the child,\nthere was many a conflict ending in sharp blows, the physical pain of\nwhich was nothing in comparison with the sense of injury and\noppression left on the child's mind. But she had no redress; for her\nfather being so much away from his home, had no opportunity of\nopposing, as he would probably have done, his wife's severe method of\n\"managing\" his motherless child.\n\nThings were in this condition when Mrs. Connor, who had formerly\nbelonged to Ashleigh, made up her mind to remove thither, in the\nexpectation both of living more cheaply, and of being able, among her\nold acquaintances, to find more work to eke out her uncertain means of\nliving. Her husband was now working on a steamboat which passed up and\ndown the river on which Ashleigh was situated, so that he could not\nsee his family as often as before. They were now settled in a small,\nrather dilapidated tenement, with a potato patch and pig-sty; and Mrs.\nConnor, who was an energetic woman, had already succeeded in making\nher family almost independent of the earnings which Michael Connor too\noften spent in the public-house. This being the case, she had no\nscruples in providing for her own children, without much consideration\nfor Nelly; so that the poor child was a forlorn-looking object when\nMiss Preston had found her hovering wistfully about, attracted by the\nsight of the children streaming towards the church, and had induced\nher to come, for the first time in her life, into a Sunday school.\n\nAnd now, with these three girls before her, differing so much in\ncircumstances and culture, it was no wonder that Miss Preston should\nfeel it a matter for earnest consideration what parting words she\nshould say, which, even if unappreciated at the time, might\nafterwards come back to their minds, associated with the remembrance\nof a teacher they had loved, to help them in the conflict between good\nand evil which must have its place in their future lives. But she felt\nshe could not possibly do better, in bidding farewell to her young\npupils, than to direct them to Him who would never leave nor forsake\nthem,--who was nearer, wiser, tenderer, than any earthly friend,--who,\nif they would trust themselves to Him, would guide them into all\ntruth, and in His own way of peace.\n\nShe had brought them each, as a little parting remembrancer, a pretty\ngift-card, bearing on one side the illuminated motto, \"LOOKING UNTO\nJESUS,\" a text the blessed influence of which she herself had long\nexperimentally known. And in words so simple as for the most part to\nreach even little Nelly's comprehension, she spoke earnestly of the\nloving Saviour to whom they were to \"look,\"--of that wonderful life\nwhich, opening in the lowly manger of Bethlehem, and growing quietly\nto maturity in the green valleys of Nazareth, reached its full\ndevelopment in those unparalleled three years of \"going about doing\ngood,\" healing, teaching, warning, rebuking, comforting; not\ndisdaining to stop and bless the little children, and at last dying to\natone for our sins.\n\nShe explained to them, that although withdrawn from our earthly sight,\nHe was as really near to them now as He had been to those Jewish\nchildren eighteen hundred years ago; that their lowest whisper could\nreach Him; that if they would but ask Him, He would be their truest\nFriend, ever at their side to help them to do right and resist\ntemptation, to comfort them in sorrow and sweeten their joy. Her\nearnest tone and manner, even more than her words, impressed the\nchildren, and fixed even Nelly Connor's bright hazel eyes in a\nwondering gaze. It was very new and strange to her to hear about the\nmysterious, invisible Friend who was so loving and kind; the idea of a\n_friend_ of any kind being novel to the lonely, motherless child, more\naccustomed to harsh, unsparing reproof than to any other language.\nMiss Preston, glad to see at least that her interest was excited, was\nfain to leave the germs of truth to take root and develope in her\nmind, under the silent influence of the divine Husbandman.\n\n\"Now, my dear children,\" she said in conclusion, \"whenever you are\ntempted to be careless or unfaithful in duty, to think that _it\ndoesn't matter because no one will know_, remember that your _Saviour\nknows_,--that whatever the duty before you may be, you have to do it\n'as to the Lord, and not unto men.' Whenever you are tempted to get\ntired of trying to do right and resist temptation, or when you may\nfeel sad for your sinfulness and unworthiness, think of the text I am\nleaving you, 'LOOKING UNTO JESUS.' And if you really and earnestly\n_look_ to Him, you will always find help, and strength, and guidance,\nand comfort.\"\n\nOn the reverse side of the illuminated card she had brought for her\nclass was printed, in clear, distinct characters, the hymn,\n\n    \"I lay my sins on Jesus,\n      The spotless Lamb of God;\n    He bears them all, and frees us\n      From the accursed load.\n\n    \"I lay my wants on Jesus,\n      All fulness dwells in Him;\n    He heals all my diseases,\n      He doth my soul redeem.\"\n\nAs Nelly could not read, Miss Preston made her say these verses\nseveral times after her; and as she had a quick ear and a facility for\nlearning by heart, she could soon repeat them. That she could not\nunderstand them at present, her teacher knew; but she thought it\nsomething gained that the words at least should linger in her memory\ntill their meaning should dawn upon her heart. Then, telling Nelly she\nmust take care of her pretty card, and try to learn to read it for\nherself, she bade her class an affectionate farewell, trusting that\nthe Friend of whom she had been teaching them would care for them when\n_she_ could not.\n\n\"I'll learn the hymn, miss, and try to learn to read it, if anybody\n'll teach me,\" said Nelly, her bright brown eyes sparkling through\ntears, for her warm Irish heart had been touched by the kind words and\ntones of her teacher, whom she expected never to see again.\n\nBessy Ford's sunshiny face also looked unusually sorrowful, and Lucy\nRaymond's trembling lip bespoke a deeper emotion, with difficulty\nrepressed.\n\n\"I shall see _you_ again, Lucy,\" Miss Preston said, with a smile, as\nshe affectionately detained her a moment, for Lucy had been invited to\nbe present at her teacher's marriage, at which her father was to\nofficiate. Lucy and Bessie walked away together, the former with her\nfirst experience of a \"_last time_\" weighing on her mind and spirits;\nand Nelly Connor slowly stole away among the trees toward the spot she\ncalled her \"home.\"\n\nBessie's momentary sadness quickly vanished as she engaged in a brisk\nconversation with another girl about her own age, who was eager to\ngossip about Miss Preston's approaching marriage, where she was going,\nand what she was to wear. Lucy drew off from her companion as soon as\nNancy Parker joined them, partly from a real desire of thinking\nquietly of her teacher's parting words, partly in proud disdain of\nBessie's frivolity. \"How _can_ she go on so,\" she thought, \"after what\nMiss Preston has been saying?\" But she forgot that disdain is as far\nremoved from the spirit of the loving and pitying Saviour as even the\nfrivolity she despised.\n\n\"Come, Lucy, don't be so stiff,\" said Nancy as they approached the\nshady gate of the white house where Mr. Raymond lived; \"can't you tell\nus something about the wedding? You're going, aren't you?\"\n\nNancy's pert, familiar tones grated upon Lucy's ear with unusual\nharshness, and she replied, rather haughtily, that she knew scarcely\nanything about it.\n\n\"Oh, no doubt you think yourself very grand,\" Nancy rejoined, \"but I\ncan find out all about it from my aunt, and no thanks to you. Come on,\nBessie.\" Bessie, somewhat ashamed of her companion, and instinctively\nconscious of Lucy's disapproval, stopped at the gate to exchange a\ngood-bye with her friend, who for the moment was not very cordial.\n\nThus Miss Preston and her class had separated, and future days alone\ncould reveal what had become of the seed she had tried to sow.\n\n\n\n\nII.\n\n_Lucy's Home._\n\n    \"Is the heart a living power?\n      Self-entwined, its strength sinks low;\n    It can only live in loving,\n      And by serving, love will grow.\"\n\n\nAs Lucy passed in under the acacias which shaded the gate, she was met\nby a pretty, graceful-looking girl about her own age, who, with her\ngolden hair floating on her shoulders and her hat swinging listlessly\nin her hand, was wandering through the shrubbery.\n\n\"Why, Lucy,\" she exclaimed, \"what a time you have been away! I've\ntried everything I could think of to pass the time; looked over all\nyour books, and couldn't find a nice one I hadn't read; teased Alick\nand Fred till they went off for peace, and pussy till she scratched my\narm. Just look there!\"\n\nBut Lucy's mind had been too much absorbed to descend at once to the\nlevel of her cousin's trifling tone; and having been vexed previously\nat her refusal to accompany her to Sunday school, she now regretted\nexceedingly that Stella had not been present to hear Miss Preston's\nearnest words.\n\n\"Oh, Stella,\" she said eagerly, \"I do _so_ wish you had been with me!\nIf you had only heard what Miss Preston said to us, it would have done\nyou good all your life.\"\n\n\"Well, you know I don't worship Miss Preston,\" replied Stella, always\nready to tease, \"she looks so demure. And as for dressing, why, Ada\nand Sophy wouldn't be seen out in the morning in that common-looking\nmuslin she wore to church.\"\n\n\"Oh, Stella, how can you go on so?\" exclaimed Lucy impatiently. \"If\nyou only had something better to think of, you wouldn't talk as if you\nthought dress the one thing needful.\"\n\n\"That's a quotation from one of Uncle Raymond's sermons, isn't it?\"\nrejoined Stella aggravatingly.\n\nLucy drew her arm away from her cousin's and walked off alone to the\nhouse, obliged to hear Stella's closing remark: \"Well, I'm glad _I_\ndidn't go to Sunday school if it makes people come home cross and\nsulky!\" And then, unconscious of the sting her words had implanted,\nStella turned to meet little Harry, who was bounding home in his\nhighest spirits.\n\nLucy slowly found her way to her own room, her especial sanctuary,\nwhere she had a good deal of pleasure in keeping her various\npossessions neatly arranged. At present it was shared by her young\nvisitor, whose careless, disorderly ways were a considerable drawback\nto the pleasure so long anticipated of having a companion of her own\nage. Just now her eye fell at once on her ransacked bookcase all in\nconfusion, with the books scattered about the room. It was a trifle,\nbut trifles are magnified when the temper is already discomposed; and\nthrowing down her gloves and Bible, she hastily proceeded to rearrange\nthem, feeling rather unamiably towards her cousin.\n\nBut as she turned back from the completed task, her card with its\nmotto met her eye, like a gentle reproof to her ruffled\nspirit--\"LOOKING UNTO JESUS.\" Had she not forgotten that already? She\nhad come home enthusiastic--full of an ideal life she was to live, an\nexample and influence for good to all around her. But, mingled in her\naspirations, there was an unconscious desire for pre-eminence and an\ninsidious self-complacency--\"little foxes\" that will spoil the best\ngrapes. She had to learn that God will not be served with unhallowed\nfire; that the heart must be freed from pride and self-seeking before\nit can be fit for the service of the sanctuary. Already she knew she\nhad been impatient and unconciliatory, contemptuous to poor\nill-trained Nancy, whose home influences were very unfavourable; and\nnow, by her hastiness towards her cousin, whom she had been so anxious\nto influence for good, she had probably disgusted her with the things\nin which she most wanted to interest her.\n\nShe did not turn away, however, from the lights conscience brought to\nher. Nurtured in a happy Christian home, under the watchful eye of the\nloving father whose care had to a great extent supplied the want of\nthe mother she could scarcely remember, she could not have specified\nthe time when she first began to look upon Christ as her Saviour, and\nto feel herself bound to live unto _Him_, and not to herself. But her\nteacher's words had given her a new impulse--a more definite\nrealization of the strength by which the Christian life was to be\nlived--\n\n    \"The mind to blend with outward life,\n      While keeping at Thy side.\"\n\nHumbled by her failure, she honestly confessed it, and asked for more\nof the strength which every earnest seeker shall receive.\n\nWith a much lighter heart and clearer brow, Lucy went to rejoin\nStella, whom she found amusing herself with Harry and his rabbits,\nhaving forgotten all about Lucy's hastiness. Lucy seated herself on\nthe grass beside them, joining readily in the admiration with which\nStella, no less than Harry, was caressing the soft, white, downy\ncreature with pink eyes, which was her brother's latest acquisition.\n\n\"I want him to call it Blanche--such a pretty name, isn't it, Lucy?\"\nsaid Stella.\n\n\"I won't,\" declared the perverse Harry, \"because I don't like it;\" and\nso saying, he rushed off to join \"the boys,\" as he called them.\n\n\"What have you got there?\" asked Stella, holding out her hand for\nLucy's card, which she had brought down. \"Yes, it's pretty, but Sophy\ndoes much prettier ones; you should see some lovely ones she has\ndone!\"\n\n\"Has she?\" asked Lucy with interest,--thinking Stella's sister must\ncare more for the Bible than she herself did, if she painted\nilluminated texts. \"I was going to tell you this was what Miss Preston\nwas speaking to us about.\"\n\n\"I don't see that she could say much about that, it's so short. I\ndon't see what it means; Jesus is in heaven now, and we can't see\nHim.\"\n\n\"Oh, but,\" exclaimed Lucy eagerly, overcoming her shy reluctance to\nspeak, \"He is _always near_, though we can't see Him, and is ready to\nhelp us when we do right, and grieved and displeased when we do wrong.\nI forget that myself, Stella,\" she added with an effort, \"or I\nshouldn't have been so cross when I came home.\"\n\nStella had already forgotten all about that, and felt a little\nuncomfortable at her cousin's entering on subjects which she had been\naccustomed to consider were to be confined to the pulpit, or at any\nrate were above her comprehension. She believed, of course, in a\ngeneral way, that Christ had died for sinners, as she had often heard\nin church, and that in some vague way _she_ was to be saved and taken\nto heaven, when she should be obliged to leave this world; but it had\nnever occurred to her that the salvation of which she had been told\nwas to influence her life now, or awaken any love from _her_ in\nresponse to the great love which had been shown toward her. Not daring\nto reply, she glanced listlessly over the hymn on the card, but took\nup none of its meaning. She had never been conscious of any heavy\nburden of sin to be \"laid on Jesus.\" Petted and praised at home for\nher beauty and lively winning ways, her faults overlooked and her good\nqualities exaggerated, she had no idea of the evil that lay\nundeveloped in her nature, shutting out from her heart the love of the\nmeek and lowly Jesus. She could scarcely feel her need of strength for\na warfare on which she had never entered; and Lucy's words, spoken\nout of the realizing experience she had already had, were to her\nincomprehensible.\n\nShe was a good deal relieved when the tea-bell rang, and Lucy's two\nbrothers, Fred and Harry, with her tall cousin Alick Steele, joined\nthem as they obeyed the summons to the cool, pleasant dining-room,\nwhere Alick's mother, Mr. Raymond's sister, who had superintended his\nfamily since Mrs. Raymond's death, was already seated at the\ntea-table. Her quiet, gentle face, in the plain widow's cap, greeted\nthem with a smile, brightening with a mother's pride and pleasure as\nshe glanced towards her son Alick, just now spending a brief holiday\nat Ashleigh on the completion of his medical studies. He was a\nhandsome high-spirited youth, affectionate, candid, and full of\nenergy, though as yet his mother grieved at his carelessness as to the\n\"better part\" which she longed to see him choose. He had always spent\nhis vacations at Ashleigh, and was such a favourite that his visits\nwere looked forward to as the pleasantest events of the year.\n\n\"Girls,\" said Alick, \"I saw such quantities of strawberries this\nafternoon.\"\n\n\"Where?\" interrupted Harry eagerly.\n\n\"Was anybody speaking to you?\" asked his cousin, laughing. \"But I'll\ntell you if you won't go and eat them all up. Over on the edge of the\nwoods by Mill Bank Farm. I could soon have filled a basket if I had\nhad one, and if mother wouldn't have said it was Sabbath-breaking!\"\n\n\"Alick, my boy,\" said his mother gravely, \"you mustn't talk so\nthoughtlessly. What would your uncle say?\"\n\n\"He'd say it was a pity so good a mother hadn't a better son. But\nnever mind, mother dear, you'll see I'll come all right yet. As for\nthese strawberries, Lucy, I vote we have a strawberry picnic, and give\nStella a taste of real country life. They'll give us cream at the\nfarm, and the Fords would join us.\"\n\nStella looked a little of the surprise she felt at the idea of the\nfarmer's children being added to the party, but she did not venture to\nsay anything, as Alick was by no means sparing in bringing his powers\nof raillery to bear on what he called her \"town airs and graces.\"\n\n\"Well, you needn't make all the arrangements to-night,\" interposed\nMrs. Steele; \"you know your uncle doesn't like Sunday planning of\namusements.\"\n\nAnd just then Mr. Raymond entered the room, his grave, quiet face,\nsolemnized by the thoughts with which he had been engrossed,\nexercising an unconsciously subduing influence over the lively\njuniors. Mr. Raymond never frowned upon innocent joyousness, and even\nthe boisterous little Harry was never afraid of his father; yet there\nwas about him a certain realization of the great truths he preached,\nwhich checked any approach to levity in his presence, and impressed\neven the most thoughtless; although, not tracing it to its real\nsource, they generally set it down simply to his \"being a clergyman.\"\nHis children looked up to him with devoted affection and deep\nreverence; even Stella could not help feeling that her uncle must be a\n_very_ good man; and to Alick, who under all his nonsense had a strong\nappreciation of practical religion, he was the embodiment of Christian\nexcellence.\n\n\"Well, Stella,\" said her uncle, turning kindly to his niece, \"I hope\nyou had a pleasant afternoon. I suppose our little Sunday school looks\nvery small after the great city ones.\"\n\n\"We never go to Sunday school at home, uncle,\" said Stella, with one\nof her winning smiles; \"there are so many _common_ children.\"\n\n\"Oh, indeed!\" exclaimed Alick, seizing the opportunity of putting down\nStella's airs. \"Why don't you get up a select one, then, attended only\nby young ladies of the best families?\"\n\nStella coloured at the sarcastic tone, but Mr. Raymond only said\nkindly, \"Did you ever think, my dear child, how many of these poor\ncommon children, as you call them, you will have to meet in heaven?\"\n\nIt was certainly a new idea to Stella, and made her feel rather\nuncomfortable; indeed she never cared much to think about heaven, of\nwhich her ideas were the vaguest possible.\n\nAs they went to evening service, Alick did not omit to rally Stella on\nher want of candour in leaving her uncle under the impression that she\nhad been at Sunday school that afternoon.\n\n\"Why, Alick!\" she exclaimed in surprise, \"I didn't say I had been at\nSunday school. If Uncle Raymond supposed so, it wasn't my fault.\"\n\n\"Only, you answered him as if his supposition was correct. I have\nalways understood that intentionally confirming a false impression was\nat least the next thing to telling a story.\"\n\n\"Well, I'm sure Stella didn't think of that,\" interposed Lucy\ngood-naturedly, noticing the rising colour of vexation on Stella's\ncountenance.\n\n\"How tiresome they all are here!\" thought Stella; \"always finding out\nharm in things. I'm sure it wasn't my business to tell Uncle William I\nhadn't been at Sunday school. Sophy and Ada often tell the housemaid\nto say they are not at home when they are, and don't think it any\nharm. What would Alick say to that?\"\n\nBy one of those coincidences which sometimes happen--sent, we may be\nsure, in God's providence--Mr. Raymond took for his text that evening\nthe words, \"Looking unto Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith.\"\nThe coincidence startled Lucy, and made her listen with more than\nordinary attention to her father's sermon, though, to do her justice,\nshe was not usually either sleepy or inattentive. Mr. Raymond began by\nalluding to the \"race set before us,\" which the apostle had spoken of\nin the previous verse,--the race which all who will follow Christ must\nknow, but only in the strength He will supply. The young and strong\nmight think themselves sufficient for it, but the stern experience of\nlife would soon teach them that it must be often run with a heavy\nheart and weary feet; that \"even the youths shall faint and be weary,\nand the young men utterly fall;\" and that it is only they who wait on\nthe Lord, \"looking unto Jesus,\" who shall \"mount up on wings as\neagles,\" who shall \"run and not be weary, and shall walk and not\nfaint.\"\n\nThen he spoke of the Helper ever near--the \"dear Jesus ever at our\nside,\" in looking to whom in faith and prayer, not trying to walk in\nour own strength, we may get\n\n            \"the daily strength,\n    To none who ask denied,\"--\n\nthe strength to overcome temptation and conquer sloth, and do whatever\nwork He gives us to do. Something, too, he said of what that work is:\nFirst, the faithful discharge of daily duty, whatever its nature; then\nthe more voluntary work for Christ and our fellow-men with which the\ncorners of the busiest life may be filled up--the weak and weary to be\nhelped, the mourner to be sympathized with, the erring brother or\nsister to be sought out and brought back, the cup of cold water to be\ngiven for Christ's sake, which should not lose its reward.\n\nHe ended by speaking of the grounds on which Jesus is the \"author and\nfinisher of our faith,\" the great salvation won by Him for us on the\ncross,--a salvation to be entered upon now, so that during this life\nwe may begin that glorious eternal life which is to go on for ever.\nThen he besought his hearers, by the greatness of that love which had\nprompted the infinite sacrifice, by the endurance of that mysterious\ndepth of suffering which the Son of God bore for men, that He might\n\"save them to the uttermost that come unto God by Him,\" to come at\nonce to have their sins washed away in the Redeemer's blood, which\nalone could \"purge their consciences from dead works to serve the\nliving God.\"\n\nMany and many a time during Lucy's after-life did the words of that\nsermon come back to her mind, associated with her father's earnest,\nsolemn tones, with the peaceful beauty of that summer Sabbath\nevening--with the old church, its high seats and pulpit and\ntime-stained walls, and the old familiar faces whom all her life she\nhad been wont to see, Sunday after Sunday, in the same familiar seats.\n\nAnd what of the others? Bessie Ford, too, had noticed the coincidence,\nand had listened to the sermon as attentively as a somewhat volatile\nmind would allow her, and had gathered from it more than she could\nhave put into conscious thought, though it was destined to bring forth\nfruit.\n\nAnd far back, in a dusky corner of the little gallery, gleamed the\nbright brown eyes of little Nelly, who had ventured back to the\nchurch, and, hearing the familiar sound of the text, listened intently\nand picked up some things which, though only half understood, yet\nawakened the chords which had been already touched to a trembling\nresponse.\n\nEven little Harry in some measure abstained from indulging in his\nordinary train of meditation during church-time, consisting chiefly of\nplanning fishing excursions and games for the holidays. How many older\nand wiser heads are prone to the same kind of reverie, and could not\nhave given a better account of \"papa's sermon\" than he was usually\nable to do! Fred, the quiet student, listened with kindling eye and\ndeep enthusiasm to his father's earnest exposition of the divine truth\nwhich had already penetrated his own mind and heart; and Alick heard\nit with a reverent admiration for the beautiful gospel which could\nprompt such noble sentiments, and with a vague determination that\n\"some time\" he would think about it in earnest.\n\nStella alone, of all the young group, carried away nothing of the\nprecious truth which had been sounding in her ears. She had gone to\nchurch merely as a matter of form, without any expectation of\nreceiving a blessing there; and during the service her wandering eyes\nhad been employed in taking a mental inventory of the various odd and\nold-fashioned costumes that she saw around her, to serve for her\nsister's amusement when she should return home. It is thus that the\nevil one often takes away the good seed before it has sunk into our\nhearts. Stella would have been surprised had it been suggested to her\nthat the words of the last hymn, which rose sweetly through the church\nin the soft summer twilight, could possibly apply to her that evening:\n\n    \"If some poor wandering child of thine\n    Have spurned to-day the voice divine,\n    Now, Lord, the gracious work begin;\n    Let him no more lie down in sin!\"\n\n\n\n\nIII.\n\n_More Home Scenes._\n\n    \"Tell me the story often.\n      For I forgot so soon;\n    The early dew of morning\n      Has passed away at noon.\"\n\n\nWhen Bessie Ford parted from Lucy at the gate, she had still a long\nwalk before reaching home. Mill Bank Farm was a good mile and a half\nfrom the village if you went by the road, but Bessie shortened it very\nconsiderably by striking across the fields a little way beyond the\nvillage. There were one or two fences to climb, but Bessie did not\nmind that any more than she minded the placid cows browsing in the\npasture through which her way led. The breezy meadows, white with\nox-eye daisies, and in some places yellow with buttercups, with the\nblue river flowing rapidly past on one side, afforded a pleasant walk\nat any time, and the rest of the way was still prettier. Just within\nthe boundary of Mill Bank Farm the ground ascended slightly, and then\ndescended into a narrow glen or ravine, with steep, rocky sides\nluxuriantly draped with velvet moss and waving ferns, while along the\nbottom of it a little stream flowed quietly enough towards the river,\nthough a little higher up it came foaming and dashing down the rocks\nand turned a small saw-mill on the farm. The sides of the ravine were\nshady with hemlocks, spreading their long, waving boughs over the\nrocks, with whose dark, solemn foliage maples and birches contrasted\ntheir fresh vivid green. In spring, what a place it was for wild\nflowers!--as Lucy Raymond and her brothers well knew, having often\nbrought home thence great bunches of dielytras and convallarias and\norchises; and at any time some bright blossoms were generally to be\nfound gleaming through the shade.\n\nBessie, however, did not linger now to look for them, but picking her\nway across the stepping-stones which lay in the bed of the stream, she\nquickly climbed the opposite bank by a natural pathway which wound up\namong the rocks--easily found by her accustomed feet--and passing\nthrough the piece of woodland that lay on the other side, came out on\nthe sunny expanse of meadows and corn-fields, in the midst of which\nstood the neat white farmhouse, with its little array of farm\nbuildings, and the fine old butternut tree, under the shade of which\nMrs. Ford sat milking her sleek, gentle cows, little Jenny and Jack\nsitting on the ground beside her. The instant that they espied their\nsister coming through the fields, they dashed off at the top of their\nspeed to see who should reach her first, and were soon trotting along\nby her side, confiding to her their afternoon's adventures, and how\nJack had found nine eggs in an unsuspected nest in the barn, but had\nbroken three in carrying them in.\n\n\"But me wouldn't have,\" insisted Jack sturdily, \"if Jenny hadn't\nknocked up against me.\"\n\n\"Oh, Jack! Now you know I only touched you the least little bit,\"\nretorted the aggrieved Jenny.\n\n\"Well, don't jump up and down so, or I will let go your hand,\" said\nBessie. \"You almost pull my arm off! I wish you could see how quietly\nlittle Mary Thomson sits in Sunday school, and she is no bigger than\nyou.\"\n\n\"Why can't I go to Sunday school, then?\" demanded Jenny; \"I'd be quiet\ntoo.\"\n\n\"And me too!\" vociferated Jack; the circumstance that they were not\nconsidered old enough yet to go to Sunday school giving it a wonderful\ncharm in their eyes. Then, as they set off again on another race\ntoward their mother, it occurred to Bessie for the first time that\nthese little ones were quite old enough to learn the things that other\nlittle children learned at Sunday school, and that although they were\nnot strong enough for the long walk, and her mother's time and\nthoughts were always so fully engrossed with the round of domestic\nduties, _she_ might easily find time to teach her little brother and\nsister as much as they could understand about the Saviour, who had\ndied that they might be made good, and who when on earth had blessed\nlittle children. Something Miss Preston had said about home\nduties--about helping to teach and guide the little brothers and\nsisters--now recurred to her mind, and conscience told her that these\nduties she had hitherto failed of performing. She had never herself\nreally taken Christ for her own Saviour and Guide, although she often\nfelt a vague wish that she were \"good,\" and the desire of pleasing\nChrist entered but little, if at all, into the motives and actions of\nher daily life. But she generally _knew_ what was right, and\noccasionally, while the impulse from some good influence was still\nfresh, would try to _do_ it.\n\n\"I know Miss Preston would say I ought to teach Jenny and Jack some\nverses and hymns on Sunday,\" she thought. \"I'll begin to-night, when\nmother and the boys are gone to church;\" for a certain shyness about\nseeming \"good\" made her wish to begin her teaching without witnesses.\n\n\"Here, Bessie,\" said Mrs. Ford as Bessie approached, \"do run and get\nthe tea ready--there's a good girl. I shan't be through yet for half\nan hour, for I've the calves to see to; and your father and the boys\n'll be in from watering the horses, and if we don't get tea soon\nthey'll be late for church.\"\n\nBessie went in to change her dress, with her usually good-humoured\nface contracted into a dissatisfied expression. She was tired; it\nwould have been nice to sit down and read her Sunday-school book till\ntea-time. But of course nothing could be said; so she hurriedly pulled\noff her walking things, grumbling a little in her own mind at the\ndifference between her own lot and that of Lucy Raymond, who, she felt\nsure, had none of these tiresome things to do. She had never\nthought--what, indeed, older people often lose sight of--that God so\narranges the work of all His children who will do what He gives them\nto do, that while some may seem to have more leisure than others, all\nhave their appointed work, of the kind best suited to discipline, and\nfit them for the higher sphere of nobler work, in which will probably\nbe found much of the blessedness of eternity.\n\nBefore Bessie went down to her unwelcome task, she recollected that\nshe must put her pretty card safe out of the children's way; so with a\nstrong pin she fastened it up securely on the wall, on which it formed\na tasteful decoration. As she did so, the motto brought back to her\nmemory what Miss Preston had said about \"looking unto Jesus\" in every\ntime of temptation, great or small, as well when inclined to be\ndiscontented or impatient, as in greater emergencies. The evil\nprinciple in her nature rose against her doing so now, but the other\npower was stronger; and perhaps for the first time in her life, though\nshe regularly \"said her prayers,\" Bessie really asked Jesus to help\nher to be more like Himself. Then with a new, strange happiness in her\nheart, that was at once the result of her self-conquest and the answer\nto her prayer, she ran down cheerfully to do her work, singing in a\nlow tone the first verse of her hymn:\n\n    \"I long to be like Jesus,\n      Meek, loving, lowly, mild;\n    I long to be like Jesus,\n      The Father's holy child.\"\n\nJenny and Jack came running in to help her--small assistants, whom it\nrequired a good deal of patience to manage, neither allowing them to\nhurt themselves or anything else, nor driving them into a fit of\nscreaming by despotically thwarting their good intentions; and\nBessie's patience was not always equal to the ordeal. But on this\noccasion Mrs. Ford was left to pursue her dairy avocations in peace,\nwithout being called by Jack's screams to settle some fierce dispute\nbetween him and his sister, whose interference was not always very\njudiciously applied.\n\nThe tea was soon ready,--not, however, before Mr. Ford and his two\neldest boys had come in, accompanied by Bessie's younger brother Sam,\nnext in age to herself, who ought to have been at Sunday school, but\nhad managed to escape going, as he often did. His mother being on\nSundays, as on other days, \"cumbered with much serving,\" and his\nsister generally remaining with some of her friends in the village\nduring the interval between the morning service and Sunday school, it\nwas comparatively easy for Master Sam to play truant, as indeed he\nsometimes did from the day school, where his chances of punishment\nwere much greater, Mr. Ford being far more alive to the advantages of\na \"good education\" than to the need of the knowledge which \"maketh\nwise unto salvation.\" So that, when Bessie began her usual \"Why, Sam,\nyou weren't at Sunday school!\" Sam had some plausible excuse all\nready, the ingenuity of which would amuse his father so much as to\nlead him to overlook the offence.\n\n\"Well, Bessie,\" her mother exclaimed when they were all seated, \"I\nreally believe you haven't forgotten anything, for _once_. I should\nnot wonder if you were to turn out a decent housekeeper yet.\"\n\nFor it was Mrs. Ford's great complaint of Bessie, that she was so\n\"heedless\" and \"needed so much minding,\" though she would always add,\nmodifying her censure, \"But then you can't put an old head on young\nshoulders, and the child has a real good _heart_.\" And being a\nthoroughly active and diligent housekeeper, she generally found it\nless trouble to supply Bessie's shortcomings herself, so that\nBessie's home education was likely to suffer by her mother's very\nproficiency, unless she should come to see that to do all things well\nwas a duty she owed \"unto the Lord, and not unto men.\"\n\n\"So, Bessie, you're going to lose your teacher?\" said her father. \"I\nhear she's to be married on Thursday.\"\n\n\"Yes, father, she bade us all good-bye to-day; and she gave us such\npretty cards, mother, with a text and a hymn;\" and on the impulse of\nthe moment she ran up for hers, and brought it down for inspection. It\nwas handed round the table, eliciting various admiring comments, and\nexciting Jack's desire to get it into his own hands, which being\nthwarted, he was with difficulty consoled by an extra supply of bread\nand butter.\n\n\"And, mother,\" asked Bessie, somewhat doubtfully, \"may I go to-morrow\nand get the things to work a book-mark for Miss Preston? I'd like to\ndo it for a new Bible the teachers are going to give her.\"\n\n\"I don't care,\" said Mrs. Ford, \"if you'll only not neglect everything\nelse while you're doing it. I don't believe in girls fiddling away\ntheir time with such things, and not knowing how to make good cheese\nand butter. But I wouldn't hinder you from making a present to Miss\nPreston, for she has been a good teacher to you.\"\n\nBessie looked delighted, but the expression quickly changed when her\nmother said, as they rose from table, \"Bessie, I guess I'll not go to\nchurch to-night. I've had so much to do that I feel tired out; and if\nI did go, I'm sure I'd just go to sleep. Besides, I don't like the way\nthe dun cow is looking; so you'd better get ready and go with father\nand the boys.\"\n\nNow Bessie had expected to remain at home that evening, as she usually\ndid. She had planned to teach the children for a while, according to\nher new resolution, and then, when they had gone to bed, to sit down\nto read her Sunday-school book, which seemed unusually inviting.\nBessie's Sunday reading was generally confined to her Sunday-school\nbook, for she had not yet learned to love to read the Bible, and\nregarded it rather as a lesson-book than as the spiritual food which\nthose who know it truly find \"sweeter than honey\" to their taste. So\nit was not a very pleasant prospect to have to hurry off to church\nagain, and she felt very much inclined to make the most of the slight\nfatigue she felt, and say she was too tired to go, in which case her\nmother would have willingly assented to her remaining. But conscience\ntold her she was able to go, and ought to go; and remembering her\nmotto and her prayer, she cheerfully prepared to accompany her father\nand brothers to church, and she had reason to be grateful for her\nchoice. The words of the sermon deepened and expanded the impressions\nof the afternoon, and left an abiding influence on the current of her\nlife.\n\nWhen Mrs. Ford had got through her evening duties, and the little ones\nwere hushed in sound slumber, she sat down near the open window to\nrest, her eye falling, as she did so, on Bessie's card. The motto upon\nit carried her thoughts away to the time when, as a newly-married\nwife, she had listened to a sermon on that very text,--a time when,\nrejoicing in the happiness of her new life, she had felt her heart\nbeat with gratitude to Him who had so freely given her all things, and\nwith a sincere desire to live to His glory. How had the desire been\ncarried out? A very busy life hers had been, and still was. The\ninnumerable cares and duties of her family and farm and dairy had\nfilled it with never-ceasing active occupations, as was natural and\nright; but was it right that these occupations should have so crowded\nout the very principle that would have given a holy harmony to her\nlife, and been a fountain of strength to meet the cares and worries\nthat will fret the stream of the most prosperous course? Sacred words,\nlearned in her childhood, recurred to her mind: \"And the cares of this\nworld, and the deceitfulness of riches, and the lusts of other things,\nentering in, choke the word, and it becometh unfruitful.\" Had not that\nbeen her own experience? Where were the fruits that might have been\nexpected from \"the word\" in her?--the Christian influence and training\nwhich might have made her household what a Christian household ought\nto be?