{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_77024/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_77024","id":"gutenberg_77024","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/77024","summary":null,"tags":["Category: British Literature","Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Novels","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Christian life -- Juvenile fiction","Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction","England -- Juvenile fiction","Families -- Juvenile fiction","Religious fiction","Teenage girls -- Juvenile fiction"],"text":"Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.\n\n\n\n[Illustration: Pollie had all the cooking to do and the bread to make.]\n\n\n\n                            _Just in Time._\n\n\n                                  BY\n\n                            CATHARINE SHAW\n\n                               AUTHOR OF\n\n              \"DICKIE'S ATTIC,\" \"DICKIE'S SECRET,\" \"ALICK'S HERO,\"\n                               ETC. ETC.\n\n\n                             NEW EDITION\n\n\n                     JOHN F. SHAW AND CO., LTD.\n                            _Publishers_\n                   3, PILGRIM STREET, LONDON, E.C.\n\n\n\n                            [Illustration]\n\n                               CONTENTS.\n\n                            [Illustration]\n\n\n                             _CHAPTER I._\n\n   AT THE MILL\n\n                             _CHAPTER II._\n\n   LAURA'S SECRET\n\n                             _CHAPTER III._\n\n   A NEW FRIEND\n\n                             _CHAPTER IV._\n\n   POLLIE KEEPS HER PROMISE\n\n                             _CHAPTER V._\n\n   THE PICNIC\n\n                             _CHAPTER VI._\n\n   APOLLYON MEETS POLLIE\n\n                             _CHAPTER VII._\n\n   POLLIE'S BATTLE-FIELD\n\n                             _CHAPTER VIII._\n\n   HARD THINGS\n\n                             _CHAPTER IX._\n\n   SUBMISSION\n\n                             _CHAPTER X._\n\n   TELLING FATHER\n\n                             _CHAPTER XI._\n\n   HOPE\n\n                             _CHAPTER XII._\n\n   OFF TO LONDON\n\n                             _CHAPTER XIII._\n\n   POLLIE RECOGNISES A FRIEND\n\n                             _CHAPTER XIV._\n\n   \"I NEVER THOUGHT OF IT!\"\n\n                             _CHAPTER XV._\n\n   VISITORS AT SHANKLIN\n\n                             _CHAPTER XVI._\n\n   MISSIONARIES AT HOME\n\n                            [Illustration]\n\n\n\n                            [Illustration]\n\n                            _JUST IN TIME._\n\n                            [Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\n_AT THE MILL._\n\n\"POLLIE, why have you not cleared up those weeds?\" asked Pollie's\nmother from the mill door.\n\nPollie was sitting in the fork of the old apple-tree, with her head\nbending over a book.\n\nShe raised it a little, and allowed her voice just to go round the\ncorner of her sun-bonnet and no more, \"I forgot, mother.\"\n\n\"I wish you did not forget so often, my dear,\" said her mother. \"Your\nlife is a string of forgets.\"\n\nPollie's head went down again, but a frown settled on her pretty face.\n\nShe did wish that her mother would let her be, and not always be\nfinding out things she had not done. Her Aunt Elizabeth did not find so\nmuch amiss with Laura or Clara; nor, for the matter of that, did her\nown mother seem to rebuke her brother Jim half as much as she did her.\n\nShe wished she could live with Aunt Elizabeth, then she would be able\nto do just as she liked. Aunt Elizabeth would say, \"Pollie, my dear,\nwould you get so-and-so for me?\" or, \"Pollie, my dear, I want you and\nLaura to go for a message, will you?\"\n\nIt was much pleasanter than \"Pollie, put on your hat and go down to\nyour Uncle Brown's!\"\n\n\"I say,\" called Jim, breaking in on this reverie, \"where's the hoe?\nFather's been looking for it for ever so long, and I said I knew you\nhad had it last.\"\n\n\"I forgot to put it away,\" said Pollie. \"It is by the waterbutt. Just\nget it for him, Jim.\"\n\n\"Not I,\" said Jim, walking away down the steep path. \"You must go and\nget it for him.\"\n\nPollie got down quickly. If ever she did anything willingly, it was for\nher father!\n\n\"Eh, my little girl,\" he said, \"this is like you. To think you should\nhave wasted ten minutes of my time, and there it was behind the butt\nall the while!\"\n\nHe drew it out from its hiding-place with some difficulty; it would\nstick against the brick wall.\n\n\"How did it get here?\" he asked patiently.\n\n\"It fell down behind, and I didn't stay to pull it out,\" said Pollie.\n\n\"Did you never stop to think that whatsoever your hand findeth to do\nshould be done with your might, eh, Pollie?\"\n\n\"No, father.\"\n\n\"I have, many's the time,\" said the miller, \"and those sort of\nhindrances aren't hindrances at all. They bring you into contact with\nyour Lord, and I know nothing better than that for helping you along\nwith your work!