\n\nHad not the \"cares of this world\" been made the chief concern--the\nphysical and material well-being of her family made far more prominent\nthan the development of a life hid with Christ in God? Had not the\nvery smoothness and prosperity of her life, and her self-complacency\nin her own good management, been a snare to her? Her husband, good and\nkind as he was, was, she knew, wholly engrossed with the things of\nthis life; and her boys--steadier, she often thought with pride, than\nhalf the boys of the neighbourhood--had never yet been made to feel\nthat they were not their own, but bought with the price of a\nSaviour's blood. Such higher knowledge as Bessie had was due to Miss\nPreston, for, like many mothers, she had not scrupled to devolve her\nown responsibilities on the Sunday-school teachers, and thought her\nduty done when she had seen her children, neatly dressed, set off to\nschool on Sunday afternoon. And the little ones she had just left\nasleep--had she earnestly commended them to the Lord, and tried to\nteach them such simple truths about their Saviour as their infant\nminds could receive?\n\nAll these thoughts came crowding into her mind, as they sometimes will\nwhen the voice of the Spirit can find an entrance into our usually\nclosed hearts; and she shrank from the thought of the account she\nshould have to give of the responsibilities abused, the trust\nunfulfilled. Happily, she did not forget that \"if we confess our sins,\nHe is faithful and just to forgive us our sins;\" and that quiet hour\nof meditation, and confession, and humble resolve was one of the most\nprofitable seasons Mrs. Ford had ever known. For God, unlike man, can\nwork without as well as with outward instrumentality.\n\nWhen the others returned from church, it was with some surprise that\nMrs. Ford heard from Bessie the words of the text.\n\n\"I heard Mr. Raymond preach from that same text long ago, just after\nwe were married, John,\" she said.\n\n\"Well, if you remember it, it's more than I do. But if he did preach\nthe same sermon over again, it is well worth hearing twice.\"\n\n\"Yes, indeed,\" said his wife. \"I wish I had minded it better. It would\nhave been better for us all if we had. Bessie, are you too tired to\nread a chapter as soon as the boys come in? We don't any of us read\nthe Bible enough, I'm afraid.\"\n\nAnd Bessie, struck by something unusual in her mother's tone and\nmanner, cheerfully read aloud, at Mrs. Ford's request, the thirteenth\nof Matthew and the tenth of Hebrews, although the tempting\nSunday-school book still lay unread on the table up-stairs.\n\n\n\n\nIV.\n\n_Nelly's Sunday Evening._\n\n    \"Oh, say not, dream not, heavenly notes\n      To childish ears are vain,--\n    That the young mind at random floats,\n      And cannot catch the strain.\"\n\n\nIn the meantime let us go back to Nelly Connor, and see how _she_\nspent her Sunday afternoon.\n\nWhen she had wistfully watched the last of the groups of children\ndisappearing in the distance, she walked slowly away toward her\n\"home\"--a dilapidated-looking cottage in a potato patch, enclosed by a\nbroken-down fence, patched up by Nelly and her new mother with old\nbarrel-staves and branches of trees. The outdoor work which fell to\nher lot Nelly did not so much dislike. It was the nursing of a\nscreaming baby, or scrubbing dingy, broken boards--work often imposed\nupon her--which sorely tried her childish strength and patience.\n\nNelly found the house deserted. Sunday being Mrs. Connor's idle day,\nshe usually went to visit some of her friends in the village, taking\nher children with her. A piece of bread and a mug of sour milk on the\ntable were all that betokened any preparation for Nelly's supper; but\nshe was glad enough to miss the harsh scolding tones that were her\nusual welcome home.\n\nNelly sat down on the doorstep to eat her crust, watching, as she did\nso, a little bird which was bringing their evening meal to its\nchirping little ones in a straggling old plum-tree near the house. For\nin animal life there is no such discord as sin introduces into human\nlife, marring the beauty of God's arrangements for His creatures'\nhappiness. Then, having nothing to keep her at home, she took up her\ndingy, tattered straw hat, and strolled slowly along towards the\nvillage, keeping to the shady lanes on its outskirts till she came out\nupon the fields across which Bessie had taken her way home.\n\nOn her way she passed Mr. Raymond's pretty shrubbery, and stood for a\nwhile quite still by the white railings, looking at the group\nwithin--Lucy and her cousin sitting under the trees on the green turf,\nwith Harry and the rabbit close beside them. Nelly thought she had\nnever seen anything so pretty as Stella, with her rose-leaf complexion\nand sunny golden hair. The two might have served a painter for a\ncontrast, both as to externals and as to the effect of the surrounding\ninfluences which mould human life: the one, from her cradle so\ntenderly and luxuriously nurtured, petted, and caressed; the other,\naccustomed from her earliest years to privation and hardship, to harsh\ntones and wicked words, to all the evil influences which surround a\nchild left to pick up its education on the city streets. Strange\nmystery of the \"election of circumstances!\"--one of the strangest in\nour mystery-surrounded life, never to be cleared up till all crooked\nthings shall be made straight. Only let the privileged ones, whose\nlines have fallen in pleasant places, remember that \"to whom much is\ngiven, of them much shall be required.\"\n\nA forlorn little figure Nelly looked as she strolled along the\nfield-paths which Bessie had taken an hour before. But she did not\ntrouble herself much about externals, except when in company with\nothers whose better attire made her painfully conscious of the defects\nin her own; and being of a nature open to every impression from\nsurrounding objects, she was at that moment far from being an unhappy\nchild. It was not often that she was completely free to wander at\nwill; and the fresh breezy fields, the sweet scents of the clover and\nthe pines, the blue rippling river, and the cows that looked calmly at\nher with their patient, wistful eyes, were all novelties to the town\nchild, whose first summer it was in the country. Some faint\nrecollections she still had of the grassy slopes of her native hills,\nin the days of her early childhood; but since then all her experiences\nof summer had been the hot, hard pavements and stifling dust of a\nlarge city.\n\nShe had never before extended her wanderings in the direction of Mill\nBank Farm so far as to reach the ravine through which the little\nstream flowed into the river; and now, when she came to the edge of\nthe steep slope and looked down into the luxuriant depth of foliage\nand fern and ragged moss-clad rock, she felt a sense of delight more\nintense than Bessie Ford or Lucy Raymond, familiar all their lives\nwith such scenes, had ever experienced. She stood spell-bound at\nfirst, and then, scrambling down among rock and fern, reached the\nlittle stream, and was soon wading about in its bed, enjoying the\nsensation of the soft, warm water flowing over her bare feet, and\npulling the little flowering water-plants that raised their heads\namong the moss-grown logs and stones which lay in the bed of the\nstream. Then she began to climb up on the other side, stopping to\nexamine with admiring eyes every velvety cushion of moss, and cluster\nof tiny ferns, and fairy-like baby pine or maple, and picking with\neager hands the wild roses and other blossoms which she espied among\nthe tangled underwood.\n\nAt last, tired with her wanderings, and with hands full of her\ntreasures, she threw herself down on a bed of dry moss that carpeted\nthe top of a high bank of rock which overlooked the river winding away\nbeneath, while overhead, through the feathery sprays of the long,\nstraggling pine boughs, the slanting sunbeams flickered on the turf\nbelow.\n\nThere, in that solitary stillness--all the stiller for the confused\nmurmur of soft sounds, and the fresh, sweet breath of the woods\nperfuming the air--unaccustomed thoughts came into the little girl's\nmind,--thoughts which, in the din and bustle of the city, where the\ntide of human interests sufficed to fill up her undeveloped mind, had\nscarcely ever entered it. But here, where the direct works of God\nalone were around her, her mind was irresistibly drawn towards Him of\nwhom Miss Preston had told her, that He had made her and all she saw\naround her, and who lived, she supposed, somewhere beyond that blue\nsky. With so many pleasant things around her, the thought of their\nMaker was pleasant too. But then Miss Preston had told her that God\nloved what was good, but hated what was bad; and did not her new\nmother constantly tell her she was a \"bad child?\"--an accusation in\nwhich her conscience told her there was much truth. So God could not\nlove her, she thought.\n\nBut Miss Preston had said that God did love her--that He cared for her\ncontinually, and wished to make her good and happy--that He had even,\nin some strange way which she could not understand, sent His Son to\ndie for her, that she might be made good. It was all new and strange,\nbut she had faith in Miss Preston; and because she had told her, she\nbelieved it must be true, that she, who had come to think\nherself--poor child--too bad for any one to care for, had really a\ngreat, kind Friend near her, though she could not see Him, and loving\nher more than the mother whose warm caress she could still remember.\nIt was an idea that might seem beyond the grasp of a poor untaught\nchild, were it not that He who reveals Himself to babes and sucklings\ncan speak to the heart He has made in ways beyond our power to trace.\nThe idea in Nelly's mind of that wonderful love which she so sorely\nneeded, was more enlightened than many a philosopher's conception of\ndivinity, and the dark eyes filled with tears as a half-formed prayer\nawoke from her heart to the loving Jesus, who, Miss Preston had told\nher, would hear and answer her.\n\nAnd who could doubt that He did hear and answer the desolate,\nuncared-for child, scarcely knowing as yet what \"good\" meant, since\nher knowledge had been only of evil! Her conscience, however, was not\ndead, though neglected; she knew at least what \"wrong\" was, and felt\nshe must leave off doing it if the Saviour was to be her friend. But\nhow should she be able to leave off her bad, idle ways, and become a\ngood, industrious girl, such as her new mother said most of the little\ngirls in Ashleigh were? Then she remembered the words which Miss\nPreston had made her repeat, \"Looking unto Jesus,\" and \"I lay my sins\non Jesus,\" and that Miss Preston had told her she must ask Jesus to\ntake away her sins and make her good. But she thought the right place\nfor speaking to Jesus must be in the church, as most of the people she\nhad known in the city used to go to church \"to confess,\" and she\nsupposed that must have something to do with it.\n\nJust then she saw the Fords passing at a little distance on their way\nto church, and it occurred to her that she would go too; and perhaps\nJesus would hear her there, and show her how she was to be made good.\nSo she started up, and was speedily on the other side of the ravine,\nalmost overtaking the Fords before they reached the village. The\nservice was beginning when she crept stealthily into one of the\nfarthest back seats, half afraid lest she was doing wrong in thus\ntrespassing where she had no right. Then, crouched in a corner, with\nher face bent forward and her elf-locks half covering her eyes, she\nlistened with intense earnestness, trying to take in all she could of\nwhat was so new, yet already not unfamiliar to her, and half disposed\nto think that the kindly-looking gentleman who stood there and spoke\nin such solemn tones might be Jesus Himself.\n\nLet not the more favoured ones, on whom from their cradles the blessed\nlight of divine truth has steadily shone, smile at this poor child's\nignorance, but rather try to show their gratitude for higher\nprivileges, by seeking to impart some of the light shed on them so\nabundantly to those who are still wandering in darkness.\n\nOn Nelly's listening heart Mr. Raymond's sermon did not fall so\nfruitlessly as some might have expected. For God is, for all, the\nhearer and answerer of prayer, and He never leaves unheard the weakest\ncry to Him. As the lonely child once more sought her comfortless home,\nshe felt a stirring of new hope within her, and scarcely minded her\nmother's rough words when she demanded, \"What have you been doing out\nso late? No good, I am sure!\"\n\nMrs. Connor had been enlarging, among sympathizing friends, on the\nhardship of her having to support her husband's child when he did so\nlittle himself for his family. \"My goodness! all he gives us wouldn't\nhalf pay Nelly's board,\" she had declared; and as her grievances were\nstill fresh in her mind, she greeted her step-child with even more\nasperity than usual.\n\nBut as Nelly crept away to her hard little bed, perhaps some angel,\nsent to minister to the motherless child, may have known that the\n\"good-for-nothing,\" ignorant little girl, oppressed with the feeling\nof her own sinfulness, and full of the thought of her new-found\nheavenly Friend, was nearer the kingdom of heaven than the petted,\nadmired, winning Stella Brooke, who had never yet learned her need of\nthe Saviour, who came \"not to call the righteous, but sinners to\nrepentance.\"\n\n\n\n\nV.\n\n_Strawberrying._\n\n    \"Why should we fear youth's draught of joy,\n      If pure, would sparkle less?\n    Why should the cup the sooner cloy\n      Which God has deigned to bless?\"\n\n\nThe \"strawberry picnic\" proposed by Alick Steele had been fixed for\nthe following Tuesday should it prove fine. Alick and Fred had been\nover at Mill Bank Farm, and the younger Fords had agreed to meet them\nat the ravine, with their contribution of milk and cream, and various\nother things which Mrs. Ford's zealous housewifery would not be\nprevented from sending, though Fred assured her that it was\nunnecessary.\n\n\"I know what young folks can eat, Mr. Fred,\" she replied, \"and you may\nas well have plenty;\" and Alick laughingly assured her she was quite\nright. Alick Steele, or the \"young doctor,\" as his old friends now\nbegan to call him, had been an acceptable guest at many a picnic and\nmerry-making, but he had never entered into anything of the kind with\nmore spirit and zeal than he now threw into this simple gypsying\nexcursion with his country cousins.\n\n\"He's no end of a fellow for a picnic,\" declared Harry\nenthusiastically, \"and ten times as good as Fred;\" the quiet nature of\nthe latter always shrinking from any unusual bustle, while Alick's\nunfailing flow of animal spirits found a congenial outlet in any\nlittle extra excitement, especially when it was connected with the\nprocuring of enjoyment for others. He and Harry were busy all Monday\nin exploring the ground and selecting the most eligible place for the\nrepast; and Harry averred, when they returned home, that they would\nhave a \"splendid time\" next day, if it were only fine.\n\nNext morning opened as fair and bright as the excursionists could\ndesire,--not too hot, but tempered by a pleasant breeze--\"just the day\nfor the woods, and not too rough for the water.\" For Stella had\nmanifested such consternation at the idea of going through the\npasture--\"cows always frightened her so\"--that, notwithstanding the\nraillery and the representations of Alick and Harry, it was evident\nthat her pleasure would be spoiled if she were obliged to go by the\nfield-path. Alick therefore had good-naturedly hunted up a boat, which\nwould save them a long dusty walk by the road, and greatly enhance the\npleasure of the excursion, besides carrying the \"_impedimenta_,\" as\nFred classically termed the baskets of provisions. Marion Wood, a\nplaymate of Lucy's, was to accompany them in the boat, while Mrs.\nSteele and the boys walked across the fields.\n\nAs soon as the early dinner could be got over, the boat's cargo was\ntaken on board, the passengers embarked, and after some little screams\nfrom Stella, who had a habit of being \"nervous,\" the little bark shot\noff, swift and straight, impelled by Alick's firm, skillful strokes.\nThe water-party reached the mouth of the ravine considerably sooner\nthan the others; and while awaiting their arrival, Alick rowed them to\na little fairy islet near the shore, where they landed to explore it,\nand twine their hats with the graceful creepers and ferns growing\namong its rocks. Then re-embarking, they floated at leisure up and\ndown the glassy shaded water, fringed with tall reeds, the girls\nalternately trying their hands at the oars, till a shout from Harry\nand the waving of handkerchiefs announced the arrival of the rest of\nthe party.\n\nThe strawberry-pickers had soon begun their search. Fred, who\npreferred rowing to strawberry-picking, undertook to take charge of\nHarry, who was as eager for the water as a young duck; while Mrs.\nSteele, taking out her knitting, sat down beside the baskets under a\nspreading oak, on a knoll overlooking the river, to wait until there\nshould be a demand for tea.\n\nVery quickly the time sped away, while the children pursued their busy\nbut not laborious quest of the tempting berries, half hidden under\ntheir spreading leaves; and many an exclamation, half of annoyance,\nhalf of amusement, was uttered as one of them made a dart at a bright\nspot of crimson, fancying it a rich cluster of berries, and finding\nonly a leaf.\n\n\"Why in the world do strawberries have red leaves, I wonder!\"\nexclaimed Harry, who, tired at last of boating, was pretending to help\nthem, though they all declared he ate as many as he picked.\n\n\"To inure you to the disappointments of life,\" responded Alick\noracularly. \"You'll find, as you go along, there are more red\nstrawberry leaves than berries all through.\"\n\nAnd Alick half sighed, as if he had already learned the lesson by\nexperience.\n\n\"There's one thing, Alick, of which that remark doesn't hold good,\"\nremarked Fred to his cousin in an undertone. \"My father says _that_\nsheet-anchor will bear us up through all the disappointments of life;\nand I believe it.\"\n\n\"Well, very likely you're right,--well for those who can feel it so.\nBut at present I can't say I belong to that happy number. Some time or\nother, perhaps. You know my head has been full of all sorts of ologies\nexcept theology for a good while back.\"\n\n\"The 'more convenient season,' Alick,\" replied Fred, with a half\nsmile.\n\n\"Here, a truce to moralizing. Who's got the most strawberries? The\npremium is to be the finest bunch in the collection,\" shouted Alick.\n\nAnd after the prize had been with much ceremony and mirth adjudged to\nBessie Ford, it was time to think about tea.\n\n\"Come,\" said Alick, \"shoulder arms, that is, baskets, and march!\"\n\nAll were very ready to obey Alick's word of command, and the merry\nparty were soon collected around the snowy tablecloth spread on the\nturf, on which Mrs. Steele had arranged the tempting repast of pies\nand cakes, curds and cream, to which a fine large dish of\nstrawberries--a contribution from the farm--formed a tempting\naddition.\n\nFred, at his aunt's request, asked a blessing, and then the good\nthings were welcomed by the appetites sharpened by fresh air and\nexercise; and the feast was enlivened by the innocent glee and frolic\nwhich usually enliven such simple country parties, unfettered by form,\nand unsophisticated by any of the complications which creep into more\nelaborate picnics. Even Stella, though she felt the whole\naffair--especially the presence of the farmer's children--rather below\nher dignity as an embryo city belle, gave herself up unrestrainedly to\nthe enjoyment of the occasion, and was more natural and free from what\nAlick called \"airs\" than she had been at any time during her visit.\nBut the party were quite unconscious that they were watched, through\nthe thickly drooping boughs of a large hickory, by a pair of bright,\ndark eyes, which were wistfully regarding them. The eyes were those of\nNelly Connor, who, having been unexpectedly left free that afternoon\nto follow her own devices, had wandered away in the direction of the\nspot which had so fascinated her on Sunday.\n\nWhen the tea was fairly over, and cups, dishes, and other\nparaphernalia were being packed up by Mrs. Steele and the girls,\nStella, who, not being inclined to assist in such a menial occupation,\nwas wandering aimlessly about, made a discovery.\n\n\"Oh, Lucy,\" she exclaimed, coming hurriedly up to her, \"there is such\na ragged, bold-looking little girl sitting over there! She has been\nwatching us the whole time.\"\n\n\"Well, her watching wouldn't hurt us,\" said Lucy, smiling at her\ncousin's consternation. \"I hope she was pleased with what she saw.\nWhy, it's Nelly Connor!\" she added as the little girl emerged from her\nhiding-place. \"What can have brought _her_ here? I'll get Aunt Mary to\ngive her something to eat. I daresay she's hungry enough, for Miss\nPreston told me she didn't think her new mother gave her enough to\neat.\"\n\n\"I think she ought to be scolded and sent away,\" said Stella\ndecidedly. \"You are just encouraging her impertinence in coming here\nto watch us.\"\n\nBut Lucy had already run off to her aunt, and was soon carrying a\nplate heaped with good things to the astonished Nelly, who, frightened\nat being discovered, and at Stella's frowning looks, was thinking how\nshe might make good her escape. Stella had only spoken as she had been\naccustomed to hear those around her speak. She had been brought up to\nlook upon poverty and rags as something almost wicked in themselves,\nand had never realized that feelings the same as her own might lie\nunder an exterior she despised. She had never been taught the meaning\nof \"I was a hungered, and ye gave me meat; I was thirsty, and ye gave\nme drink.\" Lucy, on the contrary, had been taught to consider it the\nhighest privilege and gratification to impart a share of the bounties\nbestowed upon herself to the poor and needy whom our Saviour has left\nas a legacy to His followers, and had already tasted the happiness of\nlightening somewhat the load of poverty and hardship which press upon\nsome during all their lives.\n\nShe soon reassured Nelly, and had the satisfaction of seeing her\nenjoy the food with the zest of one to whom such delicacies were rare\nindeed, and whose appetite was very seldom fully satisfied at home.\nShe explained to the rest that Nelly was in her class at Sunday\nschool; and Stella mentally put it down as another objection to going\nthere, that it involved the possibility of such undesirable\nacquaintanceships. Alick was much interested in the little wanderer;\nand even after the rest had set off towards the farmhouse, which they\nwere to visit before returning, he remained beside her, drawing from\nher, bit by bit, her touching history, until she began to remember how\nlate it was, and started homeward, much astonished and cheered by the\nkindness and sympathy she had met with.\n\nAlick found the rest of the party exploring the farmyard, admiring the\ncows, particularly Mrs. Ford's sleek, glossy black favourite; while\nHarry was, to his intense delight, cantering up and down the road to\nthe gate, on the stout little pony which the farmer usually rode to\nmarket.\n\nAs there was a full moon, there was no hurry about returning; and on\nthe arrival of Mr. Raymond, who had walked over to meet them, Mrs.\nFord insisted on their coming in for a while. And before they took\ntheir leave she brought out her large family Bible for evening\nworship, with the request that Mr. Raymond would read and pray before\nhis departure; \"for,\" she said, \"I know we don't mind these things\nhalf enough, and we'd be all the better of a word or two from you.\"\n\nMr. Raymond read the last chapter of Ecclesiastes, making a few brief\nbut impressive comments on the insufficiency for true happiness of the\nenjoyments which this life can furnish, fair and good gifts of God\nthough such enjoyments may be. \"The time would come, even in this\nlife,\" he said, \"when the joys of this world would be found wanting.\nAnd after this life, what would be their condition who had made this\nworld their portion, and had 'not remembered their Creator in the days\nof their youth?'\" Doubt-less the thought of his own youthful circle,\nand of the strong, ruddy young Fords, all so full of health and life\nand joyous spirits, was strongly upon him when he dwelt so earnestly\nupon the words: \"Rejoice, O young man, in thy youth, and let thy heart\ncheer thee in the days of thy youth, and walk in the ways of thy heart\nand in the sight of thine eyes; but know thou, that for all these\nthings God will bring thee into judgment.\"\n\nThen, reading part of the third chapter of the First Epistle of John,\nhe directed his hearers to the wonderful privileges provided for them,\nso far transcending all mere temporal gifts--to the \"love the Father\nhath bestowed, that we should be called the sons of God,\"--showing how\nthese privileges were to be grasped through faith in the love which\nlaid down life for us; and how that love, flowing into the heart, was\nto purify the life by enabling us to do the things which are pleasing\nin His sight.\n\nThe solemn, earnest words--few, but well chosen--seeming to come with\npeculiar power after the day of joyous excitement, touched responsive\nchords in the hearts of most of the young party, who looked earnest\nand thoughtful; though who could tell whether the impression should be\nan abiding one, or should pass away like the \"early dew?\" Lucy and\nBessie listened with real interest--the latter, especially, with much\nmore than she would have felt a few days before; and Mrs. Ford\nsilently renewed her good resolutions to seek to influence her family\nto choose the \"better part, which could not be taken away from them.\"\n\nLucy could not help glancing at Stella when the verses in the chapter\nabout want of compassion for the brother or sister in need were read;\nbut Stella looked placidly unconscious, and indeed her thoughts were\nfar away,--considering how she should best impress Marian Wood, on\ntheir way home, with a due sense of the grandeur of her city life.\n\nAfter many kind parting salutations, and warm invitations from Mrs.\nFord to come soon and spend an afternoon at the farm, the party took\nleave; one division proceeding homeward by the winding road, lying\nwhite in the full moonlight, as the fields were now wet with dew,\nwhile the others took the shortest cut to the river, where the boat\nwas lying. Very little was said during most of the way, except some\nsubdued exclamations of delight as they passed out from the deep\nshadow of the overhanging rocks into the broad river, which glittered\nin the moonlight like a sheet of dazzling silver, roughened by the\nslightest ripple, and past point after point of luxuriant foliage,\nlooking dream-like and unreal in the light that silvered their\nglistening leaves.\n\nAs they neared the village, Lucy suddenly recollected their unexpected\nguest. \"I wonder how Nelly got home! Did she stay long after we left,\nAlick?\" she said.\n\n\"No; she said her mother would be angry if she were out late, so she\nset off at a run.\"\n\n\"Lucy,\" said Stella, \"I wonder how you can have anything to do with\nsuch a vagabond-looking child! I'm sure she was watching to see\nwhether she could pick up anything; and she looked just like a gipsy.\"\n\n\"Oh, Stella! how can you be so suspicious?\" exclaimed Lucy\nindignantly. \"I don't believe Nelly would do any such thing! No wonder\nthe poor child was watching us while we were at tea; didn't you see\nhow hungry she was?\"\n\n\"Well, I know we've had things stolen by just such children, and papa\nsays it's best to keep such people down; for they're sure to impose on\nthose who are kind to them, and charity is quite thrown away upon\nthem.\"\n\n\"A convenient belief to save trouble,\" Lucy was just going to say, but\nwisely repressed the impulse, feeling that it would not sound very\nrespectful to Stella's father, who, she felt, must be a very different\nman from her own.\n\n\"Stella,\" said Alick, \"did it ever occur to you what you might have\nbeen if you had been left, motherless and almost fatherless, to run\nall day on the streets, listening to bad words and seeing all sorts of\nevil, without any one to say a kind word to you and teach you what is\nright? I wish you could have heard the poor little thing's story as\nshe told it to me.\" And in a few words he gave them an outline of\nNelly's history.\n\n\"Papa says you never can believe their stories,\" objected the\ncity-hardened Stella.\n\n\"I know you can't always,\" replied Alick; \"but I think I'm not easily\ntaken in, and I'm willing to stake my judgment on this being no sham.\nAnd how would _you_ have turned out from such a bringing-up,\nMademoiselle Stella?\"\n\n\"And where is her father?\" Lucy asked.\n\n\"Oh, her father works on a boat, and is seldom at home. They came to\nlive here because it is cheaper, and they can have a pig and raise\npotatoes.\"\n\n\"I wonder whether she can read,\" said Lucy.\n\n\"I shouldn't think so, for she never was at school in her life, nor at\nchurch either, since they left Ireland, till last Sunday.\"\n\n\"I wonder,\" said Stella, \"whether she understood anything she heard.\"\n\n\"Possibly she might be able to give as good an account of the sermon\nas some other people,\" remarked Alick mischievously. \"Come, Stella,\nwhat was the text?\"\n\n\"I don't believe you know yourself,\" retorted Stella, colouring; and,\nfortunately for her, Alick's attention was just then directed to the\ncare of landing his passengers.\n\nAs they walked home, Stella and Marian in front, eagerly engrossed in\na children's party which the former was describing, Lucy remarked\nimpatiently to Alick, \"How can Stella talk in that hard, unfeeling way\nabout poor people?\"\n\n\"Poor girl!\" said Alick, \"it is sad to see any one so spoiled by\nliving in a cold worldly atmosphere. As you know more of the world,\nLucy, you will be more and more thankful for such a home as you have\nalways had.\"\n\nLucy was silent. Her cousin's words made her feel that she had been\nindulging in self-righteous and uncharitable feelings, and she felt\nhumbled at the lesson which she had thus received from one who did not\nprofess to be a Christian, in one of a Christian's most important\ngraces. But she accepted the rebuke, and she added to her evening\nprayer the petition that she might be made more humble, and less ready\nto condemn; as well as that Stella's heart might be opened to receive\nthe love of Christ, and, through this, of her poor earthly brothers\nand sisters.\n\nThe little party were soon assembled at home, and after cheerful\n\"good-nights,\"--Harry remarking that \"he was awful tired, but there\nnever had been a nicer picnic,\"--the wearied excursionists soon lost\nall sense of fatigue in peaceful slumbers and happy dreams.\n\n\n\n\nVI.\n\n_A Mission._\n\n    \"And if this simple message\n      Has now brought peace to you,\n    Make known the old, old story,\n      For others need it too.\"\n\n\nTwo days after the picnic was the day fixed upon for Miss Preston's\nwedding, to which, as has been said, Lucy had been invited to\naccompany her father and aunt. Stella had not been included in the\ninvitation, which she privately thought a great omission. It would\nhave been such a good opportunity for showing the Ashleigh people how\nthey dress in the city, and she felt sure that, tastefully attired in\na lovely white grenadine, which would have been just the thing for the\noccasion, she and her dress would have added no small _eclat_ to the\nwedding.\n\nNevertheless she behaved very amiably to Lucy, who, when she pressed\nher to wear one of her own pretty white dresses, and offered to lend\nher any of her ornaments which she fancied, felt somewhat ashamed of\nher own condemnatory feelings toward her cousin, since it is a very\nnatural tendency in all of us to make our own estimate of others\ndepend to a considerable extent upon their treatment of ourselves.\n\nHowever, she adhered to her original determination of wearing the\nsimple India muslin, which had been her own dear mother's bridal dress\n(its trimmings having been worked by her own hands), and all Stella's\nrepresentations that it was \"old-fashioned\" failed to produce any\neffect. She would indeed have felt it treason to admit its inferiority\nto any of her cousin's more stylish dresses. But, to please Stella,\nshe accepted the loan of a sash pressed upon her by her cousin, who\ntook a considerable amount of trouble in the arrangement of her\ntoilet, and in weaving, with innate skill, a graceful wreath of\ndelicate pink rosebuds and green leaves, which she fastened on Lucy's\ndark hair, and pronounced the effect \"charming,\" while Alick\ncomplimented her on her skill. Lucy was conscious of looking better\nthan she had ever done before. It made her think just a little too\nmuch about her appearance, and then she felt humbled at seeing in\nherself the germ of the very feeling she had despised in her cousin.\n\nThe wedding arrangements were very quiet and simple. Lucy, who had\nnever been present on so important an occasion, enjoyed it very much,\nnotwithstanding her sorrow at parting with her teacher, whom she\nthought the very ideal of a bride in her simple bridal dress. Its\nsimplicity, indeed, would probably have scandalized Stella, but Miss\nPreston was not going to be rich, or mingle in gay society, and she\nwisely thought show and finery quite out of place. But she had long\nmade it her chief aim to possess that best ornament of \"a meek and\nquiet spirit,\" which, we are told, \"in the sight of God is of great\nprice.\"\n\nBefore her departure she took Lucy apart to say a few words of loving\ncounsel.\n\n\"I hope you will try to work for Christ, dear Lucy,\" she said, \"as He\ngives you opportunity. Remember, a Christian who does not work is only\nhalf a Christian. Now I think if you tried, you might do Nelly Connor\nsome good. She wants a friend very much, and is easily won by\nkindness.\"\n\n\"I should be glad to do anything I could,\" said Lucy; \"but what would\nbe best to try?\"\n\n\"Well, poor Nelly can't read a word, you know, and I am afraid her\nstepmother would not spare her to go to school. But suppose you were\nto get her to come to you for half an hour a day. I think her mother\nmight be induced to let her do that. And a short reading-lesson every\nday would soon bring her on.\"\n\nLucy was a little disappointed. It seemed such common-place drudgery\nto drill an untaught child in the alphabet and spelling-book. Her\nvague idea of \"work for Christ\" had been of a more exalted nature. But\nher friend added: \"I don't mean that you should not teach her better\nthings also. You could, little by little, teach her a good deal about\nChrist in the course of your daily lessons. But sometimes we may serve\nHim best by doing His commonest work. And think what you will do for\nthis poor child by putting it in her power to read the Bible for\nherself, and have access at all times to our Saviour's own words!\"\n\nLucy willingly promised to try, and then Mrs. Harris, as Miss Preston\nwas now called, bade her an affectionate farewell, before going to\nexchange the parting words with the members of her own family. Lucy\nwatched by the gate till she saw the carriage drive off, and then,\novercome by the reaction from the excitement of the occasion, hurried\nhome through the quiet shady lane, and disregarding Stella's call,\nnever stopped till she reached her own room.\n\nThere the astonished Stella found her lying on her bed, crying\nbitterly, and asked in alarm the cause of her distress. That the\nparting from a Sunday-school teacher, a friend so much older than\nherself, could have called forth such emotion, Stella could not\ncomprehend; and it was difficult for Lucy to explain it to so\nunsympathetic a listener.\n\n\"Why, I'm sure I shan't cry so when Sophy is married and goes south, a\ngreat deal farther away than Miss Preston. Now tell me how she was\ndressed.\"\n\n\"Oh, Stella! I can't just now,\" sobbed Lucy, whose crying was partly\nthe result of nervous excitement, as well as of her realizing for the\nfirst time Miss Preston's departure. And Stella, finding her attempts\nto soothe her unavailing, returned to her story-book, until the\narrival of Mrs. Steele, whom she found more communicative.\n\n\"And where is Lucy?\" inquired her aunt, after satisfying Stella's\ncuriosity. \"She must have slipped away very quietly.\"\n\n\"Oh, she's in her own room. She was crying so, it was no use to speak\nto her. I don't know what for.\"\n\n\"She is very fond of her teacher, and I don't wonder at her crying on\nlosing her. She is a great loss to us all.\"\n\n\"What a fuss they all _do_ make over her! I'm sure she didn't seem\nanything particular,\" thought Stella as she accompanied Mrs. Steele\nup-stairs. Lucy had fallen asleep, but awoke on their entrance, and\nstarted up to arrange her disordered dress and hair before going to\ntea.\n\n\"Just look how you have crushed your nice dress now!\" exclaimed Stella\nreproachfully. \"And the wreath too! It might have been fresh all the\nevening. You might have taken them off if you wanted to lie down.\"\n\n\"I didn't think of it,\" said Lucy apologetically, somewhat remorseful\nfor not having treated the result of Stella's labour with more\nrespect. \"But I shouldn't have worn it all the evening, at any rate,\nfor after tea I am going to see Nelly Connor.\"\n\n\"What! that girl we saw in the wood? What are you going to see her\nfor?\" exclaimed Stella.\n\n\"Miss Preston--I mean Mrs. Harris--wants me to try to get her to come\nto learn to read, if papa and Aunt Mary have no objection; and I'm\nsure they won't.\"\n\nIt was to Stella a bewildering phenomenon, that Lucy should really go\nout of her way to invite such a girl to the house. However, partly\nfrom curiosity, and partly from having nothing better to do, she\nacceded to Lucy's invitation to accompany her; and after tea the girls\nset off, Mrs. Steele warning Lucy to be very conciliatory to Mrs.\nConnor, or she would not accomplish her object.\n\nThey soon reached the side of the green slope on the river bank, on\nwhich the Connors' cottage stood, and were following the path to the\nhouse, when they encountered Nelly herself, struggling up the hill\nwith a heavy pail of water. Her brown, weather-tanned face lighted up\nwith a glad smile when she recognised Lucy, and in reply to her\ninquiry she said she was carrying up water for the next day's washing.\n\n\"And do you carry it all up from the river?\" said Lucy.\n\n\"Yes, miss, every drop,\" replied Nelly, with a weary little sigh.\n\n\"Nelly, would you like to learn to read?\" asked Lucy, plunging at once\ninto her errand.\n\n\"I don't know, miss,\" was the rather doubtful reply.\n\n\"Why, wouldn't you like to be able to read that nice hymn Miss Preston\ngave you, for yourself?\"\n\n\"Yes, miss, I'd like to be able, but I don't know if I'd like the\nlearning.\"\n\nLucy laughed, as did Stella also, and Nelly herself.\n\n\"Well, as you can't be able to do it without learning, don't you think\nyou'd better try?\" asked Lucy.\n\n\"I don't think mother would let me; and I must hurry now, or she'll be\nangry at me keeping her waiting, with the baby to mind.\"\n\nBut just then a large dog, rushing down the hill, upset poor Nelly's\npail.\n\n\"Holy Mary!\" she exclaimed, using the ejaculation she had been\naccustomed to hear from infancy, \"there's all my water spilt;\" and\nseizing her pail, she had run down to refill it, before Lucy was able\nto begin an intended reproof.\n\nThe girls watched her refill her pail, and return towards the cottage\nby a nearer though steeper path. Mrs. Connor, a tall, bony,\ndiscontented-looking woman, had come to the door to look for Nelly.\nNot seeing the young ladies, who were approaching the house from the\nother side, she screamed out in a harsh voice as Nelly approached:\n\n\"What have you been doing all this time, keeping me waiting with the\nchild in my arms?\"\n\n\"It was a dog,\" began Nelly, setting down her pail. But before she\ncould finish her sentence she was roughly shaken, and sharp blows\ndescended about her ears.\n\n\"I'll teach you to spend your time playing with dogs when I'm waiting\nfor you. There, be off, and mind the baby;\" and Nelly, putting up her\nhands to her face, ran crying into the house.\n\nLucy stood for an instant pale with indignation, and then, the impulse\nof the moment making her forget all her aunt's warnings as to being\nconciliatory, and her own prudent resolves, she announced her presence\nby exclaiming, in a voice unsteady with emotion: \"Mrs. Connor, it's a\nshame to beat Nelly like that, when she hasn't been doing any harm. It\nwas my fault she was so long, for I stopped her to speak to her, and\nthen a dog overturned her pail.\"\n\nMrs. Connor was startled at finding there had been spectators of her\nviolence; but she did not betray any shame she might have felt, and\ncoolly regarding Lucy, she replied:\n\n\"Well, I don't see what business it is of yours, anyhow. If young\nladies hain't nothin' better to do than meddle with other folks'\nchildren, they'd better let that be!\"\n\n\"What an impertinent woman!\" said Stella, quite loud enough for her to\nhear. \"Lucy, can't you come away and let her alone?\"\n\nBut Lucy, though a good deal discomposed by her reception, was\ndetermined not to be easily moved from her object; and having by this\ntime remembered her conciliatory resolve, she said, as quietly as she\ncould:\n\n\"Mrs. Connor, my father is Mr. Raymond, the clergyman. I came to see\nif you would let Nelly come to our house every day to learn to read.\nIt's a great pity she shouldn't know how.\"\n\n\"I don't care who your father is,\" retorted the woman in the same\ninsolent tone. \"I don't see what you've got to do with it, whether\nit's a pity or not. The child's lazy enough already, without havin'\nthem idees put into her head; and better people than her do without\nbook-learning.\"\n\n\"Lucy, do come away! I shan't stop to listen to her impudence,\"\nexclaimed Stella as she turned and walked away with a haughty air.\nMrs. Connor's quick eye followed her, and she half muttered to\nherself, \"A city gal!\" Then, taking up the pail which Nelly had set\ndown, she went into the house without vouchsafing another look at\nLucy, who, seeing the uselessness of pressing her point, hastened to\njoin her cousin.\n\n\"Now you see, Lucy, you only get yourself insulted trying to do any\ngood to such people,\" said Stella triumphantly. \"I remember one of\nSophy's friends once wanted her to go visiting poor people with her,\nand papa said he wouldn't have her go on any account; it was all\nnonsense running all sorts of risks to do good to people who didn't\nwant it.\"\n\n\"But it wasn't Mrs. Connor, but Nelly, that I wanted to do good to,\nand she can't help what her odious stepmother does. Only think what\nit must be to live with her!\"\n\n\"I'd run away! But you see Nelly herself didn't seem to care about\nlearning to read.\"\n\n\"Because she didn't know the good of it,\" replied Lucy. \"But what\nshould you or I have done if we hadn't been made to learn, whether we\nliked it or not?\"\n\n\"That's quite different. This girl will always have to work, I\nsuppose, and would get on well enough without learning to read. I know\nmamma was always complaining that our servants were reading trashy\nnovels, that filled their heads with nonsense and made them\ndiscontented.\"\n\n\"But you could have given them something better to read,\" suggested\nLucy.\n\nStella said nothing in reply to this; nor did she enlighten Lucy as to\nthe fact that in reading \"trashy novels\" the servants were only\nfollowing their young mistresses' example. Lucy in the meantime was\nthinking what up-hill work doing good was, and how hard it was to know\nhow to do it. Suddenly she remembered her motto; she had been\nforgetting that the difficulties of the way were to be met in a\nstrength not her own. Perhaps it was because she had not first asked\nfor that strength, that she had met with so little success; and she\nregretted having so soon departed from her resolution of \"looking to\nJesus\" in everything.\n\nBut Stella soon roused from her \"brown study,\" as she called it, by\nvarious questions as to Mrs. Harris's route of travel, and also as to\nher travelling dress, which Lucy was very ill prepared to answer,\nhaving cast hardly a passing glance at it, in her sorrow for her\nteacher's departure. On their way home they overtook Mrs. Steele and\nAlick, to whom were soon related the particulars of their mission,\nStella imitating Mrs. Connor's tone and manner to the life, as she\ngraphically reproduced the conversation, much to Alick's amusement,\nthough he ground his teeth with indignation on hearing of the violent\ntreatment Nelly had received.\n\n\"What a woman! You mustn't leave the poor child to her tender mercies.\nWhat can she turn out, brought up under such a termagant? Suppose I\ntry and bring the old lady round with a little judicious flattery?\"\n\n\"I think I can manage the matter,\" said Mrs. Steele. \"I shall make a\nbargain with Mrs. Connor, and promise to give her a day's work once a\nfortnight, provided she will let Nelly come here for half an hour\nevery day. But do you think the child herself will be willing to\ncome?\"\n\n\"Oh, I'm sure she'll be willing to come where any one is kind to her,\nshe has so little kindness at home,\" replied Lucy.\n\nMrs. Steele proved right. By her more judicious management and\nsubstantial inducement, Mrs. Connor was persuaded to give an\nungracious assent to the plan proposed for Nelly's benefit. But, as if\nto be as disagreeable as possible, even in consenting, she fixed upon\nthe time which Lucy would least have chosen for the task. The only\ntime when she could spare Nelly, she said, was in the evening, after\nthe children were in bed. It was the time when Lucy most enjoyed being\nout, watering her flowers, or taking an evening walk, or row with the\nothers. But the choice lay between doing the work then, or not at\nall; and when she thought how light was the task given her to do, and\nhow slight the sacrifice, she felt ashamed of her inclination to\nmurmur at it.\n\nSo Nelly's education began with the alphabet; and though it was a\ndrudgery both for teacher and pupil, reciprocal kindness and gratitude\nhelped on the task, and before many weeks had passed Nelly was\nspelling words of two syllables, and had learned some truths, at\nleast, of far greater importance.\n\n\n\n\nVII.\n\n_Temptations._\n\n    \"Or rather help us, Lord, to choose the good--\n      To pray for naught, to seek to none but Thee;\n    Nor by our 'daily bread' mean common food;\n      Nor say, 'From this world's evil set us free.'\"\n\n\nThe Sunday school was again assembled on another Sunday afternoon,\nsome weeks later. The day was even warmer than the one on which our\nstory opened, and all the church windows were opened to their widest\nextent, to admit every breath of air which came in through the waving\npine boughs. Lucy had been promoted to teach a small class of her own,\nin which Nelly Connor had willingly taken her place. She was indeed\nadvancing faster in spiritual than in secular learning; for in the\nfirst she had the best of all teachers, to whose teaching her simple\nheart was open--the Holy Spirit Himself.\n\nBessie Ford had found another teacher, and beside her sat Stella, who,\npartly from finding her Sunday afternoons dull, and partly from\nfeeling that it was her uncle's wish that she should accompany Lucy to\nSunday school, had overcome her objection to it so far as to go with\nher cousin. And having found out on the first Sunday how deficient she\nherself was in Bible knowledge, and never liking to appear inferior to\nothers in anything, she took some pains to prepare her lessons, at\nleast so far that her ignorance might not lower her in the eyes of her\nclassmates. It was a poor motive, certainly; still, seeds of divine\ntruth were gradually finding their way into her heart, which might in\ntime germinate and bear fruit. And her stay in Mr. Raymond's\nhousehold, where \"serving the Lord\" was avowedly the ruling principle,\nhad already exercised a healthful influence over her impressionable\nnature.\n\nOn this particular Sunday the interesting announcement was made, that\nthe annual \"picnic\" or Sunday-school excursion was to take place on\nthe following Wednesday, the place being a beautiful oak wood about a\nmile from the church, in the opposite direction from Mill Bank Farm.\nAs little groups clustered together on leaving the church door, there\nwas a general buzz of talk about the picnic.\n\nLucy stopped Nelly Connor to ask her whether she thought her mother\nwould let her go to the picnic.\n\nPoor Nelly looked very doubtful as she replied, \"I don't know; I'm\nafraid not.\"\n\n\"Well, Nelly, I'll see what can be done about it,\" said Lucy\nencouragingly.\n\n\"But I haven't anything decent to wear to it, miss,\" replied Nelly,\nlooking dolefully down on the tattered frock, which her mother never\ntook the trouble to mend, and which she, poor child, could not,\nexcept in the most bungling fashion.\n\nLucy walked home thoughtfully, and, as the fruit of her meditation, a\nprint dress of her own was next morning produced, and a consultation\nwas held with her aunt as to the practicability of altering it to fit\nNelly. \"I only wonder I didn't think of it before,\" she said, \"for she\nis always so miserably dressed. Will you help me to make it up,\nStella?\"\n\n\"My dear, I wouldn't know how! The most I ever sewed in my life was to\nhem a pocket-handkerchief.\"\n\nMrs. Steele looked shocked at such deficiency in what she rightly\nconsidered a most important part of female education. She had always\ntaken care that Lucy should spare enough time from her more congenial\nstudies, to learn at least to sew neatly.\n\n\"Why, Stella!\" Lucy exclaimed, \"you're almost as bad as poor Nelly,\nwho said she had never learned to sew because 'nobody had teached\nher.'\"\n\n\"I've never had time to learn. I like embroidery better; and mamma\nsaid we should never need to do plain sewing, so she didn't see the\nuse of our taking up our time with it.\"\n\n\"No one knows what she may have to do,\" remarked Mrs. Steele gently.\n\"It is always best to know how, at any rate.\"\n\n\"Well, I hope I shall never have to, for I should hate it!\"\n\nHowever, when Lucy was fairly at work on the little frock, Stella\ngood-naturedly offered to help her a little, though, never having been\ntrained to perseverance in anything, her assistance was not very\nefficient.\n\nBessie Ford had gone home from Sunday school with her head turned by\nhearing some foolish talk about her dress. Alas! how often it is that\nSunday scholars, on leaving the school, instead of giving one thought\nto the divine truths they have been hearing, allow their attention to\nbe absorbed with the petty frivolities in which their thoughts run\nwild!\n\n\"Mother,\" said Bessie, after she had duly announced the intended\npicnic, \"can't I have a new pink sash for my white frock? Nancy Parker\nis going to have ever so many new things.\"\n\n\"No, child,\" said her mother, \"you don't need a new sash. Your frock\nlooks quite well enough without one. But I've been thinking you'd be\nthe better of a new hat, for the one you have looks a little brown.\nAnd as you've been a pretty good girl, and a deal less forgetful of\nlate, I wouldn't mind getting you a new hat, if you'll hurry and\nfinish up that plain sewing you've had in hand so long. It's time it\nwas done and put away.\"\n\nBessie looked a little disappointed. The new hat was not so attractive\nas the sash would have been. Suddenly her mother's remark on the\nbrownness of her hat suggested the image of Nelly's tattered, dingy\none, which she had noticed that afternoon.\n\n\"What would you do with my old hat, mother,\" she said, \"if I get a new\none?\"\n\n\"I don't know. You've your sun-bonnet for wearing about the farm. Put\nit by for Jenny, perhaps,\" suggested the thrifty Mrs. Ford.\n\n\"Might I give it to Nelly Connor, mother? Hers will hardly stay\ntogether.\"\n\nMrs. Ford had never seen Nelly, but she knew something of her forlorn\nsituation. \"I'm sure,\" she said, \"I shouldn't mind if you did. I dare\nsay it would be charity to her, poor thing.\" And it occurred to her to\nthink whether she, a well-to-do farmer's wife, had been as abundant in\ndeeds of charity as she might have been.\n\nBessie considered the matter settled, and next day set to work with\nrenewed zeal on the \"plain sewing,\" which had been getting on very\nlanguidly; for Bessie was not fond of long, straight seams, or of\nsitting still for any length of time. She set herself a task as she\ntook her seat under the spreading butternut-tree; and Jenny and Jack\ncame to beg for \"a story.\" Bessie's story-telling powers had been\nlargely developed of late, to make the Sunday lessons she had begun to\ngive the restless little things more palatable to them. Only the\npromise of \"a story\" could fix their attention long enough to commit\nto memory a simple verse. And her powers once found out, she soon had\ndemands upon her for stories to a greater extent than her patience was\nalways equal to satisfying.\n\nBessie had become, as her mother had noticed, much more thoughtful of\nlate. Her card, hung up in her room, kept always before her mind her\nresolution to \"look to Jesus\" for help to live to please Him. And\nthough she still often forgot and yielded to temptation, yet, on the\nwhole, she was steadily advancing in that course in which all must be\neither going forward or backward. Her mother noticed that this decided\nimprovement dated from the day when she had brought home the card,--a\nday which had not been without influence on herself,--although, when\nworldly principles have been long suffered to hold undisputed sway,\nit is difficult at once to overcome old habits; and lost ground is not\nless hard to retrieve in spiritual than in earthly things.\n\nBessie was still diligently working at her \"task,\" when she saw Nancy\nParker running up across the fields.\n\n\"Oh, Bessie,\" she said breathlessly, \"get ready and come right away.\nMy cousins have come to spend the day, and we're going boating up the\nriver, and then home to supper. The rest are all waiting in the boat\ndown there, and I ran up to get you. So be quick!\"\n\nBessie hesitated. If she went with Nancy, a considerable portion of\nthe work she had set herself to do would be left undone. Besides, her\nmother had gone to Ashleigh, leaving her in charge; and Bessie was not\nat all sure that, had she been at home, she would approve of her\njoining the party.\n\nTo be sure, she could not be absolutely certain of her mother's\ndisapproval, and she could easily run down for Sam to come and stay\nwith the children. At the worst, she did not think her mother would be\nmuch displeased; and the thought of the pleasant row, and the merry\nparty, and all the \"fun\" they would have, offered no small temptation.\n\n\"Quick, Bessie!\" Nancy urged, impatient of her delay.\n\n\"I don't think I can go, Nancy. Mother's out, and I've a lot of sewing\nto do.\"\n\n\"Bother the sewing! Your mother wouldn't mind, I'm sure. Mine lets me\ndo exactly as I like. Come and get ready;\" and she pulled Bessie from\nher seat, and drew her, half-resisting, towards the house.\n\nThey went up-stairs together, Bessie feeling far from satisfied with\nherself for yielding where conscience told her she ought not to yield.\n\n\"My!\" said Nancy, whose quick eyes had been glancing round the room,\n\"what a grand ticket you've got hanging up there! Where did you get\nit?\"\n\nBessie's eye turned to her motto, and she stood for a minute looking\nat it in silence. Then, instead of replying to the question, she said,\n\"Nancy, I cannot go; it wouldn't be right.\"\n\n\"Well, that's a nice way to treat me!\" said Nancy angrily. \"After my\nwaiting so long, too. Why, don't you know your own mind? Come, you\ncan't change now; I'm not going to be cheated, after all my trouble.\"\n\n\"I'm very sorry, Nancy; but I oughtn't to have said I would go at all.\nDon't wait any longer. But I'll go down to the boat with you.\"\n\n\"Oh, don't trouble yourself; I can do without your company.\" And off\nshe ran, before Bessie could say any more.\n\nBessie felt sorry at having vexed Nancy, and thought a little\nwistfully of the afternoon's pleasure that she might have had. But she\nfelt satisfied that she had done right, and felt thankful that she had\nhad strength given to resist a temptation to which she now felt she\nwould have done very wrong to yield. So she went back to her shady\nseat with a light heart, and stitched away diligently, not repining\nalthough she heard the merry voices of the party, borne to her from\nthe river.\n\nAs her mother had not returned by the time her task was completed,\nshe went in and got tea ready; and then calling up two of the gentlest\ncows, she had milked them by the time Mrs. Ford appeared, tired and\ndusty from her long walk. Her pleased surprise at Bessie's thoughtful\nindustry in getting through so much of the work which she thought was\nstill before her, was in itself sufficient reward for the self-denial;\nand Bessie felt what a shame it would have been if her mother,\nfatigued as she was, had had everything to do on her return, while\n_she_ was away on a pleasure-party.\n\nOf course Mrs. Ford was soon informed of Nancy's visit and invitation.\n\"Oh, my child!\" she exclaimed, \"I am so glad you refused to go. Mrs.\nThompson, in the village, was just telling me about these cousins of\nNancy's, and says they are the wildest set in Burford, and that their\nsociety wouldn't do Nancy any good. So, if you had gone, I should have\nbeen very sorry. I'm so glad you didn't!\"\n\nHow glad Bessie was that she had been enabled to resist the\ntemptation! But she felt she could not take the credit to herself; so\nshe said:\n\n\"I had the greatest mind to go, mother, but something told me I\nshouldn't, just as I was almost going.\"\n\n\"Well, it's all the same to me, as you didn't go. And you were a real\ngood girl, Bessie, to stay!\"\n\nWhat a safeguard is a definite duty conscientiously pursued! If Bessie\nhad not had her task of sewing to finish, with the feeling that it was\nher duty to do it, she might have been more easily led away against\nher better judgment.\n\nNelly Connor had had her temptation, too, the same evening. Her mother\nhad sent her to take home some clothes she had been washing; and as\nNelly was carrying the basket, she noticed a pretty pink printed frock\nlying on the top, which looked as if it would exactly fit her. How\nnice it would be, she thought, if she had such a frock to wear to the\npicnic! Then came one of the evil suggestions which the tempter is so\nready to put into the heart: what if she should keep it till the\npicnic was over, and wear it just that once? She could hide it, and\nput it on somewhere out of her stepmother's sight; and then, perhaps,\nif she were dressed so nicely, some of the other little girls might be\nwilling to play with her; for the poor child felt her isolated\nposition.\n\nThen conscience said, \"Would it be right?\" Had she not been learning,\n\"Thou shalt not steal?\" And had not Miss Lucy explained to her that\nthat meant taking anything, even the least, that was not her own? A\nshort time ago Nelly would have appropriated any trifle that came in\nher way, without thinking twice about it; but some light had visited\nher mind now, and she could distinguish what was darkness. But then\nthis would not be stealing, it would only be borrowing the frock! At\nlast she was so near the house, that she was obliged to make up her\nmind at once; so, scarcely giving herself time to think, she wrapped\nup the frock in the smallest possible compass, hid it behind a stone,\nand ran on to leave her basket, hurrying nervously back, lest some one\nshould inquire for the missing article.\n\nShe found it quite safe, however, and managed to convey it unseen to\nher little attic-room. But Nelly felt far more unhappy than she had\never been when her harsh mother had beaten her most severely. She\ncould not understand how it was that she should feel so miserable. She\nwas glad that she could not go for her lesson to-night, for she should\nhave been ashamed to face Miss Lucy. One of the children just then\nbegan to cry, and she ran down-stairs, glad of something to do, and\ntook the utmost pains to do her evening work particularly well, by way\nof making up for the wrong of which she was inwardly conscious.\n\nBut when she went to bed, Nelly, for the first time in her life,\ntossed about, unable to sleep. All sorts of possibilities of detection\nand disgrace occurred to her, and, above all, the voice of conscience\ntold her she was little better than a thief. She had knelt down to say\nthe simple prayer she had been first taught by Miss Preston, \"O Lord,\ntake away my sin, and make me Thy child, for Jesus Christ's sake;\" but\nindulged sin had come between her and the Father to whom she prayed,\nso that her prayer was only a formal one. She fell asleep at last, but\nonly to dream uneasy dreams, in which the pink frock was always\nprominent; and when she awoke in the early morning, it was with an\nuneasy sense of something wrong, soon defined into a distinct\nrecollection. As she lay watching the early sunbeams slanting golden\ninto her dingy attic, her eye fell upon the card pinned up against the\nwall, \"LOOKING UNTO JESUS,\" which she could now spell out herself. Had\nshe not been told to \"look to Jesus\" when unhappy or naughty, and He\nwould deliver her? She knew now that she could speak to Jesus\nanywhere; so, springing out of bed and kneeling down, she simply but\nheartily asked Him to help her to be good. Then, putting on her\nclothes with all the haste she could, for fear she might be tempted to\nchange her mind, she ran off unobserved, carrying with her the coveted\nfrock, which she handed, without a word, to the servant who was\nsweeping the steps, and who, recognising her, supposed her stepmother\nhad forgotten to send it home with the rest of the washing.\n\nNelly ran off with a heart so much lighter, that she did not mind even\nthe box on the ear which she received on her return for being out\n\"idling about,\" instead of lighting the fire for the breakfast. She\nfelt she had deserved much more than that, and she contentedly\naccepted it as a slight punishment for her wrongdoing.\n\nThat day, when Mrs. Connor was working at Mr. Raymond's, Mrs. Steele,\nshowing her the frock which was now completed, told her it was to be\ngiven to Nelly on condition of her being allowed to go to the picnic.\nMrs. Connor of course grumbled a good deal about the inconvenience of\nhaving to spare Nelly for a whole afternoon, but the frock tempted\nher; and reflecting that the opportune arrival of this frock would do\naway with any necessity for getting Nelly a new one for a long time to\ncome, she ungraciously gave her consent that she should go.\n\nWhen Nelly came that evening for her lesson, Lucy gladly informed her\nthat she was to be allowed to go to the picnic, and presented her with\nthe frock which had been provided for her. Lucy was prepared for her\nlook of surprise, but not so for her covering her face with her hands\nand bursting into tears. With some trouble she drew from her a\nconfused account of the cause of her trouble--the sin she had been led\ninto, and which touched her generous nature all the more now that the\nfrock she had been wishing for was so opportunely provided.\n\nLucy was at first somewhat shocked that Kelly had been capable of\ntaking such a liberty with what was not her own, not being able to\nrealize the strength of such a temptation to a child whose possessions\nwere so few; and she privately resolved not to tell Stella, who would\nscarcely have thought how nobly she overcame the temptation.\n\nHowever, she commended and encouraged Nelly, and told her always to\nresort to the same sure Helper in time of temptation, and to do it in\nthe first place. \"And Jesus is always ready to hear and help you,\" she\nadded.\n\n\"An' it was Him told you to give me the frock too, wasn't it? And I'm\nrightly thankful to Him, and you too, Miss Lucy.\"\n\nAnd Nelly carried home her new acquisition, with very different\nfeelings from those with which she had taken the frock she had\ncoveted.\n\n\"How glad I am I thought of getting it ready for her!\" thought Lucy as\nshe watched her depart, her own heart full of the pleasure of doing a\nmuch-needed kindness,--the only drawback being her regret that Nelly\nhad not a new hat likewise.\n\nThe much-watched-for day on which the picnic was to be held turned out\nas fine as the most eager young hearts could desire, notwithstanding\none or two slight showers that fell in the early morning. But these\nonly cleared the air and laid the dust, and made the foliage so fresh\nand glistening that its early summer beauty seemed for a time\nrevived.\n\nThe fine old oak grove where the feast was to be held, was, even\nbefore the appointed hour, astir with bright little groups of happy\nchildren. The teachers and some of the elder girls were already busy\nat a roughly constructed table, unpacking and arranging cups and\nsaucers, filling the latter with the ripe-red berries which had been\nbrought in in great abundance, and cutting up the piles of buns and\ncakes. Bessie Ford was superintending the distribution of the cream\nwhich had come in large jars from the farmhouses, and of which Mill\nBank Farm had contributed the richest and finest. Lucy of course was\namong the working party, her position as Mr. Raymond's daughter giving\nher a degree of importance far from disagreeable to her. Stella,\nseated with her friend Marian Wood in the centre of a mass of flowers,\nwas daintily arranging them in tiny bouquets to be given to the\nchildren.\n\nAt last Bessie, who with Nelly's new hat beside her had been watching\nthe various arrivals, descried the little solitary figure, with its\ndark, hanging locks, for which she had been looking. When she\napproached her, she was quite surprised at the change in her\nappearance produced by the fresh, pretty frock; and when her old hat\nwas removed, and the new one placed upon her dark hair, which had been\nsmoothly combed and brushed out and put back from her eyes, she really\nlooked as nice as most of the children there. Her dark eyes danced\nwith pleasure as Bessie, herself almost as happy, took her to a group\nof girls about her own age and introduced her to them as a stranger,\nto whom they must try to make the picnic as pleasant as possible.\nBessie was a favourite with all the girls, and they willingly promised\nwhat she asked; so that Nelly, for the first time in many months, had\na really good game of play with children of her own age,--an intense\npleasure to her social, kindly Irish nature, which, with her ready\nwit, soon made her the life of the little group.\n\nTwo or three hours passed rapidly by. Lucy and Bessie went from one\npart of the ground to another, encouraging the little ones to run and\nromp, bringing forward shy or isolated children, and watching that the\nruder and stronger did not oppress the weaker,--or sitting down to\ntalk with some of the elder girls, who preferred a quiet chat. Stella,\nin her airy muslin flounces, a tiny hat with floating blue ribbons\ncrowning her golden tresses, flitted about with a winning grace, which\nmade her the admired of all observers. She felt herself a sort of\nprincess on the occasion; and as she dearly loved popularity, even\namong rustics, she spared no pains to be affable and agreeable, and\nfelt quite rewarded when she heard such speeches as, \"What a sweet,\npretty young lady Miss Lucy's cousin is!\" \"Isn't she, for all the\nworld, just like a picture?\"\n\nAlick watched with some amusement the patronizing air which mingled\nwith her affability, and perhaps added to her consequence with those\nwho could not appreciate the higher beauty of simplicity of manner.\nLucy could not repress a slight feeling of annoyance at seeing how\neasily her cousin won her way, and how far her more adventitious\nadvantages threw into the shade her own real exertions for the\npleasure of those around her. Not that the exertions had been\nprompted by a desire for praise; but she was not yet unselfish enough\nto be satisfied that they had gained the desired end, although not\nfully appreciated by those for whom they had been made. The difference\nbetween the cousins was, that Lucy liked approbation, when she did\nwhat was right for its own sake, while Stella's conduct was chiefly\nprompted by the desire of admiration.\n\n\"Lucy,\" said Stella, coming up to her during the afternoon, \"do you\nsee that ridiculous imitation of my dress that Nancy Parker has on? I\nsuppose she wanted to be dressed just like me; but I'm glad I wore a\ndifferent one to-day.\" Yet, though Stella professed some annoyance,\nshe was secretly a little flattered at Nancy's thus recognising her as\na leader of fashion.\n\nAlick and Harry were invaluable aids in promoting the enjoyment of the\nboys, as was Fred also in his quieter way. Towards the close of the\nafternoon Mr. Raymond appeared, and, after a pleasant greeting\ninterchanged with his older parishioners present, the children\nassembled in the centre of the ground to listen to a few kind and\nearnest words from their pastor. He took as his subject the\n\"remembering their Creator in the days of their youth;\" and after\nreminding them to whom they owed the innocent pleasures which had been\nprovided for them, he spoke earnestly of the Creator and Redeemer they\nwere to \"remember,\" to whom they should now bring their young hearts,\nthat He might take them and make them His. The sunshine of His\ngracious presence would, he said, hallow and sweeten their joyous\nhours, and be a stay and support even when the \"evil days\" should\ncome, and all other sources of happiness should fail them. His\naddress was not so long as to weary even the most impatient, and when\nit was concluded, the children stood up and sang a hymn, which, to\nNelly's great delight, was her favourite--\"I lay my sins on Jesus.\"\nThen, after Mr. Raymond had briefly asked a blessing on the food of\nwhich they were about to partake, and the intercourse they had had,\nand were still to have, the children quietly dispersed into little\ngroups, and sat down on the grass to enjoy the good things that were\nliberally provided for them.\n\nThe distribution kept the assistants busy, and some care had to be\nexercised lest too large a share of the cakes should be appropriated\nby some of the more greedy,--alas that there should be such among\nSunday-school children! Nelly Connor had seldom had a treat in her\nlife, but she would not for the world have taken one cake more than\nher share, or have hidden one away in her pocket, as she saw some\nbetter-dressed children doing.\n\nAt last, when the dew was beginning to moisten the grass, and the\nfast-lengthening shadows told that the long summer day was drawing to\na close, a bell sounded to collect the children, and after singing the\nevening hymn, and having been commended by Mr. Raymond to the care of\nHim who neither slumbers nor sleeps, all quietly dispersed to their\nhomes. The \"picnic\" so eagerly looked forward to was over, as all\nearthly pleasures must sooner or later be. Not a single incident had\nmarred its harmony, and, to Nelly Connor in particular, the day had\nbeen one of unmingled and unprecedented enjoyment. How different from\nwhat it would have been had she not, in a strength from above,\novercome the temptation to which she had so nearly yielded!\n\n\n\n\nVIII.\n\n_Partings._\n\n    \"Only, since our souls will shrink\n      At the touch of natural grief,\n    When our earthly loved ones sink,\n      Lend us, Lord, Thy sure relief,--\n    Patient hearts, their pain to see,\n      And Thy grace, to follow Thee.\"\n\n\nStella's visit was now drawing to a close. She had very much enjoyed\nits novelty, and had, during her stay, made some acquisitions, though\nnot of a kind that she yet appreciated, or was even conscious of. It\nwas impossible for her to be so long in a household where every day\nwas begun and closed by invoking God's presence and guidance, where\nHis blessing and approbation were steadily regarded as the best of all\ngood, where the standard of action was that laid down in His word, and\nwhere His strengthening grace was looked upon as the most necessary\nequipment for daily life, without receiving a deeper impression of the\nimportance of these things than she had ever before felt. And though\nthe members of her uncle's family had their share of human\nimperfections, yet on the whole the example she had seen around her\nhad been sufficiently consistent to show her, almost against her will,\nthe beauty of a Christian life, as contrasted with one based wholly on\nworldly principles. Some seeds of good, at all events, she carried\nback with her, though she was far from having profited as she might\nhave done, had her heart been more open to receive the influences\naround her.\n\nIt had been a new thing to Lucy to have a companion of her own age and\nsex; she had become really attached to her winsome cousin, and all the\ntransient irritation which Stella had often caused her passed into\noblivion now that they were really about to part. Alick was to escort\nStella to the residence of a friend whom she was to visit on her way\nhome; and the cousins parted with affectionate hopes of a visit from\nStella next summer, and also of a winter visit which Mr. Raymond had\nhalf promised that Lucy should make to her cousin's city home.\n\nThe loss of Stella's restless and vivacious presence made no small\nblank in the house--a blank to be still further increased by the\npermanent departure of Alick soon after his return from escorting\nStella. He had at last decided on the place in which he was to\nsettle--a new and rising village in the far West--and had already been\nclaiming his mother's promise, that so soon as he should be able to\nprovide a home for her, she would come and preside in it. Mrs. Steele\nfelt that it would be her duty to comply with her son's desire; and\nMr. Raymond, while very sorry to lose his sister's kind, motherly\nsupervision of his family, felt that he could not dissuade her from\nan arrangement so right and natural, and to which he had long looked\nforward as a probability. However, she was not to leave them for some\nmonths at least, and during that time Lucy was to learn all she could\nabout housekeeping, in order to be able to fill her aunt's place as\nwell as a young beginner could do.\n\nTo Lucy, indeed, there mingled with her regret for her aunt's expected\ndeparture, a certain latent satisfaction at the increased importance\nof her own place in the household; and her ambition was so much\nstimulated by the hope of fulfilling her new duties in the most\nexemplary manner, that it somewhat alleviated her sorrow at the\nthought of losing the kind aunt who had filled a mother's place.\n\nMany were the regrets when the time came for Alick's final departure\nfrom Ashleigh to his distant sphere of duty; and Mr. Raymond, in\nbidding him a kind farewell, added in an earnest tone the not unneeded\nadmonition: \"Alick, my boy, don't forget who says, 'Seek ye first the\nkingdom of God and His righteousness, and all other things shall be\nadded unto you.'\"\n\nAnd so the happy party, who had enjoyed together at Ashleigh the\npleasant summer days, were scattered, never again to meet there under\nthe same circumstances; for the autumn, bringing the cold blasts and\nnipping frosts that scattered the rich summer foliage and made the\nearth bleak and bare, brought other changes, far sadder than these.\n\nNelly was the first to whose life came a sudden change. A rumour\nreached the village that a deck-hand on one of the river steamers had\nlost his life by a fatal accident, and that the man's name was Michael\nConnor. It seldom happens that such reports turn out groundless; and\nwhen Mrs. Connor, having heard of it, hastened to the wharf to\ndiscover what truth there might be in it, she met a comrade of her\nhusband's who had come to announce to his family the sad fact.\n\nMrs. Connor did not profess any deep regret for a husband whom she had\noften asserted to be a good-for-nothing scamp. She looked at the\nmatter chiefly in a pecuniary point of view, and, on making a rapid\ncalculation, came to the conclusion that any deficiency caused by the\nloss of the small fraction of his earnings that came into her\npossession would be more than made up by her being relieved of the\nmaintenance of Nelly, for whom she did not consider it her duty any\nlonger to provide.\n\nBut in Nelly herself Michael Connor had at least one true mourner. She\nforgot all her father's carelessness and neglect, and remembered only\nthat he was her father, who used in days long past, when her mother\nwas alive, to take her on his knee and call her his \"darlint.\" When it\nbroke fully on her mind that she should never see him again--that he\nhad left her for ever, as her mother had done--her grief for a while\nknew no control. Poor child, she had literally no one in the world\n\"belonging to her,\" so far as she knew, and she felt utterly desolate\nand forlorn. Finding but little comfort at home, where her new\nmother's cold, unfeeling remarks only aggravated her sorrow, she\nbetook herself to Lucy, who had just heard, with great concern, of\nNelly's bereavement. She did her best to comfort her; and though at\nfirst the kind words only seemed to make the tears flow faster, by\ndegrees the child was soothed and calmed, and able to listen to Mr.\nRaymond when he laid his hand kindly on her head and told her that she\nmust look to God as her Father now, and must go and \"tell Jesus\" all\nher troubles. Then he made her repeat after him the verse, \"When my\nfather and my mother forsake me, then the Lord will take me up.\"\n\n\"But, Miss Lucy,\" said Nelly, as she was going away, \"where is it I'm\ngoing to live now?\"\n\n\"Why, is your mother going away?\"\n\n\"Niver a bit, miss; but she says she's kept me long enough now, and\nshe won't keep me any longer.\"\n\nLucy could scarcely believe that this could be more than one of Mrs.\nConnor's meaningless threats, and tried to reassure Nelly that it\nwould be all right. But Mrs. Steele, knowing Mrs. Connor's hard,\nselfish nature, was by no means so sure that there might not be\nsomething in it, and was not surprised when she appeared next day to\nsay that she thought Nelly's grand friends might do something for her\nnow her poor father was gone, and she had no one to look to her.\n\n\"But she has you, of course,\" Mrs. Steele replied. \"We shall be very\nglad to help you as far as possible, but you have shown yourself well\nable to support your family.