\"\n\nPollie did not answer. She did not mind hearing her father talk so, at\nleast, not much. But if it had been her mother, she would have flown\noff and not have heard half of it.\n\nSo she went back to her apple-tree and opened her book once more, but\nshe was not to be left in peace.\n\n\"Pollie!\" came from the mill door. \"Pollie!\"\n\n\"Yes, mother.\"\n\n\"Come right in and set the tea. I told you that when you heard the\nwheels of your father's cart you were to come right in, and I was out\nat the back and didn't notice. Your father's been home this quarter, I\ndo believe, and the tea isn't ready.\"\n\n\"I forgot, mother,\" said Pollie ungraciously. \"I'd have come if you had\ncalled me.\"\n\nHer mother went back to her work, and Pollie hastened in. That her\nfather should be made uncomfortable did not suit her at all. But though\nshe knew her tiresomeness made her mother uncomfortable, she told\nherself that she certainly could not help that.\n\nShe set about getting the tea with a will, however. And as she was a\nvery capable girl, it did not take long before she was standing at\nthe mill door again, clapping her hands as a sign that her father and\nbrother were to come in.\n\nJim and she were not always the best of friends. Her faults lay in one\ndirection, Jim's in another.\n\nIf Pollie forgot too often, Jim did not forget often enough. He was\nalways reminding people of things which were not done, and especially\nremembered all his sister's delinquencies, and pointed them out\nruthlessly.\n\n\"How late tea is!\" he remarked as they sat down.\n\nHis mother looked up and said, \"Yes it is; Pollie forgot to come in.\"\n\nPollie crimsoned, for she had bustled about so heartily that it was but\nlittle after the usual time.\n\nHer father's words, however, brought sudden tears into her eyes, which\nshe would have given something to stop.\n\n\"Say instead, Jim, 'how nicely somebody has got our tea for us!'\"\n\n\"It's Poll's duty,\" persisted Jim. \"I don't see that she deserves any\npraise.\"\n\n\"How did a son of mine feel just now, when I told him that he had put\nthat hay away very cleverly?\"\n\nJim's eyes went down, and there was silence for a moment.\n\n\"I could do all Poll's duties and my own too, if she were not here,\" he\nremarked presently.\n\n\"Perhaps you'll have to,\" said his mother a little dryly, though there\nwas a smile in her eyes.\n\n\"How?\" asked Jim, too astounded to say more.\n\n\"You will find that you cannot do quite all. But as the holidays are\ncoming, I am going to spare Pollie to visit her aunt Elizabeth. You\nwill be at home all day to help me, and a change will do Pollie good.\"\n\nPollie turned hot and cold. Did her mother really mean it? But her\nmother was not apt to say things which she did not mean. And if she\nmeant it, why had she not told her quietly by herself, instead of\nannouncing such a piece of news to Jim.\n\nShe felt very bitter, and said to herself that the pleasure of going\nwas quite spoilt by the way in which she had been told.\n\n\"Should you like it, Mary?\" her mother said kindly.\n\n\"Yes, mother, very much, if\u2014\"\n\n\"If what, my dear?\"\n\n\"If\u2014if you do not want me, and if\u2014\" then she burst into tears and\nsobbing out something about Jim being so unkind, burst from the room.\n\n\"What is this, Jim?\" asked their mother.\n\n\"Nothing at all,\" said Jim. \"I haven't said a word to her but what you\nheard. She's a stupid cry-baby!\"\n\nTheir mother could not suppose that Pollie could take to heart the\nchance words of her brother, quite two years her junior, and looking\nafter her daughter rather soberly, she met her husband's eyes.\n\n\"She'll be better for a little change,\" he said, with that tenderness\nwhich all their lives had been 'just father' to the children. \"My poor\nlittle Pollie wants one thing, and until she has that, her heart cannot\nbe at rest.\"\n\n\"What's that, father?\" asked Jim curiously. \"I think Pollie has the\nbest of everything\u2014\"\n\n\"She needs Jesus,\" he said softly, as he rose and pushed back his\nchair, \"and I am praying every day that she may find Him.\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\n_LAURA'S SECRET._\n\nPOLLIE was fifteen, and life had flowed along peacefully as to outward\ncircumstances. But beneath the surface, there were currents and rocks\nand hidden difficulties which no one guessed but herself.\n\nFrom her earliest days, her strong will had set itself up in opposition\nto her mother, and though at times her sweetness of disposition\nconquered, life with her was indeed a hard struggle.\n\nHer father, tender and wise as he was, pleaded with her in vain; or\nif he succeeded in shewing her her duty for a little while, some\ndifficulty was sure shortly to arise, and then all her good intentions\nflew to the winds, and Pollie was as far from heartfelt submission as\never.\n\nSo she set out to visit her aunt Elizabeth with a clouded heart. Her\nmother's preparations, kind and thoughtful as they were, gave her but\nlittle pleasure, for her heart was sore and hard. If only she could\nbeen have taken to her mother's heart with a forgiving hug, she thought\nshe could have gone in rags willingly!