\"\n\n\"She ain't one of my family,\" replied Mrs. Connor, \"and I've kept her\nlong enough for all the good I've ever got out of her; so I don't see\nthat it's any of my business to take the bit out of my children's\nmouths and put it into hers.\"\n\nMrs. Connor would probably not have come to this decision had she not\nbeen less dependent than formerly on Nelly's assistance. But as her\nyoungest child was now able to run alone, and the eldest could, on an\nemergency, take care of the rest, and as she now took in most of her\nwashing, she had less need for an additional worker, involving an\nadditional mouth to be fed. Besides, Nelly was a \"growing girl,\" she\nreflected, and would be always costing her more for food and clothing,\nso that to be rid of her maintenance would be so much clear gain. She\nwas therefore inexorable in her determination that Nelly should not\nremain with her, unless, indeed, the ladies would pay for her board--a\nproposition which Mrs. Steele declined to entertain.\n\nIt was taken seriously into consideration by Lucy and her aunt what\ncould be done to provide Nelly with a home. Lucy was eager that she\nshould be at once taken into their own household, to be trained for\ndomestic service; but this Mrs. Steele thought impracticable at\npresent, as she knew that their own busy, capable handmaid would\nstrongly object to have her time taken up in teaching a girl who would\ngive her so much additional trouble.\n\n\"But there are other people,\" she said, \"who would be very glad of a\nchild like Nelly, who would cost nothing for wages, to train and make\nuseful. I am going to Mill Bank Farm this afternoon to see about some\nbutter, and I'll see if Mrs. Ford knows of any one who would take\nher.\"\n\nLucy assented rather reluctantly. It would have been so nice, she\nthought, to have her protegee immediately under her own charge, to\nteach and train into a model servant. She had not yet learned the\ndistrust in her own powers which experience gives, and she saw only\nthe bright side of the plan, not the difficulties in its execution.\n\nMrs. Ford's motherly heart was at once roused to pity for the little\norphan's forlorn condition, and to indignation at Mrs. Connor's\nheartless conduct.\n\n\"After all the work she's got out of her, too!\" she said; \"making that\npoor child drudge away morning, noon, and night. I'm sure she's been\nworth a deal more to her than the little bit of meat and drink she's\ngiven her--with a grudge, as I hear from the neighbours. Well, well,\nit's a queer world.\"\n\nMrs. Ford promised to try to find out a good place for Nelly, and\nearly next morning she made her appearance, having taken the long walk\non one of her busiest days, in order to \"talk over Nelly's business,\"\nas she said. She proposed to take the orphan into her own family, for\na time at least, until some more permanent situation should turn up.\n\"We'll never miss the little she'll want,\" she said; \"and if we did,\nI've been often thinking of late that we've been too much taken up\nwith doing the most we could for this world, and been caring too\nlittle for the poor that our Saviour says are to be always with us. So\nmy mind would be easier if I were doing this much, at any rate, and\nthe poor thing'll be more likely to get a good steady place if I take\nher in hand and teach her a bit myself.\"\n\nSo it was settled, and Nelly, to her surprise and delight, found\nherself an inmate, for a time at least, of Mill Bank Farm, though she\nwas made to understand that the arrangement was not a permanent one.\nThe present comfort and happiness were enough for her, however, for\nshe was not given to spoiling the enjoyments of to-day by thoughts\nabout the morrow; and she certainly had never, so far as her\nrecollection went, been half so happy as she now was under Mrs. Ford's\nmotherly care, with Bessie for a half-companion, half-teacher, and\nremoved from the sound of the harsh words and tones which had so long\nbeen the constant accompaniments of her life.\n\nOne of Mrs. Ford's first cares was to provide her with some needed\nclothing from Bessie's outgrown garments, which otherwise would have\nbeen stowed thriftily away for little Jenny. Lucy added her\ncontribution for the same object, and it was considered a good\nopportunity for teaching her what she so much needed to learn--plain\nsewing. Mrs. Ford, who was a capital seamstress as well as housewife,\nundertook to make Nelly a good needlewoman, if she would be diligent\nin trying to learn; and she was too grateful, and too anxious to\nplease, not to try her best, though the long, tedious seams often\ntried her restless, active spirit. When she found herself getting so\nimpatient that she felt as if she could not sit still any longer, or,\nat any rate, could not force herself to do the work with patience and\ncare, she would remember the injunction to \"tell Jesus\" her troubles\nand difficulties, and the restless spirit would become quiet, and the\nstrength to fulfil her good resolutions would come back. As it was too\nfar for her to go to Lucy now for her daily lessons, Lucy resigned her\nto Bessie's tuition, though somewhat unwillingly, for her teaching had\nbecome a source of real pleasure to her, and she felt that in it she\nwas doing some definite work for her Saviour. She had not yet got into\nthe habit of looking upon everything she was called in duty to do as\nwork done for Christ, just in proportion as it was done in a spirit\nof cheerful faith and dependence, \"looking unto Jesus\" both as the\nmaster and the friend.\n\nBut dark days were at hand for Lucy too,--days when she would need all\nthe support her faith could give. Mr. Raymond's never robust\nconstitution had been for some time gradually failing, though Lucy,\nseeing him daily, and accustomed to consider her father \"not very\nstrong,\" had not observed it. Late in November, a long, cold drive in\nsleet and rain to visit a dying parishioner brought on symptoms of\nfever, which rapidly increased, till the doctor, who had been summoned\nto attend him, looked very anxious, and pronounced his patient in a\nmost critical condition. Lucy had been so long accustomed to his\noccasional illnesses, that she was slow to admit the idea of danger to\nher father, the possibility of losing whom had scarcely ever occurred\nto her mind. Therefore, though she could not help seeing her aunt's\nextreme anxiety, she resolutely turned her thoughts to the happier\nprospect of her father's recovery, when he would again occupy his\nwonted place, and the house would be like itself again.\n\nEven when Mr. Raymond's extreme weakness forced the others to give up\nhope, Lucy still hoped and prayed, by the sick-bed and in her own\nchamber, as she had never prayed before. Surely, she thought, if she\nprayed humbly and earnestly, her prayer would not be denied by Him who\nhas said, \"Ask, and ye shall receive;\" and her father would be\nrestored to her. She did not consider that as regards earthly things\nthe promise must be limited, or the conditions of human life would\nhave to be altered. If our prayers that our dear ones should be spared\nto us were always to be granted, when would they ever attain that\nblessed rest in the Father's house--the haven they have been looking\nfor through all the cares and troubles of their mortal pilgrimage?\n\nMr. Raymond had often longed for the time when his earthly work should\nbe done, and he should be called to the presence of his Saviour--to\nreunion with his early-lost wife. And now, though in the\nunconsciousness of his exhausted powers he knew it not, that time had\ncome. His \"falling asleep\" was as peaceful as the sinking of a child\ninto its nightly slumber; and Lucy did not realize that it was death,\ntill, in the dark December morning, she stood by the cold white couch\non which lay the inanimate form to which, from her earliest days, she\nhad always looked as her protector and guide. It was hard to persuade\nherself that that cold form was not her father, but that all that had\nmade the living, sentient being had passed to another state of\nexistence beyond her power to follow--beyond her power to conceive. In\nthe strange awe that came upon her, she lost for a time the sense of\nthe desolation of her bereavement--lost all thought for herself, in\ntrying to pierce the darkness which hung between her and the\n\"undiscovered lands\" in which both her parents now were. With Fred it\nwas much the same,--an awestruck solemnity at first repressing in both\nthe natural feeling of personal loss. Harry was the only one whose\nbitter, childish grief broke forth uncontrolled.\n\nBut there was time in the blank, desolate days that followed to\nrealize the full bitterness of the bereavement. Once out of the still,\nsolemn chamber, which seemed to hush all violent emotion, there were\nassociations at every step, in every room, of him whose place should\nknow him no more, to call forth the uncontrollable agony of tears that\nhad for a time been repressed. And when the still form had been\ncarried to its last resting-place, and the heavy consciousness made\nitself felt that he was gone, never in any possible event to return to\nthem, it seemed to Lucy as if it would have been too terrible to bear\nbut for the Saviour, to whom she carried her grief, and found that,\nthough He does not always at our asking restore our sick to this\nmortal life, yet that, when He takes them away, He can and will be a\nvery present \"help in time of trouble.\"\n\nBut there was already another grief looming darkly in the distance,\nwhich Lucy almost shrank from facing. The home that had been hers from\nher birth must be broken up. The external surroundings in which her\nlife had been always set were to be torn from it; and any other phase\nof life seemed as if it must be a dreary blank. She could not then\nrealize the possibility of ever forming new associations, or taking\nroot in any other home. And indeed it is doubtful whether one ever\ndoes take root again in the same sense as in the home of childhood,\nwhich is linked with the earliest associations of opening thought, and\nwith all the hallowed ties that cluster around a child's happy home.\nOther houses are but places of abode, made home by association: _that_\nseemed absolutely and in itself _home_.\n\nAlick had come to Ashleigh as soon as possible after his uncle's\ndeath, and was anxious to take his mother at once to the new home he\nhad been preparing for her. As to Lucy, there seemed to be but one\ncourse advisable. As Mr. Raymond could leave only a very slender\nprovision for his family, he had always been anxious that Lucy should\nhave an education sufficiently thorough to put her in a position to\ngain her own livelihood by teaching, and a way seemed opened for her\nto carry out his wishes in this respect. Mr. Brooke, urged thereto by\nhis daughter Stella, had written to Mrs. Steele, offering to receive\nLucy into his own family for the next two or three years, in order to\ngive her the advantage of a first-class education, which was, he\nremarked, \"the best he could do for her, as it would give her the\nability to do for herself.\"\n\nLucy shrank from the prospect of so long a residence in a home so\nunlike the one she was leaving, as from Stella's remarks she felt sure\nit must be. But to go with Harry to live with Mrs. Steele and Alick,\nas they kindly invited her to do, in case she could not make up her\nmind to go to Mr. Brooke's, would, she felt, be imposing far too great\na burden on Alick's kindness, though it seemed just the right home for\nHarry. Fred, who had been summoned from college to his father's\ndeathbed, must return to resume his theological studies, for they all\ninsisted that he should not think of giving up the career which had\nbeen his father's desire for him as well as his own. The more Lucy\nthought about the matter, the more distinctly she saw that there was\nno other way rightly open to her, especially as, even could she think\nit right to accompany Mrs. Steele and Alick, she could not, in the new\nvillage in the West, expect any educational advantages. But it was\nwith much reluctance, and after many prayers to be strengthened to\nmeet the new experiences before her, that she gave her decision to go\nto live for the present in her Cousin Stella's home.\n\nFred, to whom she confided her extreme shrinking from venturing into\nan atmosphere which her fancy pictured as so cold and uncongenial,\nendeavoured to reassure her, by reminding her of what she knew,\nindeed, but found it difficult to realize, that her Saviour could be\nas near her in the crowded city as in her quiet country home, since\nHis love is\n\n          \"A flower that cannot die\n    For lack of leafy screen;\"\n\nand that it was a sickly Christianity which must necessarily fade and\ndroop when removed from the atmosphere in which it had been originally\nnurtured.\n\n\"Well,\" she said at last disconsolately, \"it doesn't matter so very\nmuch. I can never be very happy again, now papa is gone; and the best\nthing is to think most about the home he has gone to, and try to\nfollow him there.\"\n\nSomething of this kind she wrote to her old friend and teacher, Mrs.\nHarris, who had sent her a letter of loving sympathy. She smiled half\nsadly when she read Lucy's disconsolate reply. Mrs. Harris had seen\nenough of life to know that a young heart is not permanently depressed\nby a first grief; and she feared for Lucy, if she should trust to the\ninfluence of sorrow alone to keep her \"unspotted from the world.\"\n\n\"My dear Lucy,\" she wrote, \"while it is well that you should always\ncherish your dear father's memory, and keep his counsels and his\nexample always with you as a protecting influence, beware of trusting\ntoo much to this. He himself would have told you that it is not him\nyou are to follow, but Him whom he followed, 'Jesus Christ, the same\nyesterday, to-day, and for ever.' This alone can be our strength. Time\nis strong against our deepest sorrow, and no influence can permanently\nhold, except the constraining love of Christ. Never lose the habit of\nlooking steadily to Him, and to Him alone, for daily and hourly\nstrength.\"\n\nIt was wise counsel, and Lucy in time came to find out how true it\nwas.\n\nIt is needless to dwell upon the pain of the breaking up,--the packing\nup and stowing away treasured possessions, so closely associated with\nthe times now passed away; the sorrowful leave-takings of old friends,\nwho felt as if they were losing the last link with their beloved\nminister in the departure of his family; the sad farewell looks at all\nthe well-known home objects, the flower-beds, the gravel walks, the\nshrubs and trees, every twig of which had such a familiar look. Many a\ntime it seemed as if it must be only a sad dream, that all these\nthings were about to pass from her daily life into a vision of memory.\nHappily it was winter. Had it been in the fair flush of summer, when\nher home looked its loveliest, the parting would have been far harder.\nAs it was, it was hard enough; but she tried to conceal her sorrow\nfrom those to whose pain it would have added, though many a tear was\nsecretly shed over even the old grey cat and the gentle petted cow,\nwhich were almost home friends.\n\nAt last all the preparations were completed. The house, stripped of\nmost of its familiar furnishings, wore already a strange,\nuncomfortable aspect, full of packing-cases and confusion. Fred had\nalready been obliged to return to college, and Lucy was to be the next\nto go. Alick was to escort her to the next railway station, and see\nher on the train which was to take her to the city. It was the first\ntime she had ever travelled alone, and she rather dreaded it; but she\nknew that it would be very inconvenient for Alick to accompany her the\nwhole way, and she would not admit that she thought the solitary\njourney at all a formidable one.\n\nPoor Nelly, who grieved as much for her friend's departure as she had\ndone for her father's death, came on the last morning to say good-bye,\nalthough Lucy had already taken leave of her and Bessie at Mill Bank\nFarm, and had made the latter promise to write to her sometimes.\n\n\"And it's sorry I am, Miss Lucy, you're going, and you so good to me,\"\nsobbed Nelly, when she felt the parting moment was really come.\n\n\"Well, Nelly, we must both try to remember our Friend in heaven, who\nhas been so good to us both. You love Him, I hope, Nelly, and pray to\nHim always?\"\n\n\"Indeed I do, and I always pray God to bless you, Miss Lucy.\"\n\n\"Well, I won't forget to pray for you, Nelly, and we know He will hear\nour prayers,\" replied Lucy kindly.\n\nActs of Christian kindness often bring their reward even in this life:\nthe \"cup of cold water\" we give sometimes returns to refresh our own\nparched lips. It was some comfort to Lucy, even in this time of\nsorrow, to feel that she had been enabled to help Nelly to know the\nSaviour, whom the poor, friendless child seemed to have received into\nher heart with a true and simple faith.\n\n\n\n\nIX.\n\n_Introductions._\n\n    \"My God, my Father, while I stray\n    Far from my home in life's rough way,\n    Oh teach me from my heart to say,\n        'Thy will be done.'\"\n\n\nThe short January afternoon was closing in when Lucy's train drew near\nits destination. Gradually thickening clusters of houses, a momentary\nglimpse of distant steeples, a general commotion and hunting-up of\ntickets, packages, and bandboxes, betokened, even to Lucy's\ninexperienced eyes, that the city was nearly reached.\n\nShe had made no acquaintances on the way; but a polite elderly\ngentleman, who had been sitting beside her, and had occasionally\nexchanged a kind word with her, seeing that she was alone, stopped to\nhand her out with great courtesy.\n\n\"Any one to meet you?\" he asked, seeing that she seemed at a loss what\nto do next.\n\n\"Yes--that is--I expect\"--faltered Lucy, looking round to see if\nStella was not to be seen among the hurrying crowd. But no familiar\nface was to be seen; and the gentleman, who had caught only the first\nword of her answer, hurried off with a friend he met, forgetting all\nabout Lucy.\n\nIt seemed to her a long time that she stood there, wistfully watching\nthe people who were meeting their friends, or hurrying away alone; and\nher spirits, temporarily excited by the journey, began to sink fast.\nIt seemed so strange that no one should be there to meet her, as her\nuncle had promised; and if no one should appear, what was she to do?\n\nAt last, after about five minutes had elapsed, a slight,\ndelicate-looking young man, very fashionably dressed, with an eyeglass\nat one eye and a cigar in his mouth, sauntered along, lightly swinging\nhis cane and looking leisurely around him. Presently he came up to\nLucy, and, after a scrutinizing glance, he said, touching his hat:\n\n\"My cousin Lucy Raymond, I presume?\" and seeing he was right, he\nadded, with a nonchalant air, \"Glad to see you; been waiting long?\"\n\n\"About a quarter of an hour,\" Lucy replied, thinking she was speaking\nthe exact truth.\n\n\"Hardly that,\" he replied. \"I expected to have been here in time, but\nthese trains are never to be depended on.\"\n\nThen he motioned to a cabman, who advanced and asked for the checks\nfor the luggage.\n\nLucy had forgotten all about them, and her cousin mentally set her\ndown as \"green,\" while she nervously searched for them.\n\n\"Take your time,\" he said good-humouredly.\n\nThey were found at last, and everything being collected, Lucy and her\ncousin were soon driving away from the station.\n\n\"You are cousin Edwin, I suppose?\" Lucy ventured to say timidly.\n\n\"The same, at your service. I suppose Stella posted you up about us\nall? You've never been in a place as big as this, have you?\" he said,\nobserving her eager, watching look.\n\n\"No, never; Ashleigh is hardly more than a village. How is Stella?\"\n\n\"Stella! Oh, she's quite well; she was out walking when I left.\"\n\nLucy's heart sank at the apparent coldness of her reception. Had\nStella been coming to visit _her_, she would have been watching for\nthe steamboat for an hour before its arrival!\n\n\"Left all well at home?\" inquired Edwin. \"Oh, I forgot; I suppose\nyou're all broken up there now?\" he added, glancing at her black dress\nand crape veil. \"Fred's gone to college again, I suppose?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" replied Lucy. She could not have added a word more. It was all\nshe could do to keep back the tears that started to her eyes, as the\nsad realization that she had no longer a home came back to her. Edwin,\nhowever, had happily exhausted his stock of conversation for the\npresent, and Lucy did not try to renew it.\n\nAfter driving, as it seemed to her, an interminably long way, they\nstopped opposite a tall stone house, one of a row all just alike, and\nlooking very monotonous and sombre to Lucy's eyes, accustomed to the\nvariety of the Ashleigh houses.\n\nLight gleamed already through the hall-door, which was speedily\nopened; and the next moment Stella, looking as pretty as ever, rushed\ndown the wide staircase, and met her cousin with an affectionate\nembrace.\n\n\"Mamma, here's Lucy,\" she said as she led the way up the staircase. At\nits head stood a lady, who reminded Lucy strongly of the pictures of\nher dear mother, except that there was the difference of expression\nbetween a worldly and an unworldly character. Mrs. Brooke never had\nhad--perhaps now never could have--the pure spiritual beauty which had\nbeen Mrs. Raymond's chief charm; but she was a graceful,\nstylish-looking woman, rather languid and unenergetic in appearance,\nas she was in character. Her kiss was affectionate, as she told Lucy\nthat she was very glad to see her, and that she reminded her a little\nof her poor mother; \"though you're much more like your papa,\" she\nadded.\n\n\"And here are Ada and Sophy, just in time,\" exclaimed Stella, as two\nyoung ladies, very fashionably attired in walking dress, ascended the\nstairs and were duly introduced. Ada, who was the smaller of the two,\nresembled her mother and Stella, with all their softness and winning\ngrace of manner. Sophy was a tall, handsome girl, with a somewhat\nhaughty air, and her greeting was colder and more dignified. She\nsuggested that Stella should take her cousin at once to her room,\nsaying she should think Lucy would wish to rest for awhile before\ndinner,--a proposal to which she was only too glad to accede, feeling\nsomewhat uncomfortable in the heavy travelling attire, which was such\na contrast to her cousins' elegant dresses.\n\nStella led the way to a room much larger and more handsomely furnished\nthan Lucy's old one at home, though it all looked so strange and\nunfamiliar, that she wondered whether it would ever seem home to her.\nStella showed her all its conveniences and arrangements for her\ncomfort, and then observed, \"But you're not to have it all to\nyourself;\" which Lucy heard with some disappointment, for she had been\nalways accustomed at home to have a room to herself, and hoped to have\none still.\n\n\"Amy's to sleep with you, and I think you'll like her. She's a good\nlittle thing, though she's not a bit pretty; and she's named after\nyour mamma, you know, who was my Aunt Amy. It sounds odd, doesn't it?\nAda and I sleep together, because we get on best; and Sophy can't be\ntroubled with a child sleeping with her, especially as Amy is\ndelicate, and sometimes restless at night. Do you think you'll mind\nhaving her?\"\n\n\"Oh no!\" said Lucy, somewhat relieved. \"I always used to think I\nshould like to have a little sister of my own.\"\n\n\"Here she is, to speak for herself,\" said Stella, as the door opened,\nand a fragile-looking little girl of about seven timidly peeped in.\n\n\"Come in, Amy, and be introduced.\"\n\nThe child stole quietly in, encouraged by Lucy's smile, and held out\nto her a hand so thin and tiny, that she thought she had never felt\nanything like it before. Amy had fair hair and a colourless\ncomplexion; but when the soft grey eyes looked up wistfully at Lucy,\nand a sweet smile lighted up the pale face, her cousin thought Stella\nhardly justified in calling her \"not a bit pretty.\"\n\n\"So you're my little cousin Amy?\" said Lucy, kissing her. \"And you're\ngoing to sleep with me and be my little sister, are you not?\"\n\nAmy nodded. She evidently had not Stella's flow of language.\n\n\"Shall I help you to unpack, Lucy?\" interposed her loquacious cousin,\n\"or would you rather lie down and rest awhile?\"\n\nLucy preferred the latter. She wanted to be alone; and as she was very\ntired with the fatigue and excitement of the journey and arrival, it\nis scarcely to be wondered at that, when she was left alone, she found\nrelief in a hearty fit of crying. However, she soon remembered she\ncould do something better than that, so she knelt to thank her\nheavenly Father for His protecting care during her journey. She asked,\ntoo, that as she was far away from all dear home friends and familiar\nsurroundings, she might be helped to love those around her now, and to\ndo her duty in her new circumstances.\n\nHer heart was much lighter and calmer now, and she was nearly ready to\ngo down to dinner, when Stella came in to help her, and to insist on\narranging her hair in a new fashion she had lately learned, before\nescorting her down to the dining-room. Lucy had dreaded a good deal\nher introduction to her uncle, of whom she had not a very pleasant\nimpression. He was a brisk, shrewd-looking man, a great contrast to\nhis listless-looking son; and his manner, though patronizing, was not\nungenial, as Lucy had feared it would be, from his harsh opinions,\nquoted by Stella, in regard to the poor. All the rest of the family\nshe had already seen, Edwin being the only son who had survived, and\non that account, probably, a good deal spoilt.\n\nLucy could not help noticing the very slight mourning worn by the\nfamily, if indeed it could be called mourning at all. But even this\nslight mark of respect would hardly have been accorded to Mr.\nRaymond's memory, but for Lucy's coming among them in her deep\nmourning. \"People would notice, and it wouldn't look well,\" Sophy had\nsaid; and this decided the question, though the girls grumbled a good\ndeal at the inconvenience of it, especially at a time of the year when\nthey were usually so gay, and wanted to wear colours. Stella was the\nonly one who did not object. She had imbibed a strong respect for her\nuncle, and wore her black dress with a certain satisfaction, in the\nfeeling that she was doing honour to his memory.\n\nThere was a good deal of lively talk during dinner, almost\nunintelligible, however, to Lucy, from her ignorance of the persons\nand things talked about. The tone of conversation, however, was as\nuncongenial as were the subjects. Edwin had a cynical air, partly\nreal, partly affected; and the girls' remarks were characterized by\nthe same sort of flippancy which had often jarred upon her in Stella.\n\nAfter dinner Edwin disappeared, Mr. Brooke became absorbed in his\nnewspapers, Sophy was soon engrossed with a novel, and Ada and her\nmother employed themselves in some very pretty worsted embroidery.\nLucy, of course, had no work as yet, and Stella resorted to her old\nfashion of lounging about doing nothing in particular, except\ntalking. She expatiated largely, for Lucy's benefit, upon the classes\nand masters in the fashionable school to which her cousin was to\naccompany her, giving her various scraps of information respecting her\nfuture classmates, with a list of their foibles and peculiarities\namusingly described, but rather wearisome to a stranger. Mrs. Brooke\nquestioned Lucy about her previous studies, looking doubtful when she\nheard of Latin and mathematics, and saying she was afraid \"she had\nbeen made a little of a blue.\" At her aunt's request, she sat down at\nthe handsome piano, and rather nervously got through a simple air, the\nonly one she knew by heart. She felt she had not done herself justice,\nand Stella said apologetically, \"You know she never had any teacher\nbut Mrs. Steele, and she has no style.\"\n\nLucy's cheek flushed at the disparaging remark, but Mrs. Brooke only\nsaid, \"I hope you will play better than that, my dear, when you have\nhad Signor Goldoni for awhile. Do you sing?\"\n\n\"Only hymns, aunt. We often sing them on Sundays at home.\"\n\n\"Well, if you have anything of a voice, you will soon do better than\nthat. Any one can sing hymns.\"\n\nLucy made no reply, but she privately thought that very few could sing\nthem like her Aunt Mary. Then, recollecting that Stella had told her\nhow well Sophy played and sang, she turned rather timidly to her with\nthe request, \"Won't you sing, Cousin Sophy?\"\n\n\"Do, Sophy,\" added her mother and Stella, both at once.\n\nBut Sophy, reclining in a luxurious easy-chair near the fire, and\nabsorbed in a sensational novel, was too comfortable to think of\nmoving.\n\n\"I really can't just now,\" she said rather coldly. \"I'm tired, and I'm\njust at the most interesting place in this book.\"\n\n\"Sophy never will sing to please any one but herself and--_some_\npeople,\" said Stella mischievously. \"And then, sometimes, if she takes\nthe notion, there's no stopping her. Now, if a certain person I know\nwere here--\"\n\nAda laughed. Sophy just said haughtily, \"I'll be much obliged to you,\nStella, not to disturb me;\" at which Stella, with mock gravity, put\nher finger on her lip.\n\n\"Well, I am tired,\" Mrs. Brooke at last said, rising; \"and I am sure\nLucy must be so too. Lucy, I advise you to go to bed at once; and,\nStella, don't stay in your cousin's room talking, and don't wake Amy,\nif she is asleep.\"\n\nIt seemed very strange to Lucy that the family circle should break up\nfor the night without the united acknowledgment of the protecting\nkindness which had carried them in safety through the day--without\ninvoking the same protecting care through the watches of the\nnight--without the acknowledgment of the sins of the day, and the\nprayer for forgiveness, and the petitions for dear absent ones--to\nwhich she had always been accustomed. It was plain that no custom of\nthe kind existed in Mr. Brooke's family.\n\nNotwithstanding her mother's prohibition, Stella did linger long in\nLucy's room, chattering about one thing after another, Amy's wide-open\neyes watching them from her pillow. \"I'm going just in a minute,\" she\nwould say, when Lucy reminded her of what her mother had said, and\nthen she would rush into some new subject. Lucy was tired, and was\nlonging to have a little quiet time to herself; but Stella, who was\nundressing beside her, and would be in bed and asleep as soon as she\nshould go back to her own room, did not consider that.\n\n\"There's Stella chattering away yet,\" said Ada, as she and Sophy came\nup-stairs. \"Stella, how naughty of you to stay here so long, keeping\nLucy up!\"\n\n\"I was just talking about two or three things,\" said Stella.\n\n\"I have no doubt of that,\" Sophy remarked; \"but I'm sure Lucy would\nprefer to have the conversation postponed till to-morrow.\"\n\nAda was examining the various little possessions of Lucy's, which were\nalready on the dressing-table. \"Well, if she hasn't got her Bible out\nalready!\" she exclaimed. \"What a good child it is! Does it read it\nevery night?\"\n\n\"I thought every one did,\" said Lucy simply, though her cheek flushed\nat the tone of the remark.\n\nAda laughed, and Sophy smiled satirically, though she did not speak.\n\n\"Well, you are a simple little thing,\" said Ada. \"When you've lived in\ntown for awhile you'll know better.\"\n\n\"Oh, they're all such good people in Ashleigh! I never knew I did so\nmany wicked things till I was there,\" said Stella.\n\nLucy looked pained, and Sophy interposed. \"Well, you've shocked Lucy\nenough for one night, and it's high time she and you too were in bed.\nSo come at once, Stella.\"\n\nAda and Stella kissed Lucy affectionately, as they followed Sophy out\nof the room, and Lucy was left alone, to think with surprise and\ndistress of the total want of religious feeling which her cousins'\nremarks betrayed. When she had once more thanked God for His goodness,\nand implored His supporting help, and had read a few comforting verses\nout of her Bible, she did not forget to pray that her cousins, who so\nlittle appreciated its treasures of divine counsel and consolation,\nmight yet be led to know them for themselves. But the fatigue and\nexcitement of the day had thoroughly tired her out, and almost as soon\nas her head sank on the pillow she was fast asleep, dreaming of the\nhappy times past, and the dear friends now so far away.\n\n\n\n\nX.\n\n_New Experiences._\n\n    \"I need Thy presence every passing hour;\n      Who but Thyself can foil the tempter's power?\n    When other helpers fail, and comforts flee,\n      Help of the helpless, Lord, abide with me!\"\n\n\nLucy could hardly understand where she was when she awoke the next\nmorning. She had scarcely ever been absent from home in her life; and\nthe strange and unfamiliar aspect of everything around her quite\nbewildered her, till little Amy's gentle touch recalled the events of\nthe preceding day. Her home-sickness returned for a time; but the\nstrength came for which she prayed, and she was able to go down to\nbreakfast with a cheerful face.\n\nSophy and her father were the only ones who appeared at the nominal\nbreakfast hour. Stella had always been late for breakfast at Ashleigh\nin summer, so it was not surprising that in winter she should be one\nof the last to appear. But it did not apparently matter much, for the\ndifferent members of the family seemed to come to the breakfast table\njust as it suited them, and the meal could scarcely be called a social\none. Neither Sophy nor her father talked much, he having his newspaper\nopen before him. Lucy was too shy as yet to talk without\nencouragement, which Sophy did not give; and she felt it a relief when\nStella, with her unfailing loquacity, made her appearance.\n\n\"You see it's Saturday morning, so one can have a little more sleep,\"\nshe said, yawning as if she had not had enough yet.\n\n\"Then why don't you go to bed sooner at night, my dear, if you want\nmore sleep?\" asked her father.\n\nBut Stella quickly turned the conversation to another subject, and\nkept up a full stream of talk till Mrs. Brooke and Ada appeared, and\nsoon afterwards Edwin sauntered in.\n\n\"Lucy,\" said her aunt, as she left the breakfast table, \"you must let\nme see your dresses this morning; I am sure you'll want some new\nthings, and you must get them at once.\"\n\n\"Aunt Mary thought I had all I should want for the winter,\" said Lucy,\ncolouring, for it was a point on which she was sensitive, not wishing\nherself to spend any more on her dress than was absolutely necessary,\nand desiring, if possible, not to increase her uncle's expenditure on\nher account.\n\n\"Well, we shall see,\" said Mrs. Brooke. \"But you know you cannot dress\nhere exactly as you did at Ashleigh, and I want you to look as well as\nyour cousins.\"\n\nLucy felt rather dismayed at the idea of being expected to wear such\nstylish attire; and she could have cried, as one after another of the\narticles on which she and Mrs. Steele had bestowed so much pains was\npronounced by Mrs. Brooke and Ada \"quite out of date\" and \"not fit to\nbe seen.\"\n\nMrs. Brooke, apart from her really kind intentions towards her\nsister's orphan daughter, was determined that Lucy, who was to be\nStella's constant companion, should not, by shabby or old-fashioned\ndress, disgrace the family in the eyes of her critical fashionable\nassociates; so it was determined, without reference to Lucy, that Ada\nand Sophy should take her out forthwith on a shopping excursion, to\nprovide her with what Mrs. Brooke considered essential for her\ncreditable appearance as a member of her family.\n\nAfter her first uncomfortable feeling had worn off, Lucy really\nenjoyed her expedition, everything--the busy streets, the crowded\nbuildings, the rattling carts and carriages; above all, the\ngaily-decorated shop windows--having so much of the charm of novelty\nfor a country girl. The windows of the print-shops and book-stores in\nparticular she thought so attractive, that she wondered how the\nhurrying passers-by could go on their way without even a glance at\ntheir treasures.\n\nThe shopping was easily accomplished under Ada's experienced\nsuperintendence, and might have been accomplished much more quickly,\nLucy thought, had it not been that her cousins would spend so much\ntime in looking over articles which they had no intention of buying,\nthereby, she thought, putting the obliging shopmen to an immense deal\nof trouble, and sadly wasting their own morning. But neither of her\ncompanions had much sense of the value of time, having no higher aim\nin living than that of passing it as pleasantly as possible.\n\nAt last the important business was concluded, just in time for them to\nget home for lunch. Lucy felt very tired after her unwonted expedition\nover the hard city streets, with their bewildering noise and\nconfusion, and was glad to get away as soon as possible to rest. She\nsoon fell asleep, and when she awoke she found Amy sitting quietly\nbeside her, playing with her doll.\n\n\"Won't you look at my doll, Cousin Lucy?\" she said. \"I got her on my\nbirthday. Her name is Lucy, after _you_.\"\n\n\"After _me_?\" said Lucy, surprised. \"Did you call her after me before\nI came?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" replied Amy timidly; \"for Stella said you were nice, and I\nshould love you.\"\n\n\"I hope you will, dear,\" said Lucy, touched and gratified, and she\nkissed her little cousin affectionately, looking pityingly at the\npale, delicate face and fragile form. She had always wished to have a\nlittle sister of her own, and her heart was quite disposed to take the\nlittle girl into a sister's place. She drew her closer, and after\ntalking a little about the doll, she said:\n\n\"Does Amy love the good, kind Saviour, who came to die for her?\"\n\nThe child looked up with a puzzled expression.\n\n\"Jesus, you know,\" added Lucy, thinking that name might be more\nfamiliar.\n\n\"That is Jesus that my hymn is about. Nurse taught me, 'Gentle Jesus,\nmeek and mild.'\"\n\n\"Yes. Well, don't you love Him, Amy? He loves you very much.\"\n\n\"Does He love me?\" asked Amy. \"How do you know?\"\n\n\"Because He says so.\"\n\n\"But He is up in heaven. Nurse said my little brother is up there with\nHim.\"\n\nIt was always \"nurse.\" Amy did not seem to owe much knowledge of that\nkind to any one else. Lucy tried to explain as simply as possible\nthat, although the Saviour is in heaven, He is as really near us as\nwhen He was on earth; and that we have still in the Bible the very\nwords that He spoke while yet among men.\n\n\"Are they in there?\" asked Amy, looking at Lucy's Bible.\n\n\"Yes, dear. You can't read yet, I suppose?\"\n\n\"Oh no! The doctor says I mustn't learn for a long while.\"\n\n\"Then I will read to you some of the things that Jesus said. Would you\nlike that?\"\n\n\"Oh yes!\" said Amy; and Lucy read the account of our Saviour blessing\nthe little children. She was pleased and surprised at the quiet\nattention and deep interest with which Amy listened, and mentally\nresolved to try to lead her to know more of that blessed Saviour, of\nwhom as yet she knew so little. Here was some work provided for her\nalready, she thought, and the feeling made her happier than she had\nbeen since she left home.\n\nThe evening passed away much as the former one had gone, except that\nit was varied by the presence of visitors, among whom was a gentleman\nwho, Stella privately informed her cousin, was an \"admirer\" of\nSophy's.\n\n\"But it's no use, if he knew it, for you know she's engaged already to\nMr. Langton. He's such a handsome, nice fellow, and has a large\nplantation in the South, where he lives. I know she's as fond of him\nas she can be, though she doesn't like people to think so. Look, now,\nhow she sings for Mr. Austin! I'm afraid he'll think she likes him.\"\n\nSophy was by no means indifferent to any admiration, though she was,\nas Stella had said, very much attached to her betrothed; and it did\nnot quite coincide with Lucy's ideas of love and lovers, founded, it\nmust be confessed, chiefly on books, to observe the seeming pleasure\nand animation with which Sophy received the attentions and compliments\nof this young man, whose partiality for her was so plain.\n\n\"Surely it's very wrong in her if she deceives him, and let's him go\non liking her,\" thought Lucy, who, having never before seen an\ninstance of coquetry, did not know how venial many girls who might\nknow better consider the sin of trifling with an affection which must,\nif encouraged, end in bitter disappointment.\n\nNext day was Sunday, the day always associated in Lucy's mind with the\nhappiest and holiest feelings of the week. In Mr. Raymond's household,\neven the most careless sojourner could see that the day seemed\npervaded by an atmosphere of holy and peaceful rest from the secular\ncares and occupations unavoidable on other days. All thoughts about\nthese were, as far as possible, laid aside. No arbitrary rules were\nenforced, but it was plainly Mr. Raymond's earnest desire that the day\nshould be devoted especially to growing in the knowledge of the Lord,\nand should be considered as sacred to Him who had set it apart. And by\nproviding pleasant and varied occupation suitable for the day, and\ncultivating a spirit of Christian cheerfulness, he succeeded in making\nhis family feel it no hardship to carry out his wishes. Fred and Lucy,\nindeed, had learned to love the Lord's day, and to appreciate the\nprivileges it brings with it. But in Mr. Brooke's family it was\ndecidedly a dull day,--a day which must be respectably observed, and\ntherefore not available for ordinary purposes, but a day to be got\nthrough as easily as possible, shortened at both ends by late rising\nand unusually early retiring, as well as by naps indulged in during\nthe day, when even the so-called Sunday reading proved somnolent in\nits tendency. The necessary abstinence from ordinary occupations was\npartly made up by the freedom with which the conversation was\npermitted to run loose in secular matters, amusements, gossip,\ncriticisms on dress and conduct, most prejudicial to any good\ninfluence that might have been derived from the public exercises of\nthe day, as well as deteriorating to the whole tone of the mind at any\ntime. No wonder, then, that divine truth, heard at church, fell on\ninattentive ears, and failed to penetrate hearts filled up with the\n\"lusts of other things!\" Through a medium so unyielding, how could the\nsoft dew of holy, spiritual influence descend upon the heart, to\nnourish and fertilize it?\n\nLucy was down at the usual breakfast-time, but had to wait more than\nan hour before any one appeared, except Amy, who sat contentedly on\nher knee, and listened to more reading out of Lucy's Testament, and\nhad even learned two verses of a hymn, before Stella at last appeared.\n\n\"How foolish you were to get up so early!\" she said, when Amy had told\nher how long they had been down. \"I think it is so nice to lie as long\nas you like, Sunday mornings! I used to think it so hard at Ashleigh\nthat you _would_ always have breakfast as early as other days!\"\n\n\"We never saw any reason for being later on Sunday. Indeed, papa\nalways liked to have us earlier. He said it was the most precious day\nof the week, and that, though he could excuse a hard-worked labouring\nman for taking an extra sleep on Sunday, we had no such excuse; and to\ntry to shorten the day was dishonouring to Him who gave it.\"\n\n\"What in the world would he have said of Edwin then,\" said Stella,\n\"who often sleeps till it is too late to go to church, and then he\nstays at home and sleeps more?\"\n\nLucy could not help smiling; but as Sophy came in just then, she did\nnot need to make any reply. Amy was eager to repeat to her sister the\nhymn she had just been learning, but Sophy did not seem to care about\nit, and said to Lucy, \"You had better not teach her any more hymns.\nThe doctor says she should not be allowed to study anything till her\nconstitution is stronger. Besides, I don't believe in filling\nchildren's heads with things that make them think about death too\nsoon.\"\n\nLucy felt a little vexed and a good deal surprised at what was to her\nso new an experience. She had not dreamed that any one could object to\nteaching a child those blessed gospel truths which will shed either on\nlife or on death the truest light. But while she felt a strong\ninterest in and attraction towards her cousin Sophy, she instinctively\nfelt that on such subjects she would be quite unapproachable.\n\nMrs. Brooke surprised Lucy with the unexpected decision that her\ndeficiencies in dress must keep her at home that day. She felt as if\nit was almost wrong to submit,--her dear father would have so much\ndisapproved of any one's staying away from the house of God for such a\nreason. But then she remembered that while under her aunt's charge it\nwas her duty to yield a deference to her wishes, unless she absolutely\nviolated her conscience in so doing, and that her father would also\nhave said, \"Ye younger, be subject to the elder,\" and would have told\nher that, though prevented from going up to an earthly sanctuary, she\ncould worship God at home in the sanctuary of her heart.\n\nBut she did not find this so easy, as Stella, glad of the excuse,\ninsisted on staying at home \"to keep Lucy company,\" though Lucy tried\nto make her understand that she was not desirous of having any\n\"company\" while the rest were at church. In vain she tried to fix her\nattention on her open Bible. Stella would continually break in with\nsome remark which, when answered, was sure to lead to another; and\nthough Lucy's remonstrances at length became somewhat impatient in\ntheir tone, it was evidently hopeless to try to reduce her to silence.\nShe, however, at last succeeded in persuading her to listen while she\nread to Amy, first one or two Bible stories, such as she thought would\ninterest her most, and then a simple story out of one of her own\nSunday books which she had brought with her. The earnestness with\nwhich Amy drank in every word was a great contrast to Stella's\ndesultory way of listening; but even _she_ seemed a little interested\nin Lucy's reading, and the morning did not seem altogether thrown\naway.\n\nBut in the afternoon Lucy found that trying to read in the\ndrawing-room was quite out of the question, her attention being\nperpetually distracted by the frivolous conversation almost\ncontinually going on there. First one topic was started, and then\nanother; and in spite of her efforts to the contrary, she would find\nherself listening to the gossiping talk going on around her. At last\nshe took refuge in her own room to read there in quiet, though she was\nbefore long followed thither by Stella.\n\n\"Don't you think, Stella, I might go to church this evening? I don't\nlike staying at home all day, and no one would notice what I had on,\nI'm sure,\" she asked her cousin.\n\nStella opened her eyes. \"Do you mean to say you really want to go?\"\nshe asked. \"I thought people only went to church because it was a\nduty.\"\n\n\"I used to go for that reason,\" Lucy replied, \"but I should be sorry\nif I only went on that account now.\"\n\n\"But why? What pleasure can you find in it? The service always seems\nto me so long, and the sermon so dry, that it makes me yawn so,--I\ncan't help it.\"\n\nLucy hesitated a little before answering. It was not easy to explain.\n\"There are many things that make it pleasant. One always hears\nsomething to do one good,--often the very thing one needs at the very\ntime. It always makes troubles seem lighter, and another world more\nreal and near. I always feel so much nearer papa when I am in\nchurch,\" she added in a lower tone.\n\n\"Oh! that is because you always used to hear him preach, I suppose!\"\nsaid Stella, not able to comprehend any other reason. \"Well, since you\nlike it so much, I'll ask mamma if you can't go; but I don't know\nwhether any of the rest are going.\"\n\nMrs. Brooke, though as much surprised as Stella at Lucy's strong wish,\nfelt that it ought to be respected. She suggested that, instead of\ngoing to the large fashionable church which the family usually\nattended, they should go to a small one in the neighbourhood, their\nusual resort on stormy days. Edwin having got tired of the novel he\nhad been yawning over, good-naturedly offered to be her guide and\nescort; and Stella made no objection when her mother told her she had\nbetter go too, as she had not been out in the morning.\n\nThe stars were twinkling brilliantly through the clear frosty\natmosphere, and the long vistas of gas-lamps, seen on all sides, were\na novelty to Lucy's country eyes. The streets were full of people,\nencountering each other as they wended their way to church in opposite\ndirections. There were others, too, not going to church, but to very\ndifferent places of resort; but of these Lucy happily knew nothing.\n\nThe first hymn was already being sung when they entered the church, a\nsmall, plain building. Lucy was at once interested by the thoughtful,\nearnest face of the clergyman, who reminded her a little of her\nfather. The first prayer, so simple, yet so full of petitions for the\nthings she most needed, carried her heart with it, till she forgot she\nwas not at home still. The text read was, \"A very present help in\ntrouble,\" and the sermon was what might have been expected from the\ntone of the preceding prayer. It was so full of Christ, pointing to\nHis constant presence,--to Him as the only true comforter and\nsustainer either in sorrow and temptation,--that, simple as was the\nlanguage and unpretentious the style, it touched the deepest springs\nin Lucy's heart, and she leaned back in her seat to hide the soothing,\nhappy tears.\n\nEdwin, however, from his end of the pew could see that she was crying,\nand began, out of curiosity, to listen to the sermon, to find out what\nit was that affected her so much. At first he thought it very odd that\nshe should have been so moved by it; but gradually, as he listened to\nthe earnest words in which the preacher, speaking evidently from his\nown heart, dwelt upon all that Christ might be to the weary soul which\nhad tried earthly pleasures and found them wanting, earthly cisterns\nand found them broken,--a fountain of refreshing, giving strength and\nenergy for the journey of life, the \"shadow of a great rock in a weary\nland,\" giving to the weary wayfarer rest and shelter from the burden\nand heat of the day,--he began to feel, in spite of his indifference,\nthat there might be a nobler, happier ideal of life than that of\nseeking to fill the hours as they passed with every variety of\npleasure within reach. But it was only a passing thought. Old habits\nof thinking, so long indulged, came back to fill up his mind as soon\nas the voice of the speaker had ceased. His plan of life was not\nlikely to be altered yet.\n\nLucy walked very silently home, watching the starlight trembling\nthrough the crystal air, and wondering in what remote, inconceivable\nsphere are passed those beloved existences which are lost to us here.\nAnd then came the happy thought that, though they seem so remote and\ninaccessible, the Saviour is near at once to them and to those who are\nleft below, and that in communion with Him there may be a point of\ncontact, intangible, it is true, but none the less real. Edwin, as he\nlanguidly wondered what his quiet cousin was thinking about, did not\nknow that there was a distance immeasurable between his thoughts and\nhers.\n\nNext day Lucy accompanied her cousin to school, that she might be at\nonce introduced to her new classes and studies. When her acquirements\nhad been duly tested, she found that, while in some superficial\naccomplishments she was considerably behind Stella, yet in other\nstudies, more solid in their nature, and requiring greater accuracy\nand deeper thought, she was far in advance of her cousin. This might\nhave considerably increased the tendency she already had to a sense of\nher own superiority, had it not been that the things in which she was\ndeficient were precisely those which were of most consequence at Mrs.\nWilmot's establishment, being more showy, and therefore more easily\nappreciated. Her love of approbation made her very anxious to excel in\nwhat was valued by those around her; and in her desire to make up lost\nground, she happily escaped an undue sense of superiority in what was\nmost valuable,--a proficiency which was the result chiefly of her\nfather's care.\n\nFond of study for its own sake, she entered on her classwork with all\nthe zest of one who had never known school-life before, and who was\ndetermined to make the most of her opportunities; and her enjoyment of\nher studies and the stimulus of contest to a great extent counteracted\nthe uncongeniality of her new home, as well as the homesick feeling\nwhich came over her when a letter from Mrs. Steele or Fred revived old\nand happy associations.\n\n\n\n\nXI.\n\n_A Start in Life._\n\n    \"His path in life was lowly,\n      He was a working man;\n    Who knows the poor man's trials\n      So well as Jesus can?\"\n\n\nAt Mill Bank Farm things were going on much as when Nelly Connor had\nbecome an inmate there. Under the influence of her watchword, Bessie\nwas making good headway against her faults of idleness and\ncarelessness, and her mother declared she was growing a \"real comfort\"\nto her. Under her teaching Nelly's reading had progressed so well,\nthat she could spell out very creditably a chapter in the New\nTestament. Jenny and Jack had also been taught their letters; and\nthough they were not to go to Sunday school till the spring, they had\nalready learned from Bessie a good deal of Bible knowledge. Sam was\nnot nearly so often a truant now, that he knew his mother's watchful\neye was ready to discover any omission in attending Sunday school; and\nthe boys were gradually growing in respect for things on which they\ncould see their mother now placed so much importance.\n\nNelly had never before known so much of comfort and happiness. She was\ntreated as one of the family, and the easy tasks which fell to her lot\nwere labours of love and gratitude. Even the irksome sewing, by dint\nof patiently struggling with her constitutional restlessness, was\ngrowing almost a pleasure, from her being able to do it so much\nbetter. In the letters which Bessie occasionally received from Lucy,\nthere was always a kind message for Nelly, which would act as a\nwonderful stimulus for days after it came.\n\nAs the winter wore on, however, it was evident she was not greatly\nneeded by her kind friends. Bessie was growing stronger every day, and\nmore able to assist her mother, and Nelly could not help feeling that\nshe was kept only because she needed a home. One day, therefore, she\nasked Mrs. Ford if she thought she was not now fit to take a place.\n\n\"Well, you've got to be a good little worker, that's a fact; but\nthere's no hurry about your going. You're welcome to stay here as long\nas you like.\"\n\n\"It's very kind of you, ma'am; but perhaps if you'd be looking out you\nmight hear of some one that would take me, and give me whatever I was\nworth,\" said Nelly, in whom the instinct of independence was strong.\n\nA few days after this Mrs. Ford was asked by her friend Mrs. Thompson\nwhat she was going to do with her little Irish girl. \"She is big\nenough for a place,\" she said, \"and there is no good in having a girl\nlike that learning idle ways. I think I know of a place that would\nsuit her very well.\"\n\n\"What place is that?\" asked Mrs. Ford.\n\nMrs. Thompson replied that a friend of hers in the city had written to\ninquire for a country girl about Nelly's age. She would have no hard\nwork, and would get such clothing as she required, instead of wages in\nmoney.\n\n\"You see servants are very hard to obtain in those large places,\"\nremarked Mrs. Thompson, \"and they always want the highest wages; and\nthis person isn't very well off, and keeps boarders to support\nherself, so she can't afford a great deal.\"\n\n\"But would she be good to Nelly?\" inquired Mrs. Ford.\n\nMrs. Thompson promised to inquire of the friend who had written to\nher, in regard to this point. Her correspondent's reply was tolerably\nsatisfactory. Mrs. Williams, the person who wanted Nelly, was likely\nto do whatever was right by any girl who might be sent her, as she was\na very respectable person, and \"a church member.\" This last statement\nweighed considerably with Mrs. Ford, and decided her to mention the\nplace to Nelly.\n\nNelly could not help feeling a throb of regret at hearing that there\nreally was a place open to her, for she dreaded exceedingly the\nprospect of leaving her kind friends; but of this she said nothing,\nand tried to seem pleased with the idea of trying the place. One great\ninducement it certainly had, that it was in the city in which Lucy now\nresided. She hoped to see Miss Lucy sometimes, and she would help her\nto be good and do well, she thought. Mrs. Ford also thought this\ncircumstance a favourable one, as Lucy could see for herself whether\nNelly was comfortably situated, and if not, could help her to find a\nbetter place. So, after much consideration and some misgivings, it was\nreluctantly settled that she should go. Mrs. Thompson's brother was\ngoing to the city soon, and Nelly could accompany him.\n\nShe did not need a great deal of time for preparation, though Mrs.\nFord kindly provided her with all that was necessary for her\nrespectable appearance in her new place, so that she went back to the\ncity which had been her former abode a very different-looking girl\nfrom the barefooted, gipsy-like child, who had wandered, uncared for,\nabout its streets. \"I know the place well, ma'am,\" she said to Mrs.\nFord; \"it isn't as if I had never been there. I won't feel a bit\nstrange.\" And though the spring was approaching, and she was for many\nreasons very sorry to leave Ashleigh, she did not dread the thought of\ngoing to the great city, alone and friendless, as much as a thoroughly\ncountry-bred girl would have done.\n\nWhen her travelling companion bade her good-bye at the railway\nstation, Nelly, not in the least frightened by the hurrying crowds and\nthe noisy streets, so familiar to her of old, took up her little\nbundle, containing all the worldly goods she possessed, and set off\nbriskly to look for the address inscribed on the card she held in her\nhand. She did not need to ask her way more than once, though it was a\nhalf-hour's walk before she reached the street, and then she walked\nslowly along, studying the numbers of the doors till she arrived at\nthe right one, bearing on a brass plate the words, \"Mrs. Williams'\nBoarding House.\" It was one of the most bare and uninviting of a dull\nrow, and not even the bright sunshine of the early spring could\nenliven it much. Other houses had flowers or birds in the windows, or\nat least pleasant glimpses of white curtains, but this one, with its\nhalf-closed blinds, had almost a funereal aspect. Nelly had a keen\nsusceptibility of externals, and her heart sank a little; but she rang\nthe bell, determined to make the best of it. The door was opened by an\nelderly woman in rusty black, with a hard, careworn face, which did\nnot relax into the slightest perceptible smile, as she regarded Nelly\nscrutinizingly, saying at last, \"Oh, you're the girl Mrs. Thompson was\nto send, I suppose?\"\n\n\"Yes, ma'am,\" replied Nelly, who had not yet been invited to enter.\n\n\"Well, you're not as big as I thought you'd be, and you don't look\nvery strong. Come in;\" and she led the way into a dull, bare\ndining-room, where she went on with her work of setting the table,\nwhile she put Nelly through an examination as to her qualifications.\nShe either was, or appeared to be, dissatisfied, and after dryly\nexpressing a hope that she would suit, she told her to follow her down\nto the kitchen.\n\nIt was a dark, cellar-like place, with an equally cellar-like room of\nvery small dimensions opening off it, where Nelly was to sleep. Many\nhouses seem built on the principle--not the Christian one of loving\nour neighbours as ourselves--that \"anything is good enough for\nservants,\" as if light, and air, and pleasant things to look out upon,\nwere not just as much needed by them as by their employers! Kitchens\nand servants' rooms need not be luxurious. It would be doing servants\nan injury to accustom them to luxuries of which they would some time\nfeel the privation; but many of them have been accustomed to pure,\nfree air, and a pleasant outlook, and feel the reverse far more than\nis imagined by those who condemn them to live in underground cells.\n\nNelly felt her abode very dismal after the light, airy farmhouse. Even\nfrom her old attic-window she had a pleasant view of the river, and\ncould always see the moon and stars at night; while from this the\nutmost she could see from the windows was a little bit of street\npavement. But when she unpacked her bundle, and came upon her\n\"watchword card,\" as Lucy had called it, her courage rose as she\nremembered that her heavenly Friend was as near her here as in the\nfree, fresh country, and that where He was He could make it home. She\ncould not have put this feeling into words, but it was there, in her\nheart, where doubtless He Himself had put it.\n\nIt was some time before Mrs. Williams thought of inquiring whether she\nhad had any dinner. On her replying in the negative--she was beginning\nto feel quite tired and faint--Mrs. Williams, with a half-reluctant\nair, brought out of a locked cupboard some very dry-looking bread and\ncold meat, which she set before Nelly.\n\nShe was very hungry, so that even this was very acceptable, and she\ndid justice to the meal. Before she had finished, a voice called from\nan upper story, \"Mother, tell the new girl to bring up some water.\"\n\nNelly was accordingly directed to fill the water-can and take it up to\nthe top of the house. After carrying it up three flights of stairs,\nshe saw a door open, and a girl of nineteen or twenty, apparently\nengaged in performing an elaborate toilet, looked out from it.\n\n\"How old are you?\" she said, as she took the water from Nelly.\n\n\"I'll soon be fourteen, miss.\"\n\n\"Well, you don't look it. You'll have to look sharp here if you want\nto suit us. Now, take these boots down to brush.\"\n\nShe spoke in a quick, sharp way, a good deal like her mother's; and\nher face, though tolerably comely, was sharp too. Miss Williams meant\nto \"get on\" in the world if she could, and her face and manner showed\nit.\n\nNelly found various things to do before she got back to her unfinished\ndinner, and then Mrs. Williams hurried her through, that she might get\nthe kitchen made \"tidy.\" In the meantime Miss Williams departed, in\nall the glories of a fashionable toilet, for her afternoon promenade,\nher mother regarding her with much pride and complacency. It seemed\nthe one object of her hard-working, careworn life that her daughter\nshould look \"like a lady,\" and a large proportion of her earnings and\nsavings went to effect this object.\n\nNelly's services were at once called into requisition to assist in the\npreparation of the dinner for the boarders--four gentlemen--who, her\nmistress informed her, were \"very particular,\" and liked everything\nnice. She received a confusing multiplicity of directions as to\nwaiting at table, for Mrs. Williams rather prided herself on the\n\"stylishness\" of her establishment. She got through her task tolerably\nwell, though somewhat bewildered between Mrs. Williams' quick, sharp\nreminders and the \"chaffing\" of one or two of the gentlemen, who\nthought it \"good fun\" to puzzle the \"new hand\" with ironical remarks,\nsome of them being aimed at their landlady through her servant.\n\nAfter the waiting at dinner, followed the preparation of tea for Mrs.\nWilliams and her daughter, who had come in, and was in the midst of\none of the evening performances on the piano, which were the dread of\nthe boarders; and then there were all the dishes used at dinner to\nwash and put away. It was pretty late by the time all this had been\ndone, and Nelly was feeling very sleepy, and wondering how soon she\nmight go to bed, when her mistress came down with half-a-dozen pairs\nof boots, to be cleaned either that evening or next morning. Now the\nnext day was Sunday, and at the farm Mrs. Ford had of late insisted on\nthe excellent rule of getting all done that could be done on Saturday\nnight, so as to leave the Lord's day as free as possible from secular\nduties; so Nelly, sleepy as she was, took up her blacking brushes, and\nproceeded to rub and polish with all her might. But fatigue was too\nstrong for her, and before she had got through the third pair, her\nhead sank down and she lost all consciousness, till she suddenly\nstarted up, thinking Mrs. Ford was calling her to drive the cows to\npasture. It was impossible to rouse herself again to her work; she\njust managed to put out her light, and, hastily undressing, she threw\nherself on the bed with only a half-conscious attempt at her usual\nevening prayer, which, however, He who knows the weakness of our frame\nwould surely accept.\n\nNext morning, she started up instantly at Mrs. Williams' impatient\ncall. She could hardly get ready quick enough to satisfy her mistress,\nand had no time to kneel down and ask her heavenly Father's help for\nthe duties of the day. Mrs. Williams had not thought of this need for\nherself, and still less for her little handmaid. She found there was\nplenty of work before her, independently of the boots that remained to\nbe cleaned. By the time she had got through, the bells were ringing\nfor church, and it was time to think of getting the dinner ready, the\nboarders dining early on Sunday. Mrs. Williams was not going to church\nherself. The gentlemen always expected the dinner to be especially\ngood on that day, without much consideration what the cook's Sunday\nmight be; and it was much too important a matter to be left to Nelly's\ninexperienced hands. But during the time when her mistress was\noccupied in helping her daughter to dress her hair elaborately for\nchurch, Nelly found a little quiet time to read part of a chapter, and\nlearn a verse, and ask God's help to do right during the day, and to\nremember that it was His day, the best of all the week.\n\nSo prepared, she found the difficult task of performing unaccustomed\nduties to her mistress's satisfaction easier than it might otherwise\nhave been. For why should we consider anything too small to seek His\naid, by whom the hairs of our head are all numbered? And the very\nattitude of trust and reliance on Him calms and clears the mind, and\nstrengthens the heart.\n\nThere was no time for Nelly to go to church on that Sunday, at any\nrate. She could not get through her work with her comparatively\nunpractised hands, and it was with a very weary body and mind that\nshe read her evening verse, and repeated her favourite hymn, \"I lay my\nsins on Jesus,\" as a sort of substitute for her usual Sunday school\nlessons, and then lay down to think of the kind friends she had left,\nand to wonder when she should see Miss Lucy, till she fell asleep to\ndream that she was at the farm again, and churning butter that would\nnot come.\n\nBessie had written to Lucy, telling her of Nelly's departure, but had\nforgotten to give her mistress's address, so that Lucy could not find\nher out till she should go to see her at Mr. Brooke's; and for many\ndays this was impracticable. Day after day passed, filled with the\nsame unceasing routine of drudgery; and though her growing skill\nenabled her to get through her work more quickly, this did not add to\nher leisure, since, as her capabilities increased, her duties\nincreased also. Miss Williams, too, who objected to do anything for\nherself when another could be got to do it, found Nelly very\nconvenient for all sorts of personal services.\n\nNelly went through it all without grumbling, though she often went to\nbed quite tired out. But youth and health came to her aid, and she\nwould wake in the morning to go singing about her work. She had an\nuncommonly sweet voice, and the boarders used often to remark to each\nother that there was more music in her untaught snatches of song than\nin all Miss Williams' attempts at the piano.\n\nBut, as weeks went on, the perpetual, unceasing strain began to wear\nupon her, and her songs grew less and less frequent. Though she was\nalmost too busy to indulge in many longings for Ashleigh and its\npleasant fields, it was a little hard to know that the beautiful\nbudding spring was passing into summer, and that she could taste none\nof the country pleasures she had so much enjoyed last year; that the\nonly sign by which she knew the advancement of the season was the\nincreasing heat, enervating her frame and undermining her\nstrength,--its effect in this respect being greatly heightened by the\nclose, heavy atmosphere in which she chiefly lived. Nature is stronger\nthan man, after all; and when the upper classes selfishly neglect the\ncomfort of their poorer brethren, they will find that inexorable\nNature will avenge the infringement of her laws, and will touch their\nown interests in so doing.\n\n\"I can't think what has come over Nelly!\" Mrs. Williams would say to\nher daughter. \"She's not the same girl she was when she came here, and\nshe seems to grow lazier every day. Well, it's the way with them all.\nA new broom sweeps clean.\"\n\nBut Mrs. Williams might easily have found a truer explanation of\nNelly's failing energies than this convenient proverb, in the\nunwholesome atmosphere she was breathing by night and day, as well as\nin the quantity and quality of the food provided for her. Mrs.\nWilliams would have indignantly repelled the charge of starving Nelly,\nbut she forgot the requirements of a fast-growing girl. Everything\neatable was kept rigidly locked up,--that was a fundamental principle\nof Mrs. Williams' housekeeping,--and Nelly's allowance was sometimes\nso scanty, and at other times composed of such an uninviting\ncollection of scraps, that she often had not sufficient nourishment to\nrepair the waste of strength which she was continually undergoing. And\nas she would rather suffer than ask more, her constitution was really\ngiving way for want of sufficient sustenance.\n\nSo two or three months passed, and she had not yet seen Lucy. She had\nonly, indeed, been two or three times at church, for Mrs. Williams\nnever seemed to remember that her little servant had an immortal soul\nto be nourished, though it must be admitted that she was not much more\nmindful of her own spiritual welfare. As for getting out on week-days,\nexcept on her mistress's errands, Mrs. Williams seemed to consider\nthat quite out of the question; and, indeed, Nelly could not easily\nhave found leisure for half-an-hour's absence. One evening, at last,\nwhen most of the boarders were dining out, Mrs. Williams graciously\nacceded to Nelly's request to be allowed to go out for an hour; \"but\ndon't stay a minute longer,\" she added. Nelly had carefully kept\nLucy's address, and gladly set off, as fast as she could walk, towards\nthe quarter of the city in which she knew it to be. She steered her\ncourse pretty straight, but had walked for fully half-an-hour before\nshe reached the door, on the brass plate of which she read \"B.\nBrooke.\"\n\nIt was with a beating heart that she put the question, \"Is Miss Lucy\nRaymond at home?\" to be answered in the negative by the servant, who\ninwardly wondered what a girl so poorly dressed could want with Miss\nLucy. Waiting was out of the question,--she would be late enough in\ngetting back as it was,--so she sorrowfully turned away, without\nleaving any message. It was a great disappointment, and, tired and\ndispirited, she made her way back.\n\nThere was another reason, besides want of time, to prevent her making\na second attempt. The clothes with which she had been provided on\nleaving Mill Bank Farm were almost worn out with the hard work she had\nto do, and Mrs. Williams had as yet done nothing towards fulfilling\nher promise of giving her necessary clothing, although Nelly's\ntattered frock was worn beyond all possibility of repairing. Nelly was\nconscious of the doubtful look with which she was regarded when she\nasked for Lucy, and she shrank from again encountering it, and perhaps\nbringing discredit on Miss Lucy in the eyes of her city friends by her\nown disreputable appearance.\n\nOne afternoon in June--Mrs. Williams and her daughter being\nout--Nelly, having a few minutes to spare, was standing at the open\ndoor, listening to the plaintive strains of an organ-grinder who was\nplaying close by. His dark Italian face looked sad and careworn, and\nthe little girl beside him, evidently his daughter from the\nresemblance between them, looked so pale and feeble, that it seemed as\nif her little thin hands could scarcely support the tambourine she was\nringing in accompaniment to a little plaintive song. Nelly enjoyed the\nperformance exceedingly, but her admiration did not appear to be\nshared by those whose applause was of more consequence, for not a\nsingle penny found its way into the poor man's hat, either from the\ninmates of the house or from the juvenile bystanders. His discouraged\nair, and the sad, wistful eyes of the little girl, touched Nelly's\nwarm Irish heart, as he leaned on Mrs. Williams' doorsteps to rest\nhimself while he set down his organ, experience having taught him that\nit was a useless waste of strength to play before that door.\n\nNelly, seeing how hot and tired he looked, impulsively asked the poor\nman whether he would walk in and sit down, never stopping to think\nwhether she had a right to do so. He looked up, surprised at the\ninvitation, but thankfully accepted it, and Nelly brought two chairs\ninto the hall for him and the little girl. Then, as the only\nentertainment she was able to supply, she filled two glasses with the\ncoldest water she could find, and shyly offered them to her guests.\n\n\"Ah, it is good,\" said the organ-grinder, when he had drained his\nglass. \"Many thanks,\" he added, in his foreign accent; and the little\ngirl looked up into Nelly's face with the sweetest, most expressive,\ngrateful smile.\n\n\"Now,\" said the Italian, after having rested a little, \"you love\nmusic--is it not true?--or you would not be so kind to us. I will play\nfor you.\"\n\nAnd, taking up his instrument, he played an air sweeter than any Nelly\nhad yet heard from him, and the little girl sang, in her liquid voice,\na little song, the words of which she could not understand, for they\nwere Italian.\n\n\"Now we must go,\" said the man. \"Good-bye, my good girl; if I were\nhome in my country, I would do as much for you.\" And the father and\ndaughter pursued their weary way, Nelly's eyes following wistfully the\nforms of those whom she regarded as friends already, for were they\nnot, like herself, poor, lonely strangers in a strange land?\n\nThen she began to wonder whether she had done wrong in asking them to\ncome in. She knew instinctively that she could not have done it had\nMrs. Williams been at home. But yet she could not feel such a simple,\ncommon act of kindness to have been wrong. No harm had been done to\nanything belonging to her mistress; and the \"cup of cold water,\" had\nshe not a right to offer it to those who needed it so much?\n\nAfter that the organ-grinder and his child passed frequently through\nthat street, and whenever she could, Nelly would exchange a few kind\nwords with them, and the man would play for her, knowing well that she\nhad no pennies to offer in return; but at such times she used to wish\nso much that she had a little money of her own.\n\nThe Italian would sometimes look at her tattered dress, and her face,\ngradually growing thinner and paler, as if he thought her quite as\nforlorn as himself; and once, when he heard her mistress call her in,\nand scold her for \"talking to such characters in the street,\" he shook\nhis head, and muttered something in his native tongue.\n\nAnd so it came to pass that the poor Italian and his daughter became\nNelly's only friends in that great, busy city.\n\n\n\n\nXII.\n\n_Ambition._\n\n    \"Tell me the same old story,\n      When you have cause to fear\n    That this world's empty glory\n      Is costing me too dear.\"\n\n\nLucy's interest in her studies, and the zeal with which she pursued\nthem, had had a wonderful effect in reconciling her to her new\ncircumstances. She could sometimes hardly believe that only a few\nshort months lay between her and her old life, now seeming so far back\nin the distance. Her progress in study had been very rapid, as her\nabilities were above the average, and her love of study was much\ngreater than was usual among her companions, most of whom looked upon\ntheir school education chiefly as a matter of form, which it was\nexpected of them to go through before entering on the real object of\nlife, the entrance into \"society,\" with its pleasures and excitements.\nThat it was intended to be a means of disciplining their minds for\nbetter doing their future duties, enlarging their range of thought,\nand opening to them new sources of interest and delight, had never\nentered into their heads. Lucy indeed pursued her studies more for the\nsake of the pleasure they afforded her at the time than with any\nulterior views, though she did feel the advantages placed in her way\nto be a sacred trust, and, like all other privileges, to be accounted\nfor to Him who had bestowed them.\n\nWith her teachers, who found her a pupil after their own heart, she\nwas a much greater favourite than she was with some of her classmates,\nwho were so uncongenial, that she could not well enter into, or even\nunderstand, the things which interested them. Nor could she always\nrefrain from showing her impatience of their frivolities, or her\ncontempt for the follies which so engrossed their minds; and this did\nnot, of course, tend to make her popular. This circumstance Lucy did\nnot care for so much even as she ought; for, though fond of\napprobation, she cared only for the approbation of those she esteemed,\nunlike her cousin Stella, who liked admiration from any source.\n\nWhen the bright, balmy days of spring came, bringing with them\nthoughts of green fields and budding trees, there sometimes came over\nher longings almost irresistible for her old home, so full of rural\nsights and sounds, in such contrast to the stiff, straight city\nstreets and houses, the dust and noise, and the squares planted with\ntrees, which to her eyes seemed like caged birds, as the only\nreminders that there were such things in the world. These longings\nusually came to her most strongly in the long spring evenings, in\nwhose lengthening light she used to rejoice at Ashleigh, as enabling\nher to prolong her pleasant country rambles. Now she must either walk\nup and down the hard pavements between never-ending rows of houses, or\nsit at the window, wistfully watching the sunset light falling golden\non the opposite walls. Now and then she accompanied the others in a\nlong drive; but the distance which they had to traverse before they\nreached anything like the country seemed to her interminable; and when\nthey did catch a glimpse of fields and woods, it seemed hard to have\nso soon to turn back and lose sight of them again.