\n\nSo her father drove to the market-town and put her into the train under\ncare of the guard, to be set down at her aunt's station, nearly a\nhundred miles off and halfway between her home and Exeter.\n\n\"Remember there's always the blessed Lord and Saviour, everywhere,\"\nwere his last words, whispered as he kissed her in the train.\n\nAnd Pollie set forth on her journey, and in due time arrived at her\ndestination.\n\nIt was three years since she had visited at her aunt's, and she did not\nknow the tall cousin who was standing on the platform waiting for her.\n\nLaura, a pretty girl of eighteen, soon spied her, however, for Pollie\nhad not altered much since she had last seen her. She and Clara stepped\nforward and claimed their country cousin, who looked quite shy when she\nsaw what fashionable young ladies were come to meet her.\n\n\"Here is the trap,\" said Clara. \"Where is your box, Mary?\"\n\nPollie did not know that her uncle had a trap. She began to be afraid\nthey would have got too grand for her.\n\n\"How you have grown, Mary,\" said her aunt as they sat at tea, \"but you\nhave the same face. I should know you anywhere. When the girls have\nsmartened you up a bit, you will look quite as old as Clara.\"\n\nPollie bit her lips. She had thought her mother had done all that was\nnecessary for her, and in the remembrance of her thoughtful care,\nshe felt more tender towards her than she had ever done. She said to\nherself that her mother would never have said such a thing as that to a\nnewly-come visitor.\n\nA wave of home-sickness seized her, and she had much ado to keep back\nher tears.\n\nTea was over at last, and Pollie made her escape.\n\n\"Come upstairs and unpack your things,\" said Clara. \"I do love seeing\npeople's new things!\"\n\nPollie murmured something of not having so very many things, but the\ngirls did not seem to hear. And presently all her clothes were spread\nout on the bed, and her cousins were looking them over with such\nremarks as \"That will be for mornings\u2014with a nice ribbon for her neck.\"\n\"That would be pretty fair for afternoons if that trimming were put on\nbetter\u2014I daresay we could do that. Well, what else have you got?\"\n\n\"That is my best dress,\" said Pollie, hesitating. \"Isn't it good\nenough?\"\n\n\"That,\" asked Laura, with an intonation of surprise that made Pollie's\ncheeks burn. \"Oh, I thought perhaps you had another in the tray of your\nbox.\"\n\n\"Never mind,\" said Clara presently, \"they will do all right. Ma said\nshe should get Mary a dress if necessary. You see, Pollie, we go out\never so much, and have to be nice. But these will do for common very\nwell.\"\n\nLaura had turned away towards the glass, and was putting on a very\nstylish hat.\n\n\"Is that yours?\" asked Pollie, glad to leave the topic of her wardrobe\nfor that of her cousins. She wished heartily that she were back at the\nmill, and could hear her mother's voice, saying in those quick tones,\n\"There's your father, Pollie, run and open the door!\"\n\nInstead came Laura's complacent answer\u2014\"Yes, of course it is. Do you\nlike it?\"\n\n\"It is sweetly pretty,\" said Pollie admiringly, \"only it looks almost\nlike a fashion-book.\"\n\n\"Do you think so?\" asked Laura, gratified; then added with a giggle to\nher sister, \"That's what H. F. said yesterday.\"\n\n\"Who is H. F.?\" asked Pollie.\n\n\"Oh, my dear, you don't know of course. H. F. is a new star that has\ndawned on our horizon. You will see him all in good time\u2014from afar\u2014if\nyou keep your eyes open.\"\n\nPollie blushed, she hardly knew why. This seemed so different from the\nway anyone talked at home.\n\n\"Hush!\" said Clara. \"Here's ma.\"\n\n\"Well, my dears,\" said Mrs. Brown, \"what are you doing?\"\n\n\"I am going to the Cleavers, ma,\" said Laura, \"and Clara is going to\nhelp Mary put away her things, and then they are going to take you out\nif you care to go.\"\n\n\"I do not know that I do to-night. Clara can come down and read to me\nwhile I finish that blouse for her.\"\n\n\"Oh, I don't want to read,\" said Clara, \"it would be so dull. Besides,\nI am going out, ma, such a lovely evening. If you want to read so\nparticularly, do not trouble about my blouse.\"\n\nMrs. Brown looked vexed. \"Is that the way you do to your mother, Mary?\"\nshe asked, as she listlessly turned over Pollie's dresses.\n\n\"I don't know, auntie,\" hesitated Pollie, \"because I haven't anywhere\nto go you know\u2014\"\n\n\"Not anywhere to go? Are you buried alive, child? You look rather like\nit!\"\n\n\"Ma,\" said Clara, \"don't say that. Come, Pollie, I'll turn up your hair\nfor you, and see if I shan't smarten you up! That will be fun. And then\nyou and I will go out, and ma can read that old novel in peace.\"\n\nAs she spoke, she drew out the bow that tied Pollie's long plait, and\nrapidly undid her beautiful shining braids.\n\n\"What a lot. Look, ma! Would you not give something if we girls had\nsuch a head of hair?\"\n\nMrs. Brown did not answer. She gave half a glance at her niece, and\nthen said suddenly, \"I tell you what, if Clara is bent on going out, we\nwill go to-night and get you a dress for best, or a couple of dresses.