\n\nOn her return from one of these drives, which had been protracted till\ndusk, she was told that she had been inquired for by a girl very\npoorly dressed, \"almost like a beggar.\" She was puzzled at first, but\nalmost immediately it flashed across her that it must be Nelly Connor.\nShe had often thought of her since she had come to the city, but could\nnot find her, owing to Bessie's omission to give her mistress's\naddress,--an omission which Bessie, not being a good correspondent,\nand naturally supposing that Nelly would soon find her way to Lucy,\nhad not yet remedied. \"Oh, I wish I had seen her!\" exclaimed Lucy,\nmuch to the surprise both of the servants and her cousins, who could\nnot understand how a girl of that description should come to be so\ninteresting to her as to cause so much disappointment at having missed\nher, and at having no clue to her place of abode.\n\n\"I hope she will soon come again,\" was the reflection with which Lucy\nconsoled herself; and Stella explained to Sophy and Edwin: \"It's a\nlittle Irish _protegee_ of hers that she was crazy about at Ashleigh,\nand she used to lecture me because I didn't think as much of her as\nshe did.\" Lucy laughed and tried to explain, but stopped, seeing that\nher cousins took very little interest in the matter.\n\nLucy did not come much in contact with her uncle and aunt. The former\nwas much absorbed in business, and though a kind and indulgent parent,\nespecially to his favourite Stella, he interfered but little in home\nmatters. Mrs. Brooke, who had always been a rather negative character,\nhad long given up to her elder daughters any sway she had ever held,\nand was almost entirely guided by their judgment, of which they\nnaturally took advantage to indulge to the utmost their own love of\ngaiety. Balls and parties in winter, and in summer gay picnics and\ndriving parties without end, engrossed their time and thoughts, to the\nexclusion of higher objects of interest. Ada was fond of embroidery,\nand would betake herself to it when nothing better was going on; and\nSophy was sometimes persuaded to paint for a fancy sale one of the\nilluminations, in doing which she evinced great talent. They were\ngenerally quotations from the poets which she selected; and as Lucy\nwatched the taste with which Sophy blended and contrasted the rich\ncolouring, she would long for the same skilful hand, in order to\nclothe in such glowing colours some of the favourite texts which shone\nfor her like beams of light from heaven.\n\nBut she had no talent for drawing; and though by diligent practice she\nimproved very much in playing and singing, she knew she should never\nbe able to do either like her cousin Sophy. How useful, she thought,\nmight she not be, if her heart were but actuated by love to Christ!\nShe felt she dared not speak to her on this subject, but she often\nprayed to Him who can command the hearts of all, that He would touch\nand renew that of her cousin Sophy.\n\nBetween Stella and Lucy, dissimilar as they were, there existed a\nstrong cousinly affection. Stella, with all her bantering ways, would\nnever now go so far as seriously to annoy her, generally taking her\nside when she thought the others were too much for her. But though\nLucy tried earnestly to draw her cousin towards the knowledge of her\nSaviour, all such attempts seemed to glance off her, like raindrops\nfrom an oiled surface. She was quite satisfied with herself as she\nwas, and had not yet found out the insufficiency of the earthly\npleasures which at present satisfied her. She believed, of course, in\nanother world, and the need of a preparation for it, but she thought\nthere was plenty of time for that; and it had never entered within the\nrange of her comprehension that the change of heart, which is the\nnecessary preparation for a future life, is as necessary to living\neither well or happily in the present. So that Lucy was constantly\nfeeling that, in the most important matters of all, there could be no\ngenuine sympathy between them.\n\nNor among her schoolmates was her longing for sympathy between them\nmore fully gratified. They were all actuated by the \"spirit of this\nworld which passeth away,\" and avoided everything that could bring the\nthought of another to their minds; so that she had not found one with\nwhom she could speak on the subjects most dear to her, or hold an\nintercourse mutually helpful.\n\nThere was, indeed, one of her schoolmates, a Miss Eastwood, a boarder\nat Mrs. Wilmot's, in whom, from her sweet, serious manner and\nappearance, and from some other tokens, she thought she might have\nfound a congenial friend. But Miss Eastwood was a little older than\nherself, and Lucy's natural shyness was increased by the impression\nthat she rather avoided her and Stella, probably from knowing that Mr.\nBrooke's was a thoroughly worldly family, and supposing that Lucy must\nbe like her cousins in this respect. Miss Eastwood in this was acting\nconscientiously; yet such a determined avoidance of those who appear\nto be worldly in their principles of action, though founded on the\ndesire of keeping out of temptation, sometimes leads to great\nmistakes. Real Christian sympathy may sometimes be found where from\ncircumstances there may seem to be least appearance of it; and even\nwhere it does not exist, influence for good might be exerted over\nthose whom distrust must necessarily repel. He who sat with publicans\nand sinners, while He enjoins His followers to be \"not of the world,\"\neven as He was not of the world, cannot surely desire them to avoid\nall opportunities, naturally occurring, of coming in contact with\nthose who may not be like-minded; and if Christians would always show\ntheir true colours uncompromisingly, while coming near to others, as\nGod's providence opens opportunity, they would both do more good and\nfind sympathy and fellowship oftener than they expect.\n\nOf all the inmates of her uncle's house, little Amy was the one in\nwhom Lucy found the greatest congeniality. Her readings to her, and\nher teaching about Jesus, seemed to have satisfied a craving of the\nchild's little heart, and she drank in the truths which Lucy tried to\nexplain to her, with the eagerness of one who had been thirsting for\nthe living water. Indeed she needed very little explanation; it\nseemed as if the Spirit of God was her teacher, instructing her in\nthings that might have seemed too deep for so young a child to\ngrasp,--though indeed there may be less difference than we often\nimagine between the mind of a child and that of the wisest man, as\nregards their power of comprehending truths that are too infinitely\nprofound for the greatest human intellect to fathom.\n\nAmy had from her infancy been so delicate, that she had been in a\ngreat measure confined to the nursery all her life; and not being\nnearly so winning and attractive as Stella, she had never been so\ngreat a favourite with her brothers and sisters, who, never having\ntaken the trouble of drawing her out, considered her rather\nuninteresting. The death of a fine little boy, a little older than\nAmy, had strangely had the effect upon her mother of making her turn\naway, almost with a feeling of impatience, from the unattractive,\nailing child that had been spared, while her noble little boy, so full\nof beauty and promise, had been taken. Amy had been left almost\nentirely to her nurse, who had taught her some of the simple prayers\nand hymns that she herself had learned at Sunday school, though she\nhad not spoken to her of Jesus, as Lucy had done. The story of His\nlove fell upon a heart that was unconsciously yearning for a fuller\nmeasure of affection than it had ever received from human sources; and\nthe love which it excited in return, for Him whom the child seemed at\nonce to recognise as an ever near and present friend, became the most\npowerful influence of her life. She never wearied of hearing about\nHim, of asking questions about Him, particularly about His childhood,\nwhich often threw light, in her young teacher's mind, upon things\nwhich she had not considered before. The child's intense interest,\ntoo, and the simplicity of her childish faith, were no small help to\nLucy, in the midst of much that might have drawn her heart and mind\naway from her first love. For there were many temptations in her\nway,--temptations which sometimes overcame her. Even her zeal in her\nstudies often unduly absorbed her mind, tempting her to leave the\nfag-end of time and strength for prayer and the reading of God's word,\nand her natural ambition often led her into unchristian feelings and\ntempers. Then, when humbled and discouraged, and doubtful whether she\nreally was a child of God at all, some simple, loving remark of Amy's\nwould drive away the clouds, and she would come again, in penitence\nand faith, to drink of the living water which alone can quench human\nthirst.\n\nSometimes the spiritual beauty of her little cousin's expression, and\nher growing ripeness for a better country, would awaken a feeling of\nregret that Amy was not more like other children, lest indeed she\nmight be ripening for an early removal. Yet the thought would recur:\n\"Amy is not fit for the roughness of the world; why should I wish her\nstay upon it, instead of going home to rest in her Saviour's bosom?\"\n\nFred had paid a short visit to his sister as soon as his college\nvacation commenced, but he had made an engagement for the summer as a\ntutor, and he was obliged to hasten away to his duties before Lucy had\nsaid half of what she wished to say, or asked his advice on half the\nsubjects on which she had been longing for it. However, short as his\nvisit was, it was very useful as well as very pleasant, reviving old\nthoughts and habits of feeling which were in danger of falling into\nthe background, and stimulating her to follow the example of a brother\nwho was so stedfastly bent on following his Lord.\n\nAs the time for the summer examinations at Mrs. Wilmot's drew near,\nLucy, bent on carrying off two or three of the prizes, redoubled her\napplication to her studies; but she allowed her desire to accomplish\nher object to carry her too far. All her thoughts, all her time, were\nso engrossed by it, that she had none to spare for anything else. She\nwould not join her cousins in any of their innocent recreations, and\nbecame impatient and irritable when she met with claims upon her time\nthat could not be set aside. Even the Lord's day at last began to seem\nan interruption to the work in which she was so eager. Her too intense\napplication began to affect her health: she was growing so nervous,\nthat Stella would sometimes declare that she was changing her\nidentity, and could not be the same Lucy Raymond as of old. Lucy could\nindeed feel the change in herself, and this only increased the\nirritation, instead of leading her to remove the cause, by moderating\nthe ambition which was leading her to a blameable excess in what would\notherwise have been praiseworthy diligence. But just at that time the\ncoveted prizes seemed to throw everything else into the shade, and she\nhad no watchful, judicious friend, to point out, in timely warning,\nthe snare into which she was falling.\n\nEven little Amy, for the first time, occasionally found herself\nimpatiently put aside, and her requests to be read to met with, \"Not\nnow, Amy; I haven't time. Don't tease me now, like a good child;\" and\nwould steal away, with a surprised look in her soft eyes, wondering\nhow it could be that Cousin Lucy should not have time to read to her\nabout Jesus.\n\nOne of the prizes on which Lucy had most set her heart was that to be\ngiven for History, one of her favourite studies. In ancient and\nclassical history she had been very thoroughly grounded by her father,\nand had nothing to fear, most of the principal events being familiar\nto her as household words. But her knowledge of modern history was not\nso extensive, and she had a great deal of hard study before she could\nfeel at all at ease in competing with her classmates, some of whom\nwere considerably older than herself, and had given most of their\nattention to modern history, the division in which the greater number\nof questions were asked.\n\nLucy had studied with so much diligence, and her daily recitations\nwere always so good, that she had great hopes of taking the first\nprize; and her master, with whom she was a great favourite, did not\nconceal his expectation of her success. Just the day before the\nexamination, when looking over the list of subjects for revision, she\nfound, to her dismay, that she had unaccountably overlooked one of\nthose prescribed. It was quite too late to hope to repair the omission\nsatisfactorily, but she hastily procured the proper book, and set to\nwork at once, to try to gain such a general knowledge of the subject\nas would enable her to reply to the questions that were certain to be\nasked upon it. But her overtasked mind refused to grasp the words that\nswam before her eyes; and a headache, which had been annoying her for\ndays, became so severe, that she was obliged to shut the book and\nthrow herself on the bed, her oppressed mind relieving itself in a\nburst of tears.\n\nWhile she was still crying, Amy came in, and, going up to her, stroked\nher cheek with her loving little hands. \"Are you hurt, Cousin Lucy?\"\nshe asked wonderingly; and as her cousin shook her head, she asked in\na lower tone, \"Were you naughty, Cousin Lucy?\"--these being to her the\nonly conceivable causes for sorrow.\n\n\"Yes, Amy, I've been naughty!\" exclaimed Lucy impetuously. She saw now\nhow wrong she had been in allowing herself to be so led away by her\nambition, as to have sacrificed to it all else, even her habit of\nwatching in faith for\n\n    \"The service that Thy love appoints.\"\n\nNumerous instances rushed upon her mind, in which she had turned aside\nfrom opportunities of usefulness, of showing kindness and forbearance\nto others; she had been letting her oil run out, and her lamp burnt\nfaint and dim, and all that she might gain this petty prize, which she\nwas likely to lose after all! Had she not, in yielding to her peculiar\ntemptation, allowed herself to become as worldly as those whom in her\nheart she had been condemning?\n\nAmy's gentle voice came to awaken more soothing thoughts. \"But why do\nyou cry so, Lucy?\" she said. \"Won't Jesus forgive you, and make you\ngood?\"\n\nLucy's \"bread upon the waters\" had come back to her in spiritual\ncomfort, just when she most needed it. She put her arms round her\nlittle monitor, and, as she kissed her, her thoughts formed an earnest\nprayer that her Lord would indeed forgive her, and help her to begin\nagain, wiser for her experience, and strong in looking to Him for\nstrength.\n\nThe quiet hours which her headache enforced were of great service to\nher, in giving her time for thought and resolution. When at last she\nrose, and arranged her hair to go down-stairs, her heart had grown so\nmuch lighter and calmer, that she felt more like herself than she had\ndone for months, and she could now leave the matter of the prizes,\nwithout undue anxiety, with Him who knew what was best for her, and\nwho, she was sure, would not refuse her any good thing.\n\nThe examination in history was the first to come off. When Lucy looked\nat the list of questions, she found that several of them were on the\npart of the subject she had overlooked, and that these she could not\nanswer at all. She felt that all chance of the prize was over; but she\ndid not allow her mind to dwell on this circumstance, but wrote her\nreplies to the other questions, with a calmness and clearness which\nwould have been quite beyond her power, had she allowed herself to\nremain in a condition of feverish suspense.\n\nWhen the examiners' decision was made known, it was found that the\nfirst prize had been awarded to Miss Eastwood, who was quite taken by\nsurprise at receiving it; but that, as Miss Raymond's paper had been\nso good in all except a very few points, the second prize, awarded to\nher, was considered almost equal to the first. This was much better\nthan Lucy had expected; and as she received two first prizes in\nsubjects where she had felt by no means sure of success, she was on\nthe whole very well satisfied, as was Fred also, when her joyful\nletter informed him of the result.\n\nStella announced Lucy's success at home with almost as much pleasure\nas if the success had been her own. Edwin congratulated her with\nrather more animation than he was in the habit of showing, and Ada\ndeclared that \"It must be nice to be so smart.\"\n\n\"Yes; but Lucy has been injuring her health by her close study,\"\nremarked the more observant Sophy. \"Look at her now, how pale and thin\nshe is, compared with what she was when she came!\"\n\n\"Oh, the holidays will set me all right again,\" Lucy declared,\nlaughing; but Mrs. Brooke decided that Lucy needed immediate change of\nair. She had been hoping to be able to spend her holidays at Ashleigh,\namong her old friends; and as the Brookes were all going to a\nfashionable seaside resort, it seemed likely that nothing would occur\nto prevent the hoped-for visit. But Amy's cough, as well as other\nsymptoms of delicacy of the lungs, had increased so much, that the\ndoctor declared the sea-air too keen for her, and that she had better\nbe sent, during the warm season, to a quiet inland place in the\nneighbourhood, the air of which he thought particularly suited to her\nconstitution. But of course Amy could not be sent there alone, and\nnone of the rest would have been willing to give up their proposed\nvisit to the seaside, except Mrs. Brooke, who could not be spared from\nher duties to her other daughters.\n\nLucy therefore seemed the one who should accompany Amy, and she\nherself felt that it was an occasion on which she might make some\nreturn for the kindness she had met with in her uncle's family. So\nher visit to Ashleigh was given up, and Amy's delight at finding that\nshe was to accompany her to Oakvale, was enough to make her forget any\ndisappointment which her decision had involved. They were to be\nreceived into the family of a friend of the doctor's, a widow lady,\nwho frequently received invalids as boarders, with whom little Amy\nwould receive all the care and comfort she needed.\n\nA few days before their departure, Lucy at last received, through\nBessie Ford, the address of Nelly Connor's mistress. Stella, who,\nnotwithstanding her raillery at Lucy's _protegee_, had a sort of\nlatent interest in Nelly, from her association with her pleasant visit\nto Ashleigh, accompanied her cousin in her long walk to look for the\nhouse. On reaching it at last, tired and hot, the door was opened, not\nby Nelly, as Lucy had hoped, but by an unprepossessing-looking woman,\nwhose hard face grew more rigid when informed what was the object of\nher visit.\n\n\"You needn't come here to look for her,\" she replied grimly; \"she's\nleft this some time since, and I don't never want to set eyes on her\nagain.\"\n\n\"Is she not here, then? Where is she gone?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" was the reply, \"and I don't want to know. A girl that\ncould behave as she done to one who took such pains with her, and kept\nher so long, ain't a girl to my taste. I wash my hands of her.\"\n\n\"But perhaps you could tell us what place she went to from you?\"\npersisted Lucy. \"I am a friend of hers, and would like to find her\nout.\"\n\n\"Well, she is no credit to her friends,\" said the woman, rather\npleased at being able to give her a bad character where it might be of\nsome consequence. \"And as for the vagrant character she went off with,\nI'd be very sorry to have any acquaintance with him.\"\n\nFinding the uselessness of prosecuting her inquiries there, Lucy bade\nMrs. Williams good-day, feeling sure that Nelly's conduct had been\nmisrepresented,--an opinion shared by Stella, who had taken a strong\ndislike to the woman's grim demeanour and spiteful tone,--and very\nsorry for having lost the only clue to her _protegee_ once more.\n\n\n\n\nXIII.\n\n_A Friendship._\n\n                  \"We had been girlish friends,\n    With hearts that, like the summer's half-oped buds,\n    Grew close, and hived their sweetness for each other.\"\n\n\nLucy and Amy were soon settled in Mrs. Browne's pleasant little\ncottage at Oakvale, a pretty sheltered village surrounded by hills,\nclothed principally with noble oaks, whence it derived its name. Mrs.\nBrowne's house lay a little way out of the village, amid green fields\nand lanes, which, after the hot, dusty city streets, were\ninexpressibly refreshing to Lucy, recalling old times at Ashleigh.\n\nMrs. Browne was a kind, motherly person, a doctor's widow, herself\npossessing a good deal of medical skill, which rendered her house\nespecially eligible for invalids, and she established a careful watch\nover little Amy, whose very precarious condition her practised eye saw\nat a glance. Whenever the child, feeling better than usual, would have\novertasked her failing strength in the quiet country rambles, which\nwere such a delightful novelty to one who had scarcely ever been\nreally in the country before, and when Lucy's inexperience might have\nallowed her to injure herself without knowing it, Mrs. Browne would\ninterpose a gentle warning, which was always cheerfully obeyed. It was\nwith some surprise, indeed, that she noticed with what perfect\nsubmission the little girl bore all the deprivations of innocent\npleasure which her weak state compelled, as well as the feverish\nlanguor which often oppressed her in the hot August days. This\nsubmission arose from the implicit belief which, child as she was, she\nhad, that everything that befell her was ordered by the kind Saviour,\nwho would send nothing that was not for her real good. Such a belief,\nfully realized, would soon relieve most of us from the fretting cares\nand corroding anxieties that arise from our \"taking thought\" about\nthings we cannot control.\n\n\"I never saw a child like her,\" Mrs. Browne would say; \"indeed, she's\nmore like an angel than a child, and it's my belief she'll soon be one\nin reality. And I'm sure heaven's more the place for her than this\nrough world.\"\n\nHowever, Amy seemed to improve under the healthful influences of\nOakvale, living almost wholly in the fresh open air, perfumed with\nmignonette and other sweet summer flowers, sitting with Lucy under the\ntrees before Mrs. Browne's house, or in her shady verandah, where,\neven on the warmest day, there was a breeze to cool the sultry air.\nLucy would read to her, sometimes some of Longfellow's simpler poems,\nout of one of her prize-books, and sometimes out of more juvenile\nstory-books brought down for Amy's benefit, who was never tired of\nhearing her favourites read over and over again, to which she would\nlisten with an abstracted, thoughtful expression, as if she were\ninterpreting the story in a spiritual fashion of her own. \"Heaven is\nabout us in our infancy,\" says the poet; and it is nearer to some\nchildren, by the grace of God, than older people often imagine.\n\nWhen Lucy wanted to read to herself, Amy would amuse herself quietly\nfor hours, dressing her dolls, and looking over the illustrations in\nher story-books, supplying the story from memory. Lucy conscientiously\nkept up her practising on Mrs. Browne's piano, and always ended by\nplaying and singing some hymns for Amy, who was passionately fond of\nmusic, and loved to try to sing too, with her sweet, feeble voice.\n\nAs Mrs. Browne, having but one servant, had a great deal to do\nherself, Lucy volunteered to assist her a little. She had always been\naccustomed to perform some household tasks at home, and it was quite\nan amusement to her and Amy, bringing back old days of her childhood,\nto vary their mornings by shelling the peas for dinner, or, when it\nwas not too warm, picking the fruit for Mrs. Browne's preserves. So\npleasant did Lucy find it, that she thought her city cousins really\nmissed a good deal of enjoyment, in never, by any chance, employing\nthemselves in anything of the kind, even when the busy servants were\nreally over-worked. Indeed it is somewhat surprising that domestics go\non as contentedly as they do in their constant treadmill of labour,\noften too much for their strength, when so many healthy members of the\nfamilies for whose benefit they toil spend so large a portion of their\ntime in luxurious idleness, or in mere pleasure-seeking.\n\nIn the fresh, cool morning, after their early breakfast, and in the\nevening, when the heat of the day was over, Lucy and Amy always went\nfor a short ramble, climbing a little way up one of the hill-paths, or\nwandering by the side of the stream, which, fringed with elm and\nbirch, wound through the village that lay on both sides of it, the\nriver being crossed in two or three places by rustic bridges. From the\npoint on the hillside which generally formed the limit of their walk,\nand where they used to sit on a mossy stone to rest, they had an\nextensive view over the surrounding country, diversified with\ncorn-fields, orchards, and deep green woods, and dotted with\nfarmhouses, while close at their feet lay the white cluster of\nvillage-houses, with a few of higher pretensions scattered here and\nthere on the green slopes by the river-side, among their shrubberies\nand embowering trees.\n\nThe fields were beginning to wear the deeper and richer hues of\napproaching autumn, and it was a perpetual pleasure to watch the\nrippling motion of the golden grain waving in the breeze, or the rapid\nchanges of light and shade on the fields and woods, as the clouds\npassed swiftly over the sky. To watch these were their morning\npleasures; but better still, perhaps, they loved the quiet sunset\nhours, when the glowing tints of the sky seemed to clothe the\nlandscape in an unearthly glory, and then gradually each bright hue\nwould fade out from the sky and from the land below, leaving the scene\nto the solemn repose of the shadowy evening, broken only by the\nflitting fireflies, or to the flood of silver light shed by the rising\nmoon. But Amy was never to be allowed to be out in the night air, so\nthat their rambles had to be over before the damp night dews. They\ngenerally found Mrs. Browne standing at the gate, awaiting their\nreturn, anxious lest her charge should have ventured to remain out too\nlong.\n\nMore than a week of their stay had passed rapidly by, when, one\nevening that Lucy and Amy were spending in wandering by the river, the\nformer suddenly recognised approaching them the familiar form of her\nclassmate, Miss Eastwood, the winner of the first history prize. The\nrecognition was of course mutual, and in the surprise of meeting so\nunexpectedly, and in explanations of how it had come about, the two\ngirls exchanged more words than they had ever done when in the same\nclasses at Mrs. Wilmot's.\n\n\"And you did not know Oakvale was my home?\" said Mary Eastwood, when\nLucy had told how she and her cousin came to be there. Lucy had never\nheard where Miss Eastwood's home was, and it had not occurred to her\nto connect the Dr. Eastwood, of whom Mrs. Browne often spoke, with the\nname of her classmate. Mary showed them her father's house,\nbeautifully situated on the opposite sloping bank of the river, which,\nwith its shady trees and white gate, reminded her a good deal of her\nown old home, though the house was larger and handsomer. Dr. Eastwood,\nwho was with his daughter, looked at little Amy with a good deal of\ninterest, asking a number of questions, while he held her delicate\nhand in his, and watched her fair, pale face with his keen eye. He and\nMary walked back with them to Mrs. Browne's cottage, promising to come\nand see them soon, and inviting them to visit Mary.\n\nThis unexpected rencontre greatly added to Lucy's enjoyment of her\nstay at Oakvale. The cousins very soon had the pleasure of spending an\nafternoon in Dr. Eastwood's family,--a Christian household after\nLucy's own heart. Now that the first stiffness of their\nschool-relations had been brushed off by the surprise of their\nmeeting, the two girls found each other delightful companions, and\nsoon became fast friends. It was the first time Lucy had ever found a\ncongenial companion of her own sex, and their friendship afforded a\nnew and ever-increasing delight. They saw each other every day, and\noften spent the long summer mornings, alike pleasantly and profitably,\nin reading aloud by turns, from some interesting and improving book\nout of Dr. Eastwood's excellent library. Mrs. Eastwood often sat by,\nalso enjoying the reading, and, by her judicious remarks, directing\nthe minds of her young companions to profitable thought. The book\nselected was often a religious one, such as some people would have\nconsidered only fit for Sundays; but it was not the less interesting\nto them on that account, and gave rise to some of their happiest\ndiscussions, when each perceived, with delight, how thoroughly the\nother could appreciate and reciprocate her own deepest feelings.\nLittle Amy would listen attentively at such times, showing by her\ninterest that she comprehended more of what was said than could have\nbeen expected. But whenever Mrs. Eastwood thought the conversation\nbeyond her depth, or her mind too much excited, she would send her\naway to play with her own younger children, who were always glad to\nplace all their toys at her disposal, and do all in their power for\nher amusement.\n\nAt Dr. Eastwood's the readings generally went on under a spreading\nwalnut-tree on the lawn, and Amy would roam at large with the\nchildren, or come and rest within hearing, just as she liked.\nSometimes she would lie still for hours on the cushions which Mrs.\nEastwood had laid on the grass for her benefit, gazing through the\nflickering green leaves into the blue depths of the sky, her earnest\neyes looking as if they penetrated beyond things visible, and held\ncommunion with thoughts not suggested by any mortal voice.\n\nOften in the afternoons, while Amy was safe and happy with her little\nfriends, Mary and Lucy would take a walk of some miles, carrying\nperhaps some message or comfort for some of Dr. Eastwood's poor\npatients, or driving with him on some of his distant rounds, or rowing\nin a boat on the river with one of Mary's brothers, to gather\nwater-lilies, and bring home their snowy or golden flowers in their\nwaxlike beauty to delight little Amy, who was sensitively alive to all\nnatural loveliness.\n\nDuring these expeditions the two girls discussed almost every\nconceivable topic of mutual interest, and gave each other the history\nof their previous lives, though Mary's had flowed on almost as\nuneventfully as Lucy's had done previous to her father's death. They\ncompared notes as to their favourite books, poetry, and theories,\ntheir tastes being sufficiently different to give rise to many a\npleasant, good-humoured controversy. Sometimes, when deeper chords\nwere touched, they confided to each other some of their spiritual\nhistory,--what influences had first brought them to know a Saviour's\nlove, and then led their hearts to Him who had given Himself for them.\nMary, who had a little class of her own at Oakvale, listened with\nmuch interest to the account of Miss Preston's parting words to her\nclass, and the influence they had had on her scholars.\n\nAbout her dear departed father, too, and the beloved home-circle, Lucy\nhad much to tell. She said much less about the Brooke family; and\nMary, who could understand how little congenial was the atmosphere of\nher uncle's house, respected her reticence. Lucy felt that she had no\nright to communicate any unfavourable impression of those from whom\nshe had received so much kindness, and whose hospitality and kindness\nshe had enjoyed so long.\n\n\"I always felt as if I wanted to know you better, Mary, when we were\nat Mrs. Wilmot's,\" said Lucy one evening, as they were returning home\nfrom a woodland walk, laden with wild-flowers and ferns. Mary coloured\na little, and hesitated.\n\n\"I'm afraid I was very stiff and selfish, Lucy dear,\" she replied;\n\"but mamma used to give me so many cautions about mingling with\nworldly people, that I thought it was best to keep apart from them\naltogether. And I was told Mr. Brooke's family were so gay and\nworldly, that I supposed you must be so too; and so I thought I ought\nnot to get into any intimacy that might lead me into temptation.\"\n\n\"I suppose it is right to try to keep out of temptation,\" said Lucy\nthoughtfully.\n\n\"Yes; but now I can see that I wasn't right in being so distrustful as\nto be afraid of what came naturally in my way. Mamma says that to be\nafraid of what may involve temptation, when God's providence,\nrightfully construed, leads us into it, is something like the dread\nwhich keeps people from doing their duty in cases of infection;\nwhereas they should trust that, so long as they do not expose\nthemselves to it wilfully and needlessly, God will care for them in\nthe path by which He leads them, as well as in circumstances which\nlook more secure.\"\n\n\"Yes, I'm sure that's true,\" said Lucy, thinking of what Fred had said\nto her when she had felt afraid to venture into the temptations of her\nuncle's house. \"But then, whenever we get over our fear and feel\nsecure, we are sure to fall into some snare.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" replied her friend, \"because we forget our own dependence on\nChrist for strength, and begin to walk in our own, instead of looking\nto Him continually for help.\"\n\n\"Do you know,\" said Lucy, \"one of my greatest temptations was studying\nfor the history prize! I was so determined to have it--so set upon\nit--that I let it come before everything else, and forgot to ask to be\nkept from temptation in it, till, just before the examination, I found\nI had forgotten part of what was to be studied; and then, in my\ndisappointment, I found out how wrong I had been.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" exclaimed Mary, \"I was almost sorry I got the first prize, which\nI hadn't been expecting at all, for I was sure you would be dreadfully\ndisappointed. You had worked so hard for it--harder than I did.\"\n\n\"No, I wasn't disappointed then; I was sure I shouldn't get it, and\ndidn't expect even the second prize; and I felt quite satisfied that\nit should be so, for I had been working in so wrong a spirit, that I\ncould not have felt happy in getting the prize that had led me\nastray.\"\n\n\"Well, it's a relief to my mind to hear you say so,\" replied Mary,\nlaughing, \"for I felt quite guilty whenever I looked at that book,\nfeeling as if I had by some incomprehensible accident taken it from\nthe one who really deserved it.\"\n\nMary had as yet known but few temptations. Her life had been so calm\nand sheltered, that she had had no experience of contrary winds, and\nher natural disposition was so equable, that she had very little\nconsciously to struggle against. Perhaps her chief temptation lay in a\ntendency to placid contemplative Christianity, without sufficient\nactive interest in others; and Lucy's opposite qualities acted as a\ncounteracting stimulus, while Mary's peaceful spirit of trusting faith\ncalmed and soothed Lucy's rather impatient disposition. Thus in all\ntrue loving Christian companionship we may help each other on, making\nup what is lacking in one another by mutual edification.\n\nOne warm Sunday evening, after a very sultry day, Lucy and Amy were\nsitting together in Mrs. Browne's verandah. Mary had just left them,\nhaving walked home with Lucy from the evening service, and they had\nbeen discussing the sermon, which had been chiefly on sin and its\nhatefulness in the sight of God, as well as upon the fountain opened\nto remove it. After she was gone, they had sat for some time in\nsilence, watching the fireflies glancing in and out of the dark trees.\nSuddenly Amy said, \"Lucy, do you expect to go to heaven when you die,\nfor sure?\"\n\n\"I am quite sure there is nothing to prevent my going there,\" said\nLucy, \"for I know Jesus is able and willing to take me there.\"\n\n\"Shall I go there when I die, Lucy?\" she asked, with a solemn\nearnestness that went to her cousin's heart.\n\n\"Why should you not, dear Amy, when Jesus died that you might?\"\n\n\"But 'God will not look upon sin,' the Bible says, and I have a sinful\nheart; I feel it,\" replied the child.\n\n\"Well, why should Jesus have died for you if you had not? It was just\nto take away sin that Jesus came to suffer.\"\n\n\"But it isn't taken away; I know it's there,\" persisted Amy, who had\nevidently been distressing herself with the question how a heart,\nsinful on earth, could be fit for the pure atmosphere of heaven.\n\nLucy explained, to the best of her knowledge and ability, that while\nsin still clings to our mortal natures, Jesus has broken its power for\never, and taken away its condemnation, so that when we receive Him\ninto our hearts by faith, God no longer looks upon us as sinful and\nrebellious children, but as reconciled through the blood of Christ.\nAnd the same blood will also purify our hearts; and when soul and body\nare for ever separated, the last stain of sin will be taken away from\nthe ransomed spirit.\n\nAmy listened, and seemed satisfied,--at least she never recurred to\nthe subject; and, so far as Lucy knew, it was the last time that any\nperplexing doubts clouded the sunshine of her happy, childlike faith.\n\nPleasant as were the days of their stay at Oakvale, they came at last,\nlike all earthly things, to an end. The warm August weather had passed\naway, and the September breezes blew cool and fresh, permitting them\nto ramble about with comfort even during the hours which they had\nbefore been obliged to spend entirely in the shade. The seaside party\nhad already been settled at home for a week or two, before it was\nthought advisable that Amy should be brought back to the city. At\nlast, however, the summons came, and Lucy spent the last two or three\ndays in revisiting for the last time all the favourite haunts where\nshe had spent so many happy hours. She and her friend did not,\nhowever, permit themselves to repine at the ending of what had been to\nthem both such a very delightful resting-place in their life-journey;\nsince\n\n    \"Not enjoyment and not sorrow\n       Is our destined end or way;\n     But to live, that each to-morrow\n       Finds us farther than to-day.\"\n\nMary, who had delayed her own return to school on her friend's\naccount, was to accompany them to town, to begin her last year at Mrs.\nWilmot's.\n\nAmy had seemed so well during their stay at Oakvale, that Lucy had\nbecome hopeful of her complete recovery. But Dr. Eastwood warned her\nthat the improvement might be merely temporary, and that in any case\nit was, in his judgment, impossible that Amy could ever be quite\nstrong and well. \"And I don't know,\" he said kindly to Lucy, who felt\na sharp pang at the thought of losing her dear little cousin, \"that it\nis well to set your heart on the prolongation of a life which can\nscarcely be anything but one of weakness and suffering.