\nThen they can be made at once, and will be ready in a day or two.\"\n\n\"All right,\" said Clara, \"I shan't be long over this. That is coming\nsplendidly. Now, what dress will you put on to go shopping with ma?\nThis best one is the only one that is fit.\"\n\nMrs. Brown had left the room, so had Laura.\n\n\"I say, Pollie, I'll tell you a secret, only you must keep as still as\nstill about it. That I know you can do. But if ma were to guess, she\nwould spoil all the fun.\"\n\nPollie was silent, debating whether she should receive the confidence\nor not, and half afraid that stormy times were in front of her. Before\nshe could make any decision, Clara had gone on in a low tone\u2014\n\n\"Laura is very much admired, as I daresay you can guess.\"\n\n\"She is very pretty\u2014\"\n\n\"And where we go they have a lot of folks round, and young men from\nthe town. We are going to have a picnic next week, and then you will\nsee some of them. But there is one above all the rest that Laura\nfavours and there is a little mystery about him which makes him doubly\ninteresting. He's been abroad a great deal, but he told Laura he had\nnever seen anyone to compare with her\u2014\"\n\n\"Does he come here?\" asked Pollie innocently.\n\n\"Oh no, my dear. How green you are! Even if ma were to allow it, pa is\ndreadfully strict, almost as bad as uncle at the mill, and he would\nthink Laura a great deal too young. Oh, no, it's our secret at present.\nTime enough when\u2014\"\n\nClara paused, and Pollie looked up with an earnest gaze into her\ncousin's face.\n\n\"I'm afraid it isn't right,\" she said slowly. \"I wish you hadn't told\nme\u2014or, at least, I wish that Laura and you wouldn't do anything like\nthat.\"\n\n\"Like what?\" asked Clara, drawing back a little. \"Don't be\nstraight-laced, whatever you do, Pollie!\"\n\n\"I didn't know I was,\" said Pollie.\n\n\"Of course you were! Would you have us bow to any young man we meet,\nand say we must not speak to him on any account?\"\n\nPollie felt very foolish, and did not know what to answer, while still\nshe felt that her favourite cousin had grown different since the year\nbefore, when they had had such a happy time together at the mill.\n\n\"There! Now you look lovely,\" said Clara. \"Just peep in the glass. Put\non this dress now, Mary, and I'll go and tell ma that we are nearly\nready.\"\n\nSo Pollie was left alone.\n\nOh for her father to tell her what was right and wrong. She felt all\nmixed up, and so home-sick that she could willingly have packed her box\nagain and set off home that very minute.\n\nShe sat down on a chair by the window and swiped away two or three\nscalding tears.\n\nWhy would not her dresses do, and why had her cousins glanced at each\nother, as they lifted out the hat her mother had trimmed for her with\nsuch care?\n\n\"Pollie, Pollie, where are you?\" called Clara. \"Ma is waiting, and she\nis quite vexed we have been so long.\"\n\nMrs. Brown had a cloud on her brow. \"Put on your other hat, will you,\nMary, my dear? As we are going shopping,\" she said, as Pollie ran down\ninto the hall.\n\nFor a moment Pollie paused, utter refusal in her heart and in her\neyes. Then courtesy to her aunt and hostess prevailed, and she turned\nupstairs again slowly, thinking that this was the very hardest thing\nshe had ever had to do in all her life.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\n_A NEW FRIEND._\n\n\"THAT is better, my dear,\" remarked her aunt, when she re-appeared with\nher best hat on. \"You must not mind, Mary, if I get you a few things:\nI told your mother I should do so. You see town ways are so different\nfrom country ways, and what will do for a village will not do for\nChichester.\"\n\nSo two smarter dresses were purchased, and then Pollie was led into the\nmillinery department, where her aunt chose a new hat for her, remarking\nthat Clara had better retrim the one she had on, to make it look more\nfashionable.\n\nPollie tried to cheer up, but her heart felt like lead. Ten times\nbetter would it have been to bear the heaviest yoke that had ever been\ngiven her at home!\n\nThe dresses were to be made at the draper's at which they were\npurchased, and were promised for the next evening; the hat was to be\nsent home at once, and with a few ribbons and gloves the party returned\nhome, Clara congratulating her cousin with bright smiles, on the pretty\nnew things which she had received.\n\nThus, Pollie settled down to her visit. No more was said about her\nclothes, and so long as she put on what they suggested, she was now\nfree to enjoy herself.\n\nClara was very kind to her, and to a certain extent she did enjoy\nherself. But the two sisters had a good many secrets from which she was\nexcluded.\n\nLaura was out a great deal, and seldom enlarged on what she had done,\nand where she had been, to her family circle. She attended classes at\nthe School of Art, and went and came very much as she liked.\n\nBut Pollie, who saw a little more of what went on behind the scenes,\nfancied that her devotion to art was more assumed than real. She could\nnot help noticing that she went early and returned late, and that Clara\nand she always had secrets when she returned from the lessons.\n\nFlowers, which were put into vases in her bedroom, but never appeared\ndownstairs, became more frequent as the days came and went. And once,\nmeeting her cousin in the hall unexpectedly, Pollie saw her put her\nhand down by her side as if to conceal something. And when she next\nwent into Laura's room, a glass of lovely fresh roses stood on her\ndressing-table, which had not been there half an hour before.\n\nPolls felt very uneasy, and once or twice tried to hint a protest to\nClara.\n\n\"Oh, my dear, what nonsense!\" was her light answer. \"All is fair in\nlove and war, you know. Ma will know all in good time if there is\nanything to know, and if not, where is the good? All the girls of our\nacquaintance have somebody devoted to them, and why should not Laura?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" sighed Pollie. \"I wish I knew. It can't be right to be\nsecret over it. I'm not at all nice to mother at home, but I never keep\nanything from her!\"\n\n\"That's your way, and this is ours,\" said Clara, comfortably. \"There\nwould be no fun in life if we came and told ma everything.\"\n\n\"I am afraid it isn't right,\" persisted Pollie, \"and I don't believe\nLaura will be a bit the happier for it. She looks so restless now, and\nturns so red and white whenever anyone speaks to her.\"\n\n\"Nonsense!\" said Clara, looking rather uneasy. \"What a stupid little\nthing you are. We move in a perfectly different circle from you, and\nyou can't judge. Pa's shop is ever so much better a position than your\nmill, and girls like us do differently of course to what you do. Why we\nkeep two servants, and you haven't one!\"\n\n\"It is not riches but right,\" said Pollie, stoutly, though she felt\nvery hurt, and turned to her book resolutely, wishing once again that\nshe were back at her mother's side, helping her with the housework, and\ndoing even the little services which she particularly disliked.\n\n\nOne morning her uncle said to her at breakfast, \"Mary, I am going to\ndrive a little way out of town to-day. There's an old lady lives there\nthat your father wished you to call on. I have not had an opportunity\nyet, but we will go to-day.\"\n\nPollie was delighted to go with her kind, genial uncle, especially as\nshe would have him all to herself, and she enjoyed that drive more than\nanything she had done since she had been at Chichester.\n\nMr. Brown said he had business further on, and promised to call for her\nin half an hour. So Pollie entered the little rose-covered house, and\nwas ushered by a smart little maid into the presence of her father's\nfriend.\n\n\"Welcome, my dear,\" said the old lady. \"I have been looking for you\nfor a fortnight, but you've come now, and we will enjoy each other\nI hope. Sit down, my dear, and take that plate of strawberries, and\nhelp yourself to some cream. There! Such a hot day as this, they are\nacceptable. And while you eat them, I will have some too, to keep you\ncompany.\"\n\nPollie had been dreadfully shy, but the sweet old lady was so cosy that\nshe felt at ease at once. And by the time she had helped her to some\nfruit and sugar, she thought it was impossible she could have been a\nperfect stranger only five minutes ago.\n\nThe old lady chatted away to her, and only seemed to play with her own\nstrawberries. She told her stories of her dear father when he was a\nboy, and described his home so vividly that Pollie felt as if she had\nbeen to Exeter, and had sat in the farmhouse kitchen and shelled her\ngrandmother's peas in the sunny window.\n\nThe half-hour slipped by all too fast, and Pollie had taken a low\nstool, and was holding her new friend's hand and looking in her face,\nwhen she said gently: \"Little Pollie, is your father's Saviour your\nSaviour?\"\n\nThe colour rushed to Pollie's cheeks. What would she have given to be\nable to have said \"Yes\" to that question?\n\nThe old lady saw the answer even before Pollie's lips framed the\nsorrowful little sentence, \"I'm afraid not, ma'am.\"\n\n\"Poor little Pollie,\" she said softly, then added brightly, \"There's no\nreason why He should not be this very day though. He says, 'Him that\ncometh to Me I will in no wise cast out.'\"\n\nPollie did not answer. It seemed so hard and difficult to her.\n\n\"Ask him to draw you, dear! Will you?\"\n\nAgain Pollie hesitated. Did she dare to give such a promise as that?\n\nThe old lady did not press it. \"Has your uncle taken you to the Town\nHall, where they are having such beautiful meetings?\"\n\nPollie shook her head.\n\n\"Not? Well, I am surprised. There's a young man there that is drawing\nquite a crowd every night, and numbers are finding a blessed Saviour,\nand through Him eternal life. Will you go and hear him, Pollie?\"\n\n\"I will if I can,\" said Pollie, looking up earnestly.\n\nThen they heard her uncle's trap draw up at the gate, and Pollie jumped\nup and flung her arms round her father's friend.