\"\n\nSo with many mingled feelings of hope, and fear, and regret, and many\nkind farewells from all their Oakvale friends, the young party took\ntheir departure, and found themselves soon again among city sights and\nsounds.\n\n\n\n\nXIV.\n\n_An Unexpected Recognition._\n\n      \"For love's a flower that will not die\n        For lack of leafy screen;\n      And Christian hope can cheer the eye\n        That ne'er saw vernal green.\n      Then be ye sure that love can bless\n      Even in this crowded loneliness,\n    Where ever-moving myriads seem to say,\n    Go! thou art naught to us, nor we to thee; away!\"\n\n\nMr. Brooke met the young travellers at the station, anxious about his\nyoungest daughter, whose improved appearance he was much pleased to\nnote; and Stella met them at the door with every demonstration of\ndelight. \"It has been so dull here without you!\" she exclaimed; \"the\nhouse seems so quiet, after all the fun we have been having at the\nseaside. I've been teasing papa to let me go for you, and I would have\ngone if you hadn't come soon!\"\n\nShe was looking prettier than ever, Lucy thought; so blooming, and\ngay, and graceful, after her seaside sojourn. Her cousin could not\nwonder that she won her way to most people's hearts, and was forced to\nadmit the contrast between her and her fragile little sister, whose\nfaint bloom even now did not remove the appearance of ill-health. But\nthere was on her pale face a spiritual beauty, a repose and peace,\nwhich Stella, in all the loveliness of a pure rose-tinted complexion,\nlustrous eyes, and gleaming golden hair, did not possess. It was the\nreflection, outwardly, of the \"peace of God which passeth\nunderstanding.\"\n\nStella talked all the evening without ceasing, and at night\naccompanied Lucy to her room, there to go on talking still, enlarging,\nin a lively, amusing strain, on the adventures of their seaside life;\nthe \"fun,\" the \"splendid bathing,\" the people who were there, their\ndress, manners, and conversation; all the flirtations she had\nobserved, with the quick eye of a girl who as yet has no personal\ninterest in such matters. When at last Stella paused in her own\nnarration to ask questions about Oakvale, Lucy gladly took advantage\nof the break to insist on postponing all further conversation until\nthe morrow, especially as, she urged, they were keeping Amy from the\nsleep she needed so much after her long journey, and accustomed as she\nhad lately been to early hours. Lucy indeed felt determined that the\nsame thing must not happen again on any account, as the consequences\nto Amy of having her mind and nervous system excited so late at night,\nwhen she was always too much disposed to wakefulness, might be\nexceedingly injurious.\n\n\"Oh, how I wish Stella were more like dear Mary!\" thought Lucy, as she\nlaid her head on her pillow, and compared Mary's kind thoughtfulness\nwith Stella's impulsive, flighty giddiness. As to externals, Stella\nhad very much the advantage, for Mary Eastwood could not be called\npretty, and was rather reserved in manner with those whom she did not\nknow well; but Lucy could not help feeling Mary's great superiority as\na companion, when she compared the state of mind in which Stella's\nstream of gossip had left her, with the elevating, stimulating\ntendency of her conversations with Mary on subjects more worthy of\nimmortal beings. They seemed mutually to draw each other on to a\nsphere far above the petty frivolities on which so many fritter away\npowers given for higher ends. Even when they did not touch on topics\ndirectly religious, they seemed to be far nearer the Light that is\n\"inaccessible and full of glory,\" when discussing the working of God's\nlaws and providence in nature and history, than if their minds had\nbeen lowered and discoloured by dwelling on the faults, follies, and\npetty concerns of their neighbours.\n\nSophy, who had been a little fagged and worn out by her incessant\nround of gaiety, previous to her going to the seaside, was now looking\nmore brilliantly handsome, Lucy thought, than she had ever seen her.\nStella had informed her that Sophy's betrothed had been at the seaside\nwith them. \"And oh, he's so delightful, you can't think! So handsome,\nand good-natured, and obliging! I can tell you, Sophy looked proud of\nhim there! He gave her the loveliest emerald set; you'll see her wear\nthem. And I'm pretty sure they're to be married next spring, though\nshe won't tell me; but I'll coax it out of Ada.\"\n\nLucy thought Sophy must be very happy; yet she could not help thinking\nif both she and her lover were really Christians, how much happier\nthey would be! Nothing Stella had said led her to suppose that he was;\nand if he were, what an alloy of anxiety and separation in the most\nimportant points would mar the perfection of love!\n\nIt was with increased zest, and a fuller appreciation of the interest\nand value of her studies, that Lucy entered upon them once more. The\nhappy weeks at Oakvale had been of permanent benefit to her, in\nopening new channels of thought and enlarging her sphere of mental\nvision, both through the books she had been reading, and the comments\nof Dr. and Mrs. Eastwood, both of whom had thoughtful, cultivated\nminds. She now studied with very little reference to prizes, or even\nthe approbation of masters, but from a deep interest in the studies\nthemselves, and a feeling of their beneficial effect in leading her to\nhigher ranges of thought. Every new attainment was but a step to a\nfresh starting-point in the never-ending pursuit of knowledge; and\nLongfellow's beautiful lines often recurred to her mind,--\n\n    \"The lofty pyramids of stone,\n      That, wedge-like, cleave the desert airs,\n    When nearer seen and better known,\n      Are but gigantic flights of stairs.\"\n\nThen the feeling grew to be more and more strong with her, that every\nnew acquisition--every step in mental discipline which God had given\nher the opportunity of making--was a talent to be held in trust and\nused in His service. Mrs. Eastwood had explained that, though we may\noften have to study during the years of school life without seeing\nwhat special use we may be called to make of our acquisitions, still\nGod will undoubtedly find some use for whatever power we have gained\nwhile following the leading of His providence. \"Therefore,\" she would\nsay, \"the doubt whether such and such a thing will ever be of any use\nto us is no excuse for sloth in acquiring it, when it is clearly our\nduty to do so.\"\n\nHer studies were rendered doubly interesting by the companionship of\nMary Eastwood, who was animated by the same spirit, and in whose\nfriendship she found her greatest pleasure during the winter. Stella\nwas rather surprised at the affectionate greeting between her cousin\nand Miss Eastwood the first day they met at school, for she had\nscarcely given Lucy an opportunity of telling her more than that they\nhad met often at Oakvale.\n\n\"Well, to think of your having all at once struck up such a violent\nfriendship with that stiff, quiet Miss Eastwood!\" exclaimed Stella,\nwho thought her cousin's choice of a friend rather unaccountable.\nLucy's efforts to draw together her cousin and her friend were\nunsuccessful, and perhaps this was quite as much Mary's fault as\nStella's, arising from her strong feeling against cultivating intimacy\nwith any one who was \"of the world.\" It was almost the only practical\npoint on which she and Lucy disagreed, for Lucy tried to persuade her\nthat she might do real good if she would come more in contact with her\nirreligious schoolmates. But Mary replied that this might do for some,\nbut she did not feel strong enough,--she might herself be led away.\nShe was not yet fully persuaded in her own mind.\n\nSo Lucy gave up the point, and had a somewhat difficult position to\nmaintain between her cousin and her friend,--not that Mary was ever\njealous, but Stella did not at all like the affection her friends to\nbe diverted towards any one else; indeed, it was the only thing that\never seemed really to a \"put her out.\" She was conscious to some\nextent that a much deeper sympathy existed between Lucy and Miss\nEastwood than between Lucy and her, and she feared that if it\nincreased, her cousin's regard for her must necessarily diminish.\n\nOne bright, sunny October day, when the air was clear and bracing, and\nthe wind was tossing the red leaves that fell from the trees in the\nsquares, Lucy and Stella were on their way home from school, when they\nheard at a slight distance the plaintive strains of a hand-organ,\ncarried by a meagre, careworn Italian, who seemed to be working his\ninstrument mechanically, while his eye had a fixed, sad, stedfast\ngaze, unconscious, seemingly, of anything around him. Lucy was looking\ncompassionately at the dark, sorrowful face, and wondering what his\nprevious history might have been, when her eye was suddenly caught by\nthe familiar form and face of the girl who stood by with her\ntambourine, singing a simple ditty, which somehow brought old days at\nAshleigh back to her mind. The figure she saw, though arrayed in\ntattered garments, and the face, though sunburnt to a deep brown, were\nnot so much altered as to prevent almost instant recognition. Lucy\ngrasped Stella's arm, and exclaimed, \"Why, it's Nelly!\" and before the\nastonished Stella comprehended her meaning, she hastily stepped\nforward towards the tambourine-girl, who almost at the same moment\nstopped singing and sprang forward, exclaiming, \"Oh, it's Miss Lucy,\nher own self!\"\n\nBoth were quite unconscious, in their surprise, of the bystanders\naround them; but Stella was by no means so insensible to the\nsituation, and was somewhat scandalized at being connected with such a\nscene \"in the street.\" She begged Lucy to ask Nelly to follow them\nhome, which was not far off, and then they could have any number of\nexplanations at leisure. Lucy at once assented, and asked Nelly if she\ncould be spared for a little while. With a happy face, flushed with\nher surprise and delight, Nelly went up to the organ-grinder and said\na few words, at which he smiled and nodded. She then followed her\nfriends home at a respectful distance, while the man went on his way\nfrom house to house.\n\nNelly's explanation of her present odd circumstances was very simple,\nand, on the whole, satisfactory. In the hot July weather, when she\nfelt her overtasked strength failing, and could scarcely manage to\ndrag herself about to perform her daily round of duty, often scolded\nfor doing it inefficiently, the poor organ-grinder came one day with a\nface more sorrowful than ever, and told Nelly, weeping, that his\ndaughter--his _povera picciola_--had been carried off by one of those\nsudden attacks that so soon run their course and snap the thread of\nweakly lives. He was so lonely now, he said, he could not bear it!\nWould Nelly come and be his daughter, and take poor Teresa's forsaken\ntambourine? She had a voice sweet as Teresa's own, and he would teach\nher to sing when he played. She should have no hard work, and no\nscolding, and they would take care of each other.\n\nIt was a tempting offer to poor Nelly, pining under continual chilling\nindifference and fault-finding. While she was hesitating, her\nmistress, hearing a strange voice in the kitchen, came down in wrath\nto dismiss the intruder, who rose instantly at the sound of her harsh\nvoice. \"I go, signora,\" he said in his foreign English, \"and this girl\ngoes with me. You give her too hard work and hard words. I will take\ncare for her, and she shall be to me as the _povera_ who is dead!\nCome, _picciola_!\"\n\nMrs. Williams had by this time so far recovered from her amazement as\nto find voice enough to demand of Nelly whether she was really going\nto be so ungrateful as to leave a place where she had been so kindly\ntreated, and ruin herself for life, by going off with a wandering\ncharacter like that. But Nelly's reply was ready. \"You said, ma'am,\nyou'd have to send me away because I couldn't do your work properly.\nSo I think I'd better go.\"\n\nAnd hurriedly collecting her few possessions, she was ready in two\nminutes to accompany her newly-found protector. Mrs. Williams\nendeavoured to detain her, threatening to \"take the law of her.\" But\nNelly was determined. Anything was better than remaining there; and\nMrs. Williams, who was somewhat overawed by the Italian's determined\neye, gave up what she saw was a vain attempt. She shut the door after\nthem with expressive force, and then went up-stairs to discourse to\nher daughter on the incredible ingratitude and heartlessness of such\ncreatures.\n\nNelly had faithfully served Mrs. Williams to the utmost of her\nstrength and ability for five months, and her mistress had in return\ngiven her food of the poorest quality, and one old print dress of her\nown, worn almost to tatters. Yet Mrs. Williams, having herself a\npretty hard struggle to make both ends meet, was at least more\nexcusable than those who, themselves abounding in wealth and luxury,\ngrind down, so far as they can, the poor hirelings who may be in their\npower.\n\nSince then Nelly had faithfully followed the poor Italian, whom, at\nhis own desire, she called \"_padre_.\" It did not to her mean the same\nas \"father,\" nor would she have given to any one else the name sacred\nto her own unforgotten father. But she was to the poor man as a\ndaughter; and her brown face, though still thin, had lost the pining,\nwistful look which had been previously habitual to it. Lucy observed\nthe glow of pleasure that lighted up her face when she heard again the\nfamiliar sound of the organ in the distance. The _padre_ was very good\nto her, she said, and though they often had long weary rounds, with a\nscant allowance of pennies, they always had enough to eat; and\nhitherto it had been very pleasant, and she had no hard scrubbing or\nwashing to do.\n\n\"I'd have died soon, Miss Lucy, if I'd stayed at Mrs. Williams'. Was\nit wrong to come away?\"\n\nLucy could not say it was, in spite of the irregularity of the\nprecedent.\n\n\"But the _padre_ won't be able to go about in the winter time, Miss\nLucy, for he has such a cough and pain in his breast whenever he gets\nwet or cold; and some days he's hardly able to play his organ, and\nthen I don't know what he'll do. What could I do, Miss Lucy, to help\nhim?\"\n\nLucy promised to consider the matter. She had obtained leave to give\nthe organ-grinder and Nelly a good substantial meal in the kitchen,\nwhich was greatly relished by both. She took down the name of the\nstreet in which they lived, and got a minute description of the house,\npromising soon to visit them. The man was evidently far from strong,\nand his bright, hollow eye and haggard face, sometimes unnaturally\nflushed, betokened too surely incipient disease.\n\n\"And why did you never come to see me, Nelly? You knew where I was,\"\nsaid Lucy, as they were going away.\n\n\"Oh, Miss Lucy,\" exclaimed Nelly eagerly, \"but I did, three times, but\nyou weren't in; I was ashamed to come any more. The last times they\nsaid you were away in the country.\"\n\n\"But why didn't you leave word where you were living, and I would have\nfound you out?\"\n\n\"Oh, Miss Lucy, I couldn't think you'd be at the trouble of coming to\nsee me!\"\n\n\"Well, I will come, though, now I know where you live,\" said Lucy as\nshe bade them good-bye.\n\nLittle Amy had been very much interested in the history of Nelly, as\nLucy had told it to her, and had come down to see her. She stood by,\nputting her thin hand on hers, and looking up wonderingly in her face,\nexciting Nelly's compassion and interest by her sweet, delicate look.\n\"She's more like an angel than Miss Stella, though I used to think her\nlike one,\" thought Nelly.\n\nAmy asked many questions about Nelly and the \"poor man,\" and begged\nLucy to take her when she went to see them. But so long a walk was out\nof the question for Amy, nor would her mother have consented to let\neither her or Stella go to such a quarter of the city. Even Lucy's\ngoing was a matter for some consideration, but she begged hard to be\nallowed to fulfil her promise. At last Edwin good-naturedly said he\n\"didn't mind going with Lucy, to see that she wasn't carried off for\nher clothes, like the little girl in the story-books;\" and they made\nthe expedition together, her cousin waiting outside while Lucy paid\nher most welcome visit.\n\nThey found the place a very quiet one, and the street, though poor,\nnot at all disreputable. Edwin gave the best account of it he could,\nthat Lucy might be able in future, without his escort, to visit Nelly,\nas she occasionally did, accompanied by her friend Mary Eastwood, who\nsometimes spent the Saturday afternoon with her at Mr. Brooke's. Their\nvisits and little gifts of money were very timely, for the poor\norgan-grinder was growing less and less able to persevere in his\nuncertain calling; and though Nelly was practising plain sewing, that\nshe might be able to earn something herself, it was not likely that\nher exertions could bring in much.\n\nIn these visits to Nelly the two friends soon found out other poor\npeople in the same locality, even more urgently needing a kind word\nand a helping hand. In work of this kind, as in most other things, \"it\nis only the first step which costs.\" One has only to make a beginning,\nand straightway one case leads to another, and that interest grows\nwith the work, until to some happy and highly-privileged people it\nreally becomes their meat and drink thus to do their Father's\nbusiness.\n\nThis new kind of work was a great interest to Lucy, and in planning\nhow best to aid the poor in whom she was interested, and in diligent\nand happy study, the autumn months passed rapidly away.\n\n\n\n\nXV.\n\n_The Flower Fadeth._\n\n    \"And yet His words mean more than they,\n      And yet He owns their praise;\n    Why should we think He turns away\n      From infants' simple lays?\"\n\n\nAs the autumn deepened into winter, bringing cold, damp days, and\nchilling, keen winds, little Amy's strength seemed steadily to\ndecrease, notwithstanding all the care taken to reinforce it by the\nmost nourishing diet that money could command. Every delicacy that\ncould tempt her appetite, every kind of nourishment that could\nstrengthen her system, was tried, without success. Dr. Eastwood had\nbeen right in his augury, that her seeming improvement had been only\ntemporary, and that the delicately-organized constitution was not\nmeant for the wear and tear of long life. So evident at last did the\ndecline become, that a consultation was held as to whether it would\nnot be advisable to remove her for the winter to a warmer climate;\nbut the more experienced physicians were decidedly of opinion that\ntaking her away from her home and family would be a needless cruelty,\nand that, since no human skill could now arrest the disease, it was\nbetter to leave the little patient to live, as long as she might,\nsurrounded by the comforts and the kind nursing at home. This opinion\nwas not fully communicated to her parents, but they instinctively\nfelt, what was really the case, that their child was only left in\ntheir home because she must ere long be removed from it for ever.\n\nLucy had long taught herself to think of such an issue as at least a\nprobability; but her cousins by no means realized the advanced state\nof Amy's disease. They persuaded themselves that, with care, she would\n\"get over\" her delicacy, and they would not even think of the\npossibility of a fatal termination of it. One cause of this was\nprobably the circumstance that the winter gaieties had commenced, and\nthat invitations, parties, and dress were now uppermost in their\nminds. Had they been convinced that their little sister was dying,\nthey could hardly have had the heart to join in their usual round of\ngaiety; but they easily persuaded themselves of the contrary, and felt\nno scruples about going on as usual.\n\nStella, who had shot up almost to womanly height within the last year,\nhad assumed the dress and appearance of a \"young lady,\" as\ndistinguished from a little girl. The foretaste of gay life she had\nhad at the seaside had made her impatient to plunge into it at once,\nand she besieged her parents with entreaties that she might be allowed\nto \"come out\" that winter. She succeeded so far with her father, who\ncould seldom deny her anything, as to obtain leave to go to as many\nprivate parties as she could, without interfering with her studies.\nBut of course, with a limit so indefinite, the bounds were often\noverstepped. Her love of gaiety only grew with the indulgence of the\ntaste, and she felt really unhappy when she had to see her sisters go\nto a party without her.\n\nBut late hours and excitement very soon affected a constitution which\nhad never before been so severely tried; and as she would conceal any\nindisposition when she thought it might keep her at home, the\nconsequences sometimes became serious. At last, her rashness in going\nout, thinly dressed, one cold winter evening, when she was already\nsuffering from a slight cold, brought on a severe attack of\ninflammation of the lungs, by which she was prostrated for several\nweeks, and which left behind a slight cough. This, the doctor warned\nher, would require the utmost care, to prevent its growing into what\nmight prove very serious indeed.\n\nLucy, of course, owing to her deep mourning, and the school-work which\nengrossed her mind and time, had had no temptation to mingle in any of\nher cousins' amusements, though, had it been otherwise, she could not\nconscientiously have frequented scenes of amusement which she had been\ntaught by her father to consider unworthy of those who have made up\ntheir minds to leave all and follow Christ. For the same reason, she\nhad refused Stella's urgent solicitations to accompany her in\noccasional visits to the opera and theatre, places of which her father\nhad often told her the spiritual atmosphere was entirely foreign to\nthat in which Christians should seek ever to dwell. Though Stella's\nglowing descriptions sometimes excited the longing to see the magic\nsights and hear the magnificent music of which they told, she felt\nthat she could not sincerely pray, \"Lead us not into temptation,\" if\nshe wilfully went into it; nor could she from the heart have asked her\nSaviour's blessing on the evening's amusement.\n\nDuring the general engrossment of the household with Stella's alarming\nattack, Amy's rapid sinking of strength was not for some time much\nnoticed, except by Lucy, who felt, in spite of her hopes, that the end\nwas drawing near.\n\nLucy had been forbidden to speak to her little cousin about death, as\nif the avoidance of the thought could have anything to do with\ndelaying the event; but happily there was no need for doing so, since\nher little heart was evidently resting on her Saviour, and she was\nthus prepared for whatever He should send her. Her childlike faith,\nand her vivid realization of heavenly things, seemed to grow stronger\nas her bodily strength failed; and though she never specially referred\nto death, the approach of which a child is not able to realize, her\nmind was evidently full of thoughts about heaven, about its glories\nand occupations, about Him who is \"the resurrection and the life.\" She\nwas always asking questions about the childhood of Jesus,--questions\nwhich Lucy often found it impossible to answer,--and was never tired\nof hearing the few passages in the New Testament which referred to it.\n\nSome instances of childish sin seemed to weigh upon her conscience;\nbut Lucy reminded her that the Lamb of God had washed away her sins\nwith His own blood, and that the moment we come to Him by faith, we\nare sure of the forgiveness of past sin, as well as of deliverance\nfrom its present power. This perfectly satisfied her, and nothing else\nseemed to trouble her.\n\nThe little girl was intensely interested in the poor Italian, who was\nsinking almost as fast as she was. He seldom now stirred from his\nchair in the warmest corner of the room, and his cough had become\nterribly harassing, especially at night. His breathing, too, was much\noppressed; and poor Nelly had often a heavy heart, as the conviction\nforced itself upon her that she was about to lose the kind friend and\nprotector around whom her warm heart had closely entwined itself. She\ntried hard to earn a little for his support and her own, by the sewing\nwhich she occasionally got, often from people nearly as poor as\nherself; but her utmost exertions in this way would not have sufficed\nto keep them from starvation, had it not been for the timely aid\nbrought by Lucy and by Mary Eastwood, whose well-supplied purse was\nalways ready to furnish what was needed for their comfort. Lucy had\nvery little to give of her own, but Mrs. Brooke was sufficiently\ninterested in her account of the case to be very willing to help, for\nshe was not at all indisposed to benevolent actions, if she had had\nthe energy to discover the way. Amy, too, always insisted that a\nportion of the delicacies prepared for her should be kept for \"the\npoor organ-grinder;\" and one of her greatest pleasures was in hearing\nfrom Lucy how the invalid liked what had been sent him, and how\ngratefully he sent his thanks to the little \"signorina.\" She asked\nLucy whether the poor man loved Jesus, and would go to heaven when he\ndied, and seemed much grieved at hearing of his praying to the Virgin,\nthe mother of Jesus.\n\n\"What a pity!\" she would say, \"for she can't hear him, nor save him,\ncan she? And so his prayers will be of no use!\"\n\nShe lay still for a short time, considering the matter, and then said,\nas if a ray of comfort had come to her, \"But Jesus can hear him, and\nperhaps He will give him what he needs, though he didn't ask Him.\"\n\nLucy would hope so too, and agree with her that when he got to heaven\nhe would know better; for she had reason to believe, notwithstanding\nAntonio's prayers to the Virgin,--the remnant of the superstitious\nfaith he had held from childhood,--that he was nevertheless gradually\ncoming to the knowledge of the Saviour as the only mediator and\nsacrifice for sin. Nelly's treasured card was fastened up\nconspicuously in their little room, and the rich colours in which the\ntext \"Looking unto Jesus\" was printed, pleased the Italian's southern\nlove of colour, and led his eye often to rest upon it, as he spent the\nlong hours sitting wearily in his chair. And gradually he came to\nattach some real meaning to the words, which at first he had regarded\nmerely as a pleasant thing to look at. Nelly would sometimes tell him\nsome of the things Miss Preston said to her about it, which clung\ntenaciously to her memory; and how the thought that Jesus was her\nFriend and Saviour, to whom she must always look in her need, had been\nher one comfort when left friendless and alone. She often read to him\na chapter out of the little Bible which was Lucy's parting gift when\nshe left Ashleigh, and had ever since been Nelly's dearest treasure.\nAnd he would always listen with deep interest to the history of the\nwonderful life which has come home to the hearts of thousands in all\nthe centuries which have elapsed since it was lived among the hills\nand valleys of Palestine. He loved to hear Nelly sing, in her rich,\nsweet voice, her favourite hymn, \"I lay my sins on Jesus,\" and would\nsometimes try to join in the strains himself as well as his feebleness\nwould let him. He showed his appreciation of the motto, in his own\nway, by placing his crucifix above the card, and he would sit for\nhours gazing silently at both.\n\nLucy, in her frequent visits, often read to him the passages which\nbear most directly on the love of Christ, and the full and free\nforgiveness of sin through Him; and she sometimes added simple\ncomments of her own, preferring, however, in general, to leave God's\nwords to work their own way into his heart. His church prejudices she\nnever ventured to touch, feeling that to do so might arouse them\nagainst the reception of the simple gospel, and do him harm, by\nexciting his mind injuriously and bewildering him with conflicting\nopinions. She avoided all collision with ideas which had been so long\nclosely intertwined with the only ideas of religion he had, feeling\nsure that the light of gospel truth, once introduced into the heart,\nwould sooner or later disperse the darkness of error by its own power.\n\nExcept for the one dark foreboding, that became, month by month, and\nweek by week, more distinct, these would have been very happy days for\nNelly. Her warm Irish heart found scope for its action, in\ncontinually ministering to the comfort of one to whom she was bound by\nties of love and gratitude, and no harsh or unkind word now fell upon\nher ear. The poor Italian, always of a gentle nature, except when\ninfluenced by passion, had ever treated her with indulgent kindness,\nand she had given him her warm affection in return. Her assiduous\nattentions were labours of love, and so was the needlework at which\nshe stitched away with diligent though unpractised hands. Coarse, hard\nsewing it was; but Nelly did not mind that, in the feeling that she\nwas earning something, however small. While she sat plying her needle\nthrough the short days and long evenings of the winter, the invalid's\nthoughts would wander back to long past, but unforgotten days, and he\nwould amuse Nelly with little bits of his past history. He would\ndescribe, over and over again, his childhood's home in the lovely\n_Riviera_, where the intense azure of the sky, and the pure sapphire\nof the Mediterranean, contrasted sharply with the white glitter of the\nrocks as they emerged in bold relief from their drapery of rich,\ndeep-hued vegetation. He would tell her about the white Italian\nvillage, nestling among the vine-clad terraces and sloping hill-sides\nclad with olive and myrtle, and about the trellised house where he was\nborn, and his father's little vineyard, where the rich purple and\namber clusters, such as little Amy now sent him as costly luxuries,\nhung down in rich masses which any hand could pick. Such descriptions\nwere intensely fascinating to Nelly's quick Celtic imagination, and\nshe would speak in her turn of the breezy slopes by the sea where she\nhad so often played in days she could still vividly remember; of the\naromatic scent of the burning heaps of sea-weed, whose smouldering\nfires she used to fan; of the fresh, bracing sea-air, and dancing blue\nwaves with their snowy crests of foam, and the distant white sails\nwinging their way to some unknown haven.\n\nTheir talk always took a sadder tone when the Italian spoke of his\nlater life, and told how he left his quiet village, hoping to make his\nfortune in the great world as a musician; how his hopes had been\ngradually crushed down, and he wandered from place to place till he\nemigrated to America, where the deadly cholera carried off his wife\nand her infant boy, leaving him only his little daughter; how, since\nthen, dispirited and weary, he had managed to pick up a living as best\nhe could, gradually forsaking more ambitious instruments for his\nbarrel-organ, till the tide of life, gradually running low, was\nreduced to its lowest ebb by the shock of his daughter's death,\nsuperadded to the decline which had long been insidiously undermining\nhis system.\n\n\"But it will soon be over now, my child,\" he said,--\"all the trouble\nand the nursing. You have been very good to the poor _forestiere_\nsince the _povera_ went to the blessed saints. I shall soon see her\nagain, and Anita, and the little Giulio, in the better country that\nthe _signorina_ was reading about,--better, she says, than the\n_patria_ itself, with its olives and vines. Ah! I think I see it\nagain, when I dream.\"\n\nSuch a speech as this always melted poor Nelly into tears; and, seeing\nthe pain it gave her, he did not often refer to his approaching death.\nTo Lucy, however, he sometimes spoke of his concern for the future lot\nof his adopted daughter, who was again to be left desolate. Lucy\nherself had been thinking a good deal about it, and wondering whether\nshe could induce her aunt to take Nelly. Amy, however, arranged the\nmatter unexpectedly. She had been asking Lucy, with great earnestness,\nwhat poor Nelly would do when the organ-grinder should die; and when\nMrs. Brooke next came into the room, she surprised her with the\nquestion, \"Mamma, may Nelly come and live here when the organ-grinder\ndies?\"\n\nMrs. Brooke looked bewildered, until Lucy explained the matter. She\nhesitated, and would have put Amy off with the promise that she \"would\nsee about it.\" But Amy was so anxious to have the point settled, that\nher mother at last gave the absolute promise she asked; and Lucy had\nthe satisfaction of announcing to poor Antonio, the next time she\nvisited him, to his great relief and satisfaction, that Nelly's future\nhome, so long as she desired it, should be with Mrs. Brooke.\n\n\n\n\nXVI.\n\n_Darkness and Light._\n\n    \"Tell me the old, old story,\n      If you would really be\n    In any time of trouble\n      A comforter to me.\"\n\n\nFred came to town for a few days in his Christmas vacation, just as\nStella was beginning to recover from the severe attack which had\nprostrated her. Mr. Brooke's house being so full of sickness, Lucy,\nthough very unwilling to leave Amy, thought it best, on Fred's\naccount, to accept an urgent invitation from the Eastwoods that they\nshould both spend a week at Oakvale. He would thus have a pleasanter\nvacation than under the circumstances he could have at his uncle's,\nwhere he felt himself in the way, and where Lucy had so many demands\nupon her time that she could see but little of a brother whose visits\nwere so rare. The change of scene was very much needed by her, for the\nconfinement and fatigue of her sick-room attendance had had a\ndepressing influence on her health and spirits.\n\nIt was certainly, in spite of all her anxiety about Amy, a very\nenjoyable change to the bright, cheerful, Christian atmosphere of Dr.\nEastwood's house, and the bracing influence of the outdoor exercise in\nwhich the others made her participate. She felt as if it were wrong to\nenjoy it so much, when Amy, she knew, was dying, and Stella as yet in\nso precarious a condition. But God sometimes gives, in very trying\ncircumstances, a buoyancy and cheerfulness of feeling quite\nindependent of the circumstances, which seem specially sent to\ncommunicate a strength that will be greatly needed in approaching days\nof trial,--a pleasant \"land of Beulah,\" before the watchers stand\nquite on the shore of \"the dark river.\" And it can never be right\nsullenly to close the heart in determined sadness against the cheering\ninfluences of God's light, and air, and bright sunshine; nor can we\nusually, if we would, act so foolishly and ungratefully. That happy\nweek at Oakvale often seemed to Lucy a sort of oasis of sunshine, as\ncompared with the depressing weeks that preceded and followed it.\n\nOakvale looked scarcely less beautiful now that the surrounding hills\nwore their white mantle of snow, contrasting with the intense blue of\nthe winter sky and the dark green of the pines, while the little river\nlay, a strip of glittering ice, under the trees, leafless now, which\novershadowed its ceaseless ripple in the warm summer days. The young\nparty had pleasant sleigh-rides to see old favourite spots in their\nwinter aspect, and Fred joined the younger children in their skating\nand snowballing, though he enjoyed much more the walks in which he\naccompanied his sister and her friend. Mary and he got on as well as\nLucy had expected, although she was disappointed that, after their\nvisit was over, she could not draw from him any enthusiastic praise\nof Miss Eastwood; at which she would have been a little vexed, but for\nthe reflection that Fred, unlike most people, never said the half of\nwhat he thought. He did not, however, leave Oakvale without a promise\nto renew his visit during the summer vacation.\n\nLucy, on her return home, found her little cousin evidently sinking\nfast. Her strength was almost exhausted, and she suffered a good deal\nfrom pain and restlessness; but scarcely a complaint ever escaped her\nlips. She often talked now about going to Jesus, the thought on which\nher mind seemed most to dwell. Mrs. Brooke, seeing this, at last sent\nfor the minister whose church the family usually attended on Sundays,\nthat being the extent of their connection with it. But he was a\nstranger to Amy,--for his ministerial visits had never been desired or\nencouraged,--and though she was grateful to him for coming to see her\nand praying beside her bed, she could not speak to him, as she could\nto Lucy, about her willingness to go to the happy home which her\nSaviour was preparing for her. Still her visitor could see enough of\nthe change God had wrought in her heart, to make him marvel, as he\ntook his leave, at the wonderful way in which God sometimes raises up\nto Himself a witness in the most worldly homes, and perfects praise\n\"out of the mouth of babes and sucklings.\"\n\nThe little invalid was sometimes slightly delirious when the hectic\nfever was at its height, but her wandering fancies were always of\ngentle and pleasant things. She would ask if they did not hear the\nsweet singing in her room; and when Lucy would ask what was sung,\nwould say, \"Jerusalem,\" meaning \"Jerusalem the Golden,\" her favourite\nhymn next to the one she loved best of all, \"I lay my sins on Jesus.\"\n\nOne night, when she had been asleep for some time, with Lucy only\nwatching beside her, she suddenly awoke, a flash of joy lighting up\nher face. \"Lucy,\" she murmured faintly; but when Lucy bent over her,\nshe could catch but one word--\"Jesus.\" Lucy saw a change come over her\ncountenance, which she had seen once before, and ere the others,\nhastily summoned, could be with her, the little form lay lifeless, its\nimmortal tenant having escaped to the heavenly home, whither she had\nbeen longing to go.\n\nNo one could help being thankful that the sufferings of the patient\nlittle invalid were over. Indeed, with the exception of Mrs. Brooke,\nLucy, and Stella, no one showed any profound grief for the death of a\nchild who had always been very much secluded, and but little\nappreciated. But Mrs. Brooke's sorrow was mingled with some\nself-reproach that she had not been to her departed child all that a\nmother should have been, and she suffered now for the wilfulness\nwhich, when deprived of one blessing, had turned petulantly from\nanother. Lucy constantly missed her little favourite, and her sorrow\nfor the loss of her father, never quite removed, seemed revived anew\nby her cousin's death. But she could feel that Amy was infinitely\nhappier in her heavenly home than she could ever have been on earth;\nand she felt not only that she should join her there, but also that\nthere might be an intercourse and communion of spirit in Christ,\nincomprehensible to those who look only to things \"seen and\ntemporal.\"\n\nIt was Lucy's greatest solace to visit poor Antonio, and speak to him\nof Amy's concern for him, and her desire that he should find rest and\npeace in the love of that Saviour in whom she had so fully trusted. He\nwas deeply touched on hearing some of the things she had said, and the\ntears came to his eyes when he spoke of her kindness in sending so\nmany things for his comfort.