\n\n\"Oh, I'm so glad I came!\" she said. \"May I come again if uncle will\nbring me?\"\n\n\"By all means,\" said Miss Loveday. \"Good-bye, dear!\"\n\n\"Good-bye,\" said Pollie, hastening to the door. Then, ere she opened\nit, she ran back and imprinted one more kiss on the white cheek. \"I\ndidn't answer you,\" she whispered. \"I will do what you said!\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\n_POLLIE KEEPS HER PROMISE._\n\nPOLLIE had made two promises, and as she drove along by her uncle's\nside, she was earnestly considering how she should set about keeping\nthem.\n\nShe did not, however, guess the difficulties that would be raised when\nshe got back, or she would have gained her uncle's permission at once.\n\nWhen she asked at dinner if she could go to the meeting that evening at\nthe Town Hall, her aunt and cousins made so many objections that Pollie\ndid not know how to press the matter further.\n\nShe subsided with burning cheeks, and the more they told her she ought\nnot to go, the more she longed to do so.\n\n\"What is it, Mary?\" asked her uncle, coming in just as Laura was saying\nsomething about its not being respectable.\n\n\"I promised Miss Loveday to go to the Town Hall to-night if you and\nAunt Elizabeth would allow me?\" said Pollie, her eyes filling with\ntears at his kind look.\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"But Aunt Elizabeth does not think I can go.\"\n\n\"I'll talk to your aunt, Mary. If you have promised an old friend, I\nshould like you to go\u2014I will take you myself.\"\n\nMrs. Brown shrugged her shoulders, and no more was said. But in the\nevening, her uncle told Pollie to bundle on her hat, and they went\ntogether.\n\nShe had another promise to keep, and as she sat in the packed audience,\nher heart beat fast when she remembered that now was a chance which\nmight never come again, and what if she did not take it?\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"Some of you have come here to-night above all things to make a\ndecision, and you almost dread that the evening should be over and you\nshould go back to the old life just your old self.\n\n\"And well you may. You feel you cannot save yourselves; that is true,\nto be sure. You say you have no faith, and that is probably true too.\n\n\"But don't look for faith with your weary eyes; don't try to save\nyourselves with your weary hearts. The remedy is Jesus.\n\n\"Look how these Israelites got better of their deadly snakebites. Not\nby trying to save themselves from the fiery serpents; not by looking\nwithin themselves to see if they had faith; but they were saved\nsimply by looking off to the appointed way of healing which God had\nprovided\u2014the serpent of brass raised high on a pole in their midst\u2014and\nso looking, and so believing, the thing was done; they lived.\n\n\"That is how we believe in Jesus Christ. He says Himself, 'As Moses\nlifted up the serpent in the wilderness, even so must the Son of man be\nlifted up: that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have\neverlasting life.'\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt was over. Pollie and her uncle walked slowly home in the June\ntwilight.\n\n\"Wonderful!\" said Mr. Brown, looking up into the deep blue vault above\nhim. \"Wonderful that I never saw that before.\"\n\nPollie was almost sorry that he had spoken, but she thought that she\nought to answer, so she said:\n\n\"What, uncle?\" thinking it was a bright star he meant.\n\n\"I've heard those words hundreds of times, but to-night God has opened\nmy eyes, and I have seen His glory for the first time\u2014\"\n\nPollie squeezed his arm.\n\n\"I thought it was some great thing to do to be saved. I find it was\nonly a look, eh, Pollie?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" whispered Pollie very low.\n\n\"How long have 'you' known what that look meant?\" he said, bending down\nto her.\n\nCould Pollie speak? Her tongue seemed as if it were tied. Then she\nthought suddenly, \"With the mouth confession is made,\" and she suddenly\nlooked up with all her heart in her eyes.\n\n\"Oh, uncle, I've had father and mother all my life, but it's only just\nnow that I\u2014that I've had Jesus! I never knew before, but I do now.\"\n\n\"Mary! Mary! My little girl, how glad I am we came!\"\n\nThey walked along in silence after that.\n\nBut when they reached home, her uncle went in straight to the\ndrawing-room, and kissed his wife affectionately. \"My dear,\" he said,\n\"I'm glad I went, and so is Mary. We have learned what is worth the\nwhole world. Thank God for it.\"\n\nThus Pollie began her new life, and she had reason to thank her uncle\nmany times for linking her so kindly with himself in the change of\nwhich he spoke. But for that she sometimes felt as if she never could\nhave got through the next fortnight.\n\nHer aunt and cousins treated the whole matter as an absurd joke. The\nobnoxious meetings were now over, the young man who had conducted them\nhad returned to his home before sailing (he had said) for a distant\ncountry, and now all thoughts were centred on the picnic to which they\nwere invited, and, except for an occasional sarcastic allusion to\n\"excitement\" and \"sensationalism,\" the subject was dropped.\n\nPollie was thus thrown back the more completely on the love and\ntenderness of her new-found Saviour. As she had no earthly helper, she\nwent away by herself and told Him; and thus waiting upon the Lord her\nstrength was renewed, and she learned to find her rest and satisfaction\nin Him, as perhaps she never would have done in brighter hours.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\n_THE PICNIC._\n\nTHE day of the picnic drew near at last, and Laura and Clara could talk\nof nothing else.\n\nPollie had a dress specially prepared for it, and her cousins said\nat least she would be no disgrace to them, which she considered high\npraise.\n\nThey, however, had so many secrets about the whole matter that Pollie\noften wished herself at home, in spite of the natural anticipation\nwhich such a day's pleasure was likely to create to one who had lived\nsuch a quiet life.\n\nHer cousins were constantly whispering about H. F., and openly talked\nof the numbers to be there, the splendid arrangements made, and the\npicturesqueness of the woods to which they were to drive.\n\n\"Shall you introduce me to H. F.?\" asked Pollie of Clara, as they were\ndressing on the eventful morning.\n\n\"Oh, don't fuss!\" exclaimed Clara, hurrying with her tight dress, and\ndespairing of being in time. \"You just keep quiet, and you'll see! I do\nnot suppose there will be any introducing. I expect he will come and\nmake ma's acquaintance soon, for he is devoted to Laura, and I expect\u2014\"\n\nBut there she broke off, and then added hastily, \"But don't fuss or\nstare, there's a dear, and you will see for yourself.\"\n\nSo they started, and Pollie's quiet eyes had plenty of time to note\neverything, as her cousins took but little notice of her. Had it not\nbeen that she made acquaintance with a little lame girl, she would have\nbeen utterly alone.\n\nHand in hand they wandered among the lovely woods, picking honeysuckle\nand wild roses, while from afar they could see the groups of young\npeople flitting hither and thither, Laura and Clara in their bright\npink dresses being conspicuous among the gay crowd.\n\nBy-and-by Pollie missed Laura from the rest, and was wondering where\nshe could be, when two girls came strolling up and seated themselves on\nthe blue bank of wild pansies, where she and her little new friend were\nsitting.\n\n\"They've gone up the hill to see the view,\" remarked one of them.\n\n\"I have not seen them at all,\" said the other.\n\n\"She looks sweetly pretty to-day,\" said the first, \"and ever since he\nhas been staying here, he's been devoted to her. But then he always is\nto the last pretty face he comes across. Then he goes away and forgets.\nAt least that's what he has done where I live near Exeter. There are\ntwo or three girls whose hearts he has broken there\u2014\"\n\n\"I hope he will not treat Laura\u2014\"\n\n\"Oh, please!\" said Pollie, starting up. \"I did not know you were\ntalking of anyone I knew. Please, I will go away.\"\n\nShe hurried from the spot with burning cheeks, her little lame friend\nhobbling after her as quickly as she could.\n\n\"Did you ever see so many wild flowers?\" she said, when at length she\ncaught her up.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Pollie absently.\n\n\"Are you very vexed?\" asked the girl, looking up at her. \"I don't like\nyou to be vexed.\"\n\n\"Rather,\" said Pollie, \"but it is a thing I can't do anything in. I did\nnot mean to hear their secrets, and now I do not know whether I ought\nto tell Laura.\"\n\n\"Perhaps she knows,\" suggested the girl.\n\nPollie shook her head. \"They've been carried away with the fun, but I\nam afraid it isn't right to keep it all from their mother. That's why I\nam vexed.\"\n\nThe lame girl put her hand into Pollie's with comforting little\npressure, but her next words surprised her very much. \"Did you notice\nthat it was I who sat by you on that Thursday night?\"\n\nThat Thursday night was to Pollie truly \"a night to be much\nremembered.\" There could be no other in her calendar.\n\nShe turned and looked into the lame girl's face. \"Were you?\" she asked.\n\n\"Yes, close to you. I guessed what you felt by what I felt. And when I\nsaw your face coming out, I knew you had 'come' as I had.\"\n\n\"Oh, Daisy! I was just going to tell you about it when those girls came\nand sat down by us.\"\n\n\"And I was just going to tell 'you,'\" said Daisy smiling. \"I\nthought\u2014but I know so little\u2014only when you looked worried just now I\nthought\u2014\"\n\nHow delicately the words were spoken! Pollie knew by the flush on\nDaisy's face that they were costing her a great deal.\n\n\"You thought, dear?\"\n\n\"That it was so nice to carry our worries, whatever they are, to the\nLord Jesus, and He would see to them.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Pollie, with a little sob, \"I do. I've had so many worries\nsince that Thursday; and yet\u2014\"\n\n\"Yet you would not go back, would you? That's just like me. I do\nbelieve since that Thursday I have minded more about my bad uncle than\nI did before, but then I've been more comforted than I ever was before.