\n\n\"But,\" he said with deep feeling, \"it was very different for a\nblessed, innocent child like her, and a sinful man like me.\" Lucy\nexplained that all are under the condemnation of sin, since none are\nwithout it; and that no sins are too great to be taken away by the\nLamb of God once offered as a sacrifice for \"the sin of the world.\" He\nlistened silently, while an expression of hope stole over his haggard\ncountenance; and Nelly told Miss Lucy, with much pleasure, that after\nthat he prayed much less to the Virgin, and his prayers were more\ngenerally spontaneous ejaculations, expressing the deeply-felt need of\na Redeemer.\n\nStella's grief for her little sister, partly owing, perhaps, to her\nphysical weakness, had seemed more violent than that of any one else.\nThe paroxysms of hysterical crying which frequently came on, and an\naversion to take necessary nourishment, very much retarded her\nrecovery, and prevented her regaining strength. As the acuteness of\nher sorrow gradually wore itself out, the unaccustomed feelings of\nweakness and depression brought on fits of fretfulness, in which all\nLucy's forbearance was called for; but she remembered how\ngood-naturedly her cousin had borne with her own fit of nervous\nirritability, and she generally managed to soothe and pacify her, even\nwhen she was most unreasonable, and tired out the patience of both\nSophy and Ada.\n\nAfter the first few weeks had passed, the shadowy hush and solemnity\nbrought by death gradually passed away, and except for the deep black\ncrape of the dresses, and the abstinence from all gaieties, the family\nlife seemed to have returned to its former tone. So far as external\nsigns went, there was no more realizing sense of that invisible world\nto which one of their number had gone--no more \"looking unto\" Him who\nhad been her support in the dark valley--than there had been before.\nAnd when a bereavement does not draw the heart nearer to God, there is\nevery reason to fear that it drives it farther from Him.\n\nBut another heavy sorrow, to one at least of the number, soon\nfollowed. One wild, stormy morning in March, when the letters were, as\nusual, brought in at breakfast-time, Sophy quickly looked up for the\nwelcome letter, with its firm, manly superscription, which regularly\nappeared twice or thrice a-week. There was one with the usual\npostmark, but in a different handwriting, and addressed not to her,\nbut to Mr. Brooke. Sophy's misgivings were awakened at once, and on\nseeing her father's expression as he hurriedly glanced through the\nletter, she forgot her usual self-control, and exclaimed in agitated\ntones, \"O papa, what is it?\" But his only reply was to lead her from\nthe room, signing to his wife to follow.\n\nSophy did not appear again that day, and the atmosphere of gloom\nseemed again to descend over the house. Lucy waited long alone, not\nliking to intrude upon the family distress, till Stella at last\nreturned, still hysterically sobbing.\n\n\"They say 'troubles never come singly,'\" she said, \"and I'm sure it's\ntrue. Poor Sophy! Mr. Langton has been killed by the upsetting of his\ncarriage. The horse ran away, and he fell on his head, and never spoke\nagain. Poor Sophy is almost insensible. I don't believe she\nunderstands yet what has happened. Oh, what will she do?\"\n\nLucy's heart was repeating the same question. All her sympathies were\ncalled forth by so crushing a sorrow, and as she could do nothing else\nfor her cousin, she prayed earnestly that He who could, would bind up\nthe broken heart.\n\nSophy remained for two days in her own room, and then came down again\nto join the family circle, evidently trying her best to avoid any\noutward demonstration of sorrow, though her deadly paleness, and eyes\nwhich looked as if they never closed, told how acutely she was\nsuffering. She was not of a nature to encourage or even bear sympathy,\nand almost resented any instance of special consideration which seemed\nto spring from pity for her great sorrow.\n\nIt was only when shut up in her own room that she gave way to the\nbursts of agonized feeling which, to some extent, relieved the\nconstant pressure upon her heart. When in the family, she seemed to\nseek constant employment, not in the light reading in which she had\nbeen accustomed to indulge, but in books requiring much more thought,\nand even some effort to master them. Lucy's class-books were called\ninto requisition, and her drawing was resumed, though she now shrank\nfrom touching the disused piano. She had a good deal of artistic\ntalent; and had art ever been placed before her as an ennobling\npursuit, she might have attained very considerable excellence in some\nof its departments. But hitherto she had confined herself to the\nexecution of a few graceful trifles, since her drawing-lessons had\nbeen given up on leaving school. Now, however, she seemed to have\ntaken a fresh start, and copied studies and practised touches\nindefatigably, without speaking or moving for hours.\n\nShe would sit, too, for half the morning apparently absorbed in a\nbook; but Lucy noticed that, while thus seemingly occupied, she would\ngaze abstractedly at a page for long intervals without seeming to turn\na leaf or get a line farther on. Lucy longed to be able to direct the\nmourner to the \"balm in Gilead,\" whose efficacy she knew by\nexperience,--to the kind Physician who can bind up so tenderly the\nwounds that other healers cannot touch without aggravating. But she\ndared not utter a word of the sympathies of which her heart was full,\nand could only pray that a Higher Hand might deal with the sufferer.\n\nOne wet Sunday evening in April, Lucy came down in her waterproof\ncloak and rubbers, ready to set out for the neighbouring church, the\none to which she had gone on the first Sunday of her arrival, and\nwhich she frequently attended when the weather was unfavourable, or\nwhen she had to go alone. She was not sorry when circumstances made\nthis desirable, for she enjoyed the service and the sermon more than\nshe did at the church the family usually attended. The words of the\npreacher seemed to come with more power and tenderness,--perhaps\nbecause he had himself been brought through much tribulation to know\nthe God of all consolation, and had thus been made able to comfort\nothers \"by the comfort wherewith he himself was comforted of God.\" At\nall events, it was certain that of the consolation abounding in Christ\nhe was an earnest and able expounder.\n\n\"What! are you going out when it is so very wet?\" asked Stella, as her\ncousin entered the room. Sophy, who had been gazing moodily into the\nfire over the book she was holding, started up, saying, \"I think I'll\ngo with you, Lucy. Wait a few minutes for me.\" Her mother remonstrated\na little; but Sophy's restless longing for change and action of some\nkind was often uncontrollable, and the two girls set out through the\nwind and rain, clinging closely together to support each other on the\nwet and slippery pavement.\n\nHow earnestly Lucy prayed in silence, as they traversed the short\ndistance, that the preacher they were going to hear might have a\nspecial message to the troubled, heavy heart beside her, and how\nintensely did she listen to the prayers the minister offered up, to\ncatch any petitions that might seem suited to her cousin's need! She\nwas slightly disappointed when he announced his text, \"O Israel, thou\nhast destroyed thyself, but in me is thy help found,\" for she had\nhoped that it would be one of the many beautiful, comforting passages\nin which the New Testament abounds. But her disappointment wore off as\nhe proceeded with his discourse.\n\nHe first briefly sketched the history of the rebellion of Israel in\ndeparting from the God of her help, and in transferring to the idols\nof the heathen the allegiance which was due to the living God. He\nvividly described the \"destruction\" which must be the natural result\nof such a departure from the source of her highest life. Then he spoke\nof the means by which God sought to bring her back,--of the purifying\njudgments which He sent, in love and mercy, to restore her to\nspiritual health, and of the inexhaustible supply of \"help,\" of tender\ncompassion and restoring power, with which He was ready to meet her on\nher return.\n\nHaving finished this part of his subject, he drew a striking parallel\nbetween the ancient Israel and the multitudes of human beings in every\nage, who, instead of loving and serving the living God with all their\nsoul, are continually setting up for themselves earthly idols of every\nvariety, which fill up His place in their hearts, and exclude Him from\ntheir thoughts. Wealth, splendour, position, power, fame,\npleasure,--even man's highest earthly blessing, human love\nitself,--were set up and worshipped, as if they contained for their\nworshipper the highest end and happiness of his soul. What was the\ncause of all the broken hearts and blighted lives from which is\ncontinually ascending such a wailing symphony of sorrow without hope?\nWhat but the perverse determination of the heart to find repose\nelsewhere than in its true resting-place,--to set up the very\nblessings which flow from the hand of its God in the place of the\nGiver?\n\nThen, in a few touching, earnest words, he showed how God must often,\nin mercy to the soul, send severe judgments and afflictions to bring\nthe wanderers back to their \"Help;\" and of the depths of compassion,\nof love, of tenderness, of healing, of purest happiness, which were\nto be found in that divine Helper, who hath said, \"Come unto me, all\nye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.\"\n\nNever had Lucy heard the speaker more impressive, and she thanked God\nin her heart her cousin should have been brought to listen to truths\nwhich she had probably never before heard with any real understanding\nof them. Sophy sat back in a corner of the seat, her head resting on\nher hand, and her face hidden in her thick black veil. She remained\nalmost motionless until the sermon was concluded, and then they\nsilently left the church, Lucy not daring to speak to her.\n\nBefore they reached home, however, Sophy suddenly broke the silence by\nsaying, in a low, agitated voice:\n\n\"Lucy, you seem to be what people call a Christian. Can you say, from\nyour own heart and experience, that you believe all that is true about\nChrist giving such peace and comfort in trouble?\"\n\nLucy replied, earnestly and sincerely, that she could,--that she had\nfelt that peace and comfort when sorrow had been sent her.\n\n\"And how does it come? how do you get it?\" Sophy asked.\n\n\"I don't know any other way, Sophy dear, than by going to Him and\nbelieving His own words. They often seem to come straight from Him, as\na message of comfort.\"\n\nNothing more was said, but from that time Sophy's Bible was often in\nher hands. Its study, indeed, took the place of her other self-chosen\nlabours, and she read it with an attention and interest it had never\nawakened before. That she did not study it in vain, seemed evident in\nher softened, gentler manner, in the more peaceful expression of her\ncountenance, and in the quiet thoughtfulness which she began to show\nfor others. She would sometimes ask Lucy what she thought about a\npassage of Scripture in which she was interested, and the few words\nshe said about it would give her cousin a clue to the working of her\nmind. But her habitual reserve had not yet worn off, and Lucy did not\nventure to trespass upon it.\n\nShe expressed a desire to accompany Lucy in some of her visits to the\npoor Italian, who was perceptibly sinking fast with the advancing\nspring. He had, however, grown much in trust in his Saviour, and in\nspiritual knowledge, especially since Lucy had procured for him an\nItalian Bible, which he could read with much more ease and profit than\nan English one. He seemed now to have a deep sense of the evil of his\npast careless life, when even the external forms of religion had been\ngiven up, and he had been, like the prodigal, wandering in a far\ncountry.\n\n\"And how good is the Father in heaven, that He has a welcome home and\na fatted calf for His wanderer!\" he would say earnestly, the tears\nrising to the dark lustrous eyes, that sparkled so brightly in the\npale, sunken face.\n\nSophy listened, half wonderingly, half wistfully, to the few and\nbroken, but earnest words in which he told of the pardon and peace he\nhad found in \"Looking unto Jesus.\" \"I see the blessed words there all\nthe day,\" he said, pointing to the wall, \"and they make me glad.\"\n\n\"Lucy, you have a card like that,\" said Sophy, as they left the house.\n\"I wish you would give it to me to keep in my room, to remind me of\nthat poor man's words.\"\n\nLucy gladly complied with the request, though she missed her card a\ngood deal, and hoped that its motto might be of use to its new owner.\nSophy, however, painted the motto in much more elaborate and beautiful\nworkmanship, had it framed and glazed, and hung it up in her cousin's\nroom one day while she was out, with a little slip of paper attached,\nbearing the inscription, \"With Sophy's love and hearty thanks.\"\n\nOne lovely day in May, when all nature seemed rejoicing in the\ngladness of the approaching summer, Lucy went as usual to visit\nAntonio, carrying some of the delicacies which Mrs. Brooke still\ncontinued to send him, chiefly for Amy's sake. How often might the\nrich greatly alleviate the sufferings of sickness in poverty, by\ntimely gifts of luxuries, which at such a time are almost necessaries,\nyet which the poor cannot buy!\n\nLucy found the patient unable now to rise, and struggling with the\nsuffocating sensation of oppressed breathing. He could scarcely speak,\nbut he listened with pleasure to the few words she read to him; and as\nshe left him, he pressed her hand convulsively, saying in a low,\nexpressive tone, \"Good-bye.\"\n\nLucy felt she should not see him again in life, and was not surprised\nwhen Nelly came next day, crying bitterly, to tell her that her\nadopted father's weary pilgrimage was ended.\n\nThe poor girl remained in the now desolate home only until the simple\nfuneral was over, and then entered Mrs. Brooke's family, where her\nwarm, grateful heart found comfort in doing everything she could for\nMiss Lucy, whose presence made her new place seem again a home.\n\n\n\n\nXVII.\n\n_Home Again._\n\n    \"And this was once my home;\n      The leaves, light rustling, o'er me whisper clear,\n    The sun but shines on thee where thou dost roam,\n            It smiled upon thee here!\"\n\n\nStella had been losing instead of gaining strength since the warm\nweather came on, and her parents were now really alarmed about her,\nand were considering what would be the best and most bracing place to\nsend her to during the heat of the summer. But Stella, with an\ninvalid's capricious fancy, had formed a plan of her own, and she\ninsisted, with all her old wilfulness, on its being carried out. It\nwas, that Lucy and she should go together to Ashleigh, to stay at Mill\nBank Farm, if Mrs. Ford would consent to receive them as boarders. Her\nformer visit was connected in her mind with pure, healthful, and happy\nassociations, and she thought that the fresh country air, which she so\nwell remembered, and the delicious milk from Mrs. Ford's sleek cows,\nwould do her more good than anything else. It need not be said that\nthe project was a delightful one for Lucy; and as Ashleigh was\ncertainly a healthy place, it was decided that they should go thither\nunder the escort of Fred, who also wished to pay a short visit to his\nold home. Bessie wrote that her mother would be delighted to receive\nthem; and Stella, with more of her old light-heartedness than she had\nshown for a long time, hurried the preparations for her journey.\n\nNelly was to remain in the house with a kind, trustworthy woman during\nthe absence of the rest of the family at the seaside. Although she was\nsorry to lose her dear Miss Lucy, she was much interested in the\ncircumstance that she was going to Ashleigh, and sent many grateful\nmessages to Mrs. Ford and Bessie. To the latter she sent a present of\na little silk necktie, bought, with great satisfaction, out of her\nfirst wages.\n\nAny one who has ever revisited a dearly loved home can easily imagine\nLucy's delight, when from the deck of the steamboat her straining eyes\ncaught the first glimpse of the white houses of Ashleigh and the grey\nchurch on the hill; can imagine her delight at recognising the\nwell-known faces, and the familiar objects which, after her long\nabsence, seemed so strangely natural! But the happiness of being once\nmore among scenes so associated with early and happy recollections was\nnot untinged with sadness; for the vividness with which the old life\nwas recalled made the changes seem as vivid also, and stirred up in\nall its acuteness the sense of loss, which had of late been partially\ndeadened by the exciting changes of her present life. Every step\ncalled up her father's image with intense force in scenes so\ninterwoven with her memories of him. It was strange to see the house\nwhich had been her home from infancy tenanted by strangers, and to\nmiss all the familiar faces of the home circle, whom she had almost\nexpected to find there still. It gave her a dreary sense of\nloneliness, even in the midst of the many kind friends who were eager\nto welcome back, both for her father's sake and her own, the daughter\nof their beloved pastor.\n\nStella's highest spirits seemed to return when she found herself\ndriving rapidly along the road to the farm in the conveyance which\nBessie and her eldest brother--whom Lucy would scarcely have\nrecognised--had brought to meet them. Bessie was not much changed. Her\ngood-humoured face had more sweetness and earnestness of expression\nthan it had once worn, and her manner at home had the considerate,\nhalf-maternal air of an eldest daughter. Mrs. Ford, too, was less\nbustling, with a quiet repose about her hospitable kindliness that\ngave a feeling of rest and comfort, and was the result of being less\n\"cumbered about much serving,\" and more disposed to let her heart\ndwell on the \"better part,\" on which she now set a truer value. A more\nperceptible regard for it, indeed, pervaded, the whole family, and\nBessie and her brother were, both of them, Sunday-school teachers now.\n\nMrs. Ford and Bessie were much shocked at the change in Stella, whose\nblooming appearance they well remembered. Lucy, had become so\naccustomed to her cousin's altered looks, that she thought her looking\nrather better than usual, under the influence of the change and\nexcitement. But Mrs. Ford shook her head mournfully over her in\nprivate. \"She looks to me in a decline,\" she said to her husband.\n\"I'm afraid she hasn't many years before her in this world!\"\n\nBut another change besides the external one had come over her, so\ngradually that Lucy had not observed it till now, when the place\nbrought back so vividly the recollection of the gay, flippant Stella\nof old. She had certainly grown more thoughtful, more quiet, even more\nserious; and Lucy observed that her former levity had quite departed,\nand that a flippant remark never now fell from her lips. Her old\nwilfulness of manner continued to characterize her, but it was owing\nchiefly to the caprice of disease. She was shy of joining in religious\nconversation, but seemed to listen with great interest whenever Lucy\nand Bessie spoke to each other of things connected with the \"life\nhidden with Christ in God.\" At such times she would look as if she\nwere trying to gain a clue to a mystery which puzzled, and yet\nintensely interested her.\n\nIt was with mingled pleasure and sadness that Lucy once more took her\nseat in her father's church, and listened to the voice of another from\nhis old pulpit. His successor, Mr. Edwards, though a man of a\ndifferent stamp, resembled him a good deal in the earnestness of his\nspirit and the simplicity of his gospel preaching. The message was the\nsame, though the mode of delivering it was slightly different. He\nreceived with kindness and courtesy the daughter of his predecessor,\nand invited her during her stay to take a share in the teaching of the\nSunday school,--an invitation which she willingly accepted, and had\nthe pleasure of finding in her new class a few of her old scholars.\n\nAs Stella had a fancy for seeing the Sunday school, Lucy accepted the\ninvitation, given to them both by Mr. Edwards, to spend with his\nfamily the interval between the morning and evening service. Stella's\nzeal for seeing the Sunday school, however, died out with the first\nSunday; and after that she always remained with Mrs. Edwards, who,\nbeing very delicate, and having a young infant, had been obliged to\nresign her own class, the one now taken by Lucy. Mrs. Edwards was a\nsweet, gentle woman, overflowing with Christian love and kindness; and\nas Stella at once took a great fancy to her, she exercised a very\nbeneficial influence over one who was much more easily swayed by\nkindness than by any other power.\n\nThe celebration of the Lord's Supper was approaching, and as Bessie\nwas looking forward to participating for the first time in the holy\nordinance, Lucy gladly embraced the opportunity of making a formal\nconfession of her faith in Christ, and claiming the blessing attached\nto the ordinance by Him who instituted it. It was pleasant, too, to do\nso in the very place in which He had first, by the cords of love,\ndrawn her heart to Himself. Solemn as she knew the step to be, she had\nlived too long on the principle of \"looking unto Jesus\" not to feel\nthat she had only to look to Him still to give her the fitting\npreparation of heart for receiving the tokens of His broken body and\nshed blood; and in this happy confidence she came forward to obey His\ndying command.\n\nStella had seemed much interested about the approaching communion, and\nhad asked a good many questions respecting it, and as to the nature of\nthe qualification for worthily partaking in it. At last, much to\nLucy's surprise, she asked her, with a timidity altogether new to\nher, whether she thought _she_ might come forward also.\n\nIt was with difficulty that Lucy could restrain the expression of her\nsurprise at the unexpected question, but she did repress it, and\nreplied:\n\n\"It all depends on whether you have made up your mind to take Jesus\nfor your Lord and Saviour, and to follow Him, dear Stella!\"\n\n\"I should like to, if I knew how,\" she said. \"I have been speaking to\nMrs. Edwards about it, and she thinks I might come. I know I'm not\nwhat I ought to be, and that I've been very careless and wicked; but\nMrs. Edwards says if I'm really in earnest, and I think I am, I may\ncome to the communion, and that I shall be made fit, if I ask to be.\"\n\nLucy had not lost her faith in the Hearer and Answerer of prayer, but\nshe had been so long accustomed to regard Stella as one who \"cared for\nnone of these things,\" that she could scarcely believe in the reality\nof so sudden a change. But it was not so very sudden, and Lucy's own\nearnestness and simple faith had been one means of bringing it about.\nHer daily intercourse with her cousin had, in spite of herself,\nimpressed Stella gradually with a conviction of the importance of what\nshe felt to be all-important. And Stella's illness and subsequent\nweakness, with perhaps a sense of her precarious tenure of life, had\ncombined to make her realize its importance to herself personally,\nmore than she had ever done before. Amy's happy death had made her\nfeel how blessed a thing was that trust in Jesus which could remove\nall fear of the mysterious change, so awful to those who have their\nhope only in the visible world. Indeed, she told Lucy that one of her\nchief reasons for wishing to come to Ashleigh was the vague feeling,\nderived from her recollections of her former visit, that it would be\neasier for her to be a Christian in a place so closely associated with\nher first impressions of living Christianity. And He who never turns\naway from any who seek Him, had answered her expectations, and sent\nher a true helper in Mrs. Edwards, whose simple words seemed to come\nto her with peculiar power; for, from some hidden sympathy of feeling,\none person often seems more specially adapted to help us on than\nanother, and Mrs. Edwards had been a special helper to Stella.\n\nLucy, when she found her cousin so much in earnest, did not dare to\nadvise her on her own responsibility. Stella felt rather afraid of a\nconversation with Mr. Edwards, but her cousin told her that he was the\nbest person to give her counsel in the matter. Her fear of him soon\nvanished when the conversation was really entered upon, and she found\nthat she could speak to him much more freely than she had previously\nthought. He talked with her long and kindly, and finding that she had\nreally a deep sense of sin, and that she desired to come to Christ in\nhumble penitence to have her sins forgiven and her darkness\nenlightened, he felt that he had no right to discourage her from the\nordinance which is specially designed to enlighten and strengthen. At\nthe same time, he took care to explain to her most fully the nature of\nthe solemn vows in which she would take upon herself the\nresponsibilities and obligations of a follower of Christ.\n\nIt was with a quiet, serious humility, very different from the former\nmien of the once careless Stella, that she, with Lucy and Bessie,\nreverently approached the Lord's table, where He graciously meets His\npeople, and gives the blessings suited to their special needs. As they\nleft the church at the close of the service, and Lucy glanced at her\ncousin, whose delicacy was made more perceptible by the deep black of\nher dress, she thought that, notwithstanding the loss of bloom and\nbrightness, the expression of serene happiness that now rested on her\nface gave it a nobler beauty than she had ever seen it wear before.\n\nBefore the stay of the cousins at Ashleigh came to an end, Lucy and\nBessie had the great pleasure of meeting once more their old teacher,\nMrs. Harris, who had come to pay a short visit to her former home.\nWhat a pleasant meeting it was, and with what grateful gladness Mrs.\nHarris found out how well her old scholars had followed out their\nwatchword, may easily be imagined; as well as the interest with which\nthe story of poor Nelly's changeful life and steady faith in the\nSaviour, of whom Miss Preston had first told her, was narrated and\nheard.\n\nLucy did not forget to visit Nelly's stepmother, whose circumstances\nremained much the same as in former times. She did not seem much\ngratified by Lucy's praises of Nelly's good conduct. She had always\npredicted that Nelly would \"come to no good,\" and she did not like to\nhave her opinions in such matters proved fallacious. Lucy, however,\nrather enjoyed dilating upon Nelly's industry and usefulness, that\nMrs. Connor might feel the mistake she had made, even in a worldly\npoint of view, by her heartless conduct.\n\nWhen the heat of the summer was subsiding into the coolness of\nSeptember, Lucy and Stella prepared to return home,--not, however,\nwithout having revisited all the spots which had been the scenes of\nformer excursions, and, in particular, the scene of the \"strawberry\npicnic,\" where every little event of the happy summer afternoon, now\nso long past, was eagerly recalled.\n\n\"And do you remember, Lucy,\" asked Stella, \"how hateful I was about\npoor Nelly, when we discovered her here? Oh, how wicked and heartless\nI used to be in those days! And I don't believe I should ever have\nbeen any better if you hadn't come to live with us!\"\n\nHer physical health had been very much benefited by her sojourn in the\ncountry, under the kind, motherly care of Mrs. Ford, who had fed her\nwith cream and new milk till she declared she had grown quite fat.\nThat, however, was only a relative expression. She was still very far\nfrom being the plump, blooming Stella of former times.\n\nBut the chief benefit she had gained was not to be discerned by the\noutward eye. It lay deep in her heart--the \"pearl of great price,\"\nwhich her wandering spirit had at last sought and found.\n\n\n\n\nXVIII.\n\n_A Farewell Chapter._\n\n    \"Come near and bless us when we wake.\n    Ere through the world our way we take,\n    Till in the ocean of Thy love\n    We lose ourselves in heaven above.\"\n\n\nThough Mr. and Mrs. Brooke marked with much delight the improved\nappearance of their darling Stella, her medical attendant was far from\nconsidering the improvement a radical one, and strongly advised that\nshe should be removed to a warmer climate for the winter. On her\naccount, therefore, as well as on that of Sophy, who very much needed\nchange of scene, it was decided that the family should spend the\nwinter months in the south. Stella was anxious that her cousin should\naccompany them; but just at this time Lucy received a summons--by no\nmeans unwelcome--in another direction, in a letter from Mrs. Steele.\n\nHer aunt had been feeling her strength fail very much during the past\nyear, and expressed a very strong desire that her niece should come\nto her again, for a time at least. Lucy owed her aunt almost a\ndaughter's affection; and as she had not seen her brother Harry for\nnearly two years, and as her lessons at school must necessarily be\ndiscontinued, it seemed the best arrangement that she should accede to\nMrs. Steele's request, and go to the West under the escort which had\nbeen proposed for her,--that of a friend of Alick who had come\neastward for his wife, and was soon to return to his prairie home.\n\nThere was some doubt as to what should be done with Nelly during the\nlong absence of all her friends, but an unexpected event which\nhappened previous to Lucy's departure settled that question most\nsatisfactorily. A young market-gardener, who had lately started in\nbusiness for himself, came to Mr. Brooke's to be paid for vegetables,\nfurnished during the summer. Lucy was sent down to pay him, and was\nsurprised to find Nelly, who had happened to pass through the hall\nwhere he was waiting, staring at him in an unaccountable manner, with\nan excited look in her dark eyes.\n\n\"Miss Lucy,\" she said in a trembling undertone, seizing Lucy's dress\nin her eagerness, \"won't you please ask him his name?\"\n\nLucy, considerably bewildered, did as she desired, and was startled by\nthe answer. \"Richard Connor,\" and equally so by the joyful exclamation\nwith which Nelly rushed forward: \"Oh, it's my own brother Dick!\"\n\nIt turned out to be really Nelly's long-lost brother. He had followed\nthe rest of his family out to America by the next vessel in which he\ncould procure a passage, but had never been able to discover any\ntrace of them. Getting work for a time as he best could, he had at\nlast entered the service of a market-gardener, where he had done so\nwell as to be able in time to begin business on his own account. He\ncould not have recognised his little sister Nelly in the tall,\ngood-looking girl before him; but time had not changed him so\nmaterially as to prevent Nelly's loving heart from recognising her\nonly relative, and the moment her eye fell upon him, a thrill of\nalmost certain recognition chained her to the spot.\n\nIt is unnecessary to dwell upon the delight of both brother and sister\nat their unexpected reunion, and the torrent of inquiries and replies\nthat followed. Dick had for so long a time given up all hope of\nfinding his kindred, that the joy of recovering Nelly overpowered his\nsorrow at finding that she was the only one who survived to him; and\nas the young gardener had been intending to live in a small cottage of\nhis own, he was only too glad to claim Nelly as his housekeeper. And\nbefore Lucy went away, she had the pleasure of seeing Nelly\ncomfortably installed in a home which she could consider as really her\nown.\n\nIt was no small trial to Lucy, when the time came, to say a long\nfarewell to her aunt and cousins, especially to Sophy, between whom\nand herself there was now a strong bond of attachment; and to Stella,\nas to whom she felt a strong foreboding that she should never see her\nagain. Her only comfort was that she could leave the matter in the\nhands of Him who knew best, and that Stella could safely be trusted to\nthat protecting love which will never leave nor forsake any who humbly\nseek its true blessing.\n\nWith Mary Eastwood, too, it was another hard parting. She spent a day\nor two at Oakvale before her departure, and both long looked back to\nthat short visit as to a time tinged indeed with sadness, but charged\nwith many sweet and blessed memories.\n\nAt last the preparations for the long journey were all made, the\npacking completed, even to the stowing away of the little gifts from\neach, and of the large packet of bonbons and cream-candy which Edwin\nbrought in at the last moment for his cousin's regalement during her\nlong journey. Then the cab was at the door before half had been said\nthat they wanted to say, and the long-dreaded good-bye was crowded\ninto such a brief space of time, that when Lucy found herself on the\nway to the station, she could scarcely believe that the formidable\nseparation was really over, and that she had finally left her home of\nnearly two years. She well remembered the winter afternoon of her\narrival, and thought with gratitude how many blessings had met her\nthere, and with what different feelings she left it from those with\nwhich she arrived there.\n\nThe sadness of her departure soon wore off amid the pleasant\nexcitement of the long and interesting journey, made doubly pleasant\nby the lively and genial companionship of her new friends, who won her\nheart at once by their warm praises of Alick and Harry; and she began\nalready to look forward to the happiness of their complete reunion as\na family,--for Fred was to follow her to the West at the close of his\ntheological studies, in the ensuing spring.\n\nWhen at last the somewhat fatiguing but very pleasant journey was at\nan end, Lucy found Mrs. Steele ready to receive her with a warm\nmaternal welcome, and Harry wild with delight, as much grown and\nimproved as they all declared she was. Alick had grown considerably\nolder and graver-looking under the responsibilities of life and his\nprofession, though he still retained much of his old flow of spirits;\nand Lucy had the very great pleasure of finding that he had become an\nearnest Christian man, using his profession to the utmost of his power\nas a means not only of doing temporal good, but of advancing his\nMaster's cause.\n\nLucy soon saw that her household aid was so much needed by her aunt,\nwhose health had become very feeble, that she relinquished the plan\nshe had formed of endeavouring to get employment in teaching during\nthe winter; and between her housekeeping avocations and the claims of\nAlick's poor patients, whom she often visited on errands of charity,\nand the carrying on of her own studies, which she was anxious to\ncontinue, the winter flew past with incredible rapidity.\n\nWhen the season of budding leaves and opening blossoms returned, there\ncame tidings--sad indeed, yet by no means unexpected--from the sandy\nplains of Florida. Stella was dead, but she had died \"looking unto\nJesus,\" and in the feeling of her perfect safety and happiness with\nher Saviour. Lucy could acquiesce in the earthly separation from her.\nShe had seemed to be one over whom \"things seen and temporal\" held so\nmuch power, that perhaps only the pressure of physical disease, and\nthe realization of the possible approach of death, could have brought\nher to the invisible but ever-present Saviour. Her temporal loss had\nthus been her great gain; yet still \"more blessed are they\" who\nwithout such pressure \"have believed.\"\n\nOur young friends have now arrived at an age when their history is\nscarcely so well adapted for the youthful readers of these pages. But\nas we all like to hear tidings of our friends after years have\nelapsed, it may be pleasant to catch at least a glimpse of their later\nlife. Lucy never returned to her uncle's house: she became too\nvaluable a member of her cousin's household to be spared from it, and\nshe is now its mistress in a legal and permanent sense, aiding her\nhusband most efficiently in his labours of love. Fred has long since\nfinished his studies and been settled as the minister of a village\nchurch near his sister's home. Thither he has lately brought Mary\nEastwood as the minister's wife, and has found that she admirably\nfills that important post. The two old friends, united now by closer\nties than ever, still delight to maintain their Christian\ncompanionship, and to revive, in the frequent visits interchanged, the\nhappy memories of former days.\n\nNelly still keeps house for her brother, who would not know how to\ndispense with her multifarious services in weeding his beds, gathering\nhis fruit for market, and tying up his flowers. But as some of his\nfriends are equally sensible of her good qualities, he has made up his\nmind that, sooner or later, he will have to let her go.\n\nAda Brooke has been married for several years, and is much, the same,\nin her present luxurious home, as when we first made her acquaintance,\nwith no more aspiration beyond the transient pleasures of the world.\nSophy, who has remained faithful to the memory of her betrothed, is a\nvery angel of mercy, ministering continually to the poor and sick and\ndisconsolate, and finding therein a higher happiness than she ever\nknew, even in the days when she was most admired and envied. Mr. and\nMrs. Brooke, since the death of their darling Stella, have thought\nmore of that unseen world into which she has entered, and less of the\npresent one, which formerly so completely engrossed them. And Edwin,\nfinding all earthly sources of pleasure to be but \"broken cisterns,\"\nhas at last turned to drink of \"the living water, of which if a man\ndrink he shall never thirst again.\"\n\nBessie Ford is still the wise, motherly eldest daughter at Mill Bank\nFarm. If, from the uneventful character of her quiet country life, she\nhas not filled so prominent a place in these pages as her classmates,\nit is not that the watchword \"Looking unto Jesus\" has had less\ninfluence on her life than on theirs; and though its fruits may have\nbeen more obscure, they have been as real, in the thorough Christian\nkindness and faithfulness, patience and industry, which make her a\nmuch-prized blessing to her family and her friends.\n\nAnd now, my young reader, that you have seen the effect of taking\n\"Looking unto Jesus\" for the watchword of life to some extent\nillustrated, will you not, henceforward, take it as your own?\n\nIf only you come by faith to that Saviour who is waiting to receive\nyou and to renew your sinful heart, and go on living by that faith in\nHim, you will find, ever flowing from Him, a life-giving power, which\nwill furnish you with the strength that you need more than you now\nknow, for the battle of life before you. And though you may never be\ncalled upon to do things which the world calls great and noble, you\nwill do common things in a noble spirit, which is the same thing to\nHim who looks upon the heart, and\n\n    \"So make life, death, and the vast for ever,\n    One grand, sweet song.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *","title":"Lucy Raymond; Or, The Children's Watchword","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":57106}