\"\n\n\"Oh, so have I!\"\n\n\"And only this morning,\" Daisy went on softly, \"when we got out of\nthe brake, your cousin would have stayed to help me out. But he\u2014that\ngentleman who was talking to her all the way\u2014he said 'Don't stop for\nthat lame child; she will be all day getting out!'\"\n\n\"Oh!\" said Pollie sorrowfully. \"How could he?\"\n\n\"That is why I said I thought she knew. She could not help knowing\nafter that.\"\n\n\"Poor little Daisy!\"\n\n\"It did not matter. That was just another time that my Lord Jesus\ncomforted me. I just told Him that my heart was made heavy, and somehow\nit was like the look at the brazen serpent again\u2014I mean when I spoke to\nJesus\u2014I was made whole. Isn't it wonderful?\"\n\nThus the day passed away, and to those two at any rate it was a happy\nday. They kept near each other all the time, and drove back in the\nevening in the same brake.\n\n\nClara and Laura arrived home very tired and strangely dull. Very little\ncould be got out of them by their mother, who expected to hear long\nhistories of what they had done and whom they had seen.\n\nBut when Pollie was undressing, Clara came in and shut the door.\n\n\"Mary,\" she said in a low tone, \"don't you let out a word to ma about\nH. F. I believe, after all, he's a dreadful flirt. He's going away by\nthe first train to-morrow morning, and I do not believe we shall ever\nsee him again.\"\n\n\"I don't think he can be very good or kind,\" said Pollie gently; \"for\nif it is the one I once saw with Laura, who gave that poor dog such a\nkick\u2014\"\n\n\"Yes, that was he. He has wished us good-bye, and it is all over I\ndo believe; for when I asked him if he were not going to fulfill his\npromise of calling on ma, he said laughing, 'I'll keep it ten years\nhence, Miss Clara, if I don't forget!' And then he jumped back into the\nbrake and drove off.\"\n\n\"Does Laura mind much?\" asked Pollie, hesitating.\n\n\"You don't know how much!\" exclaimed Clara. \"He's been with her almost\nall day long for a month, sometimes at one place and sometimes at\nanother, and if ma knew about it, I don't know what she would say. Well\nit can't be helped, I suppose; and Laura will have to get over it as\nbest she can.\"\n\nPollie had never seen Clara so dispirited before. She got up and put\nher arms round her lovingly.\n\n\"I'm so sorry,\" she whispered.\n\n\"It's very kind of you to say so,\" said Clara, wiping her eyes, \"for\nI'm sure we have not deserved much pity, we've been so horrid to you\nall this fortnight. But if you'll not tell ma, we will never cease to\nthank you.\"\n\nShe raised herself hastily as she heard a step outside.\n\n\"I do not see that it is my business unless I am asked,\" said Pollie\nslowly, \"but you'll be ever so much happier if you tell all yourselves.\nDo, do, Clara!\"\n\nBut Clara only shook her head. \"I couldn't,\" she murmured.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\n_APOLLYON MEETS POLLIE._\n\nPOLLIE'S return home had been postponed till the picnic was over. Now\nthere remained nothing to do but to pack up.\n\nShe longed to wish her father's dear old friend good-bye, but did not\nlike to propose it. Her uncle however settled the matter by offering to\ndrive her out there the last evening.\n\nThe old lady received them with open arms, for Mr. Brown had already\ncalled upon her and told her their good news, and Pollie never forgot\nthe joy which they had as they sat together and talked of their\nSaviour's love.\n\n\"I've proved Him for fifty years,\" said Miss Loveday, \"and have found\nHim faithful.\"\n\nThey had not long to stay, however, and just as they were going, the\nold lady said to Pollie, \"My brother is vicar of your village, Pollie.\nDo you know our niece, Mary, who lives with him?\"\n\n\"I have often seen her,\" said Pollie, \"but I did not guess she was your\nniece!\"\n\n\"Here is a note to her to ask her to persuade your father to let you\njoin her class. You would like that, Pollie?\"\n\nPollie's eyes glistened. \"Indeed I should,\" she answered earnestly.\n\n\nSo it came to pass that before another week was out, Miss Mary Loveday,\nthe vicar's niece, came up to the mill, and made acquaintance with\nPollie, and obtained permission for Pollie to attend her class. And\nthere sprang up between them a strong attachment, which bid fair to be\nlifelong.\n\nThus, Pollie began her new life. She had written to her father to\ntell him about that wonderful Thursday, and the first time he had the\nopportunity, he invited her to drive to market with him.\n\n\"So Pollie,\" he said, when the horse was well on its way, and they had\nleft the village behind, \"so you've come home a different girl!\"\n\n\"Yes, father,\" said Pollie, with her usual straightforward candour.\n\n\"It's a solemn thing to take His name upon us,\" said her father. \"It\nneeds watching as well as praying, Pollie!\"\n\nPollie had not thought of that exactly.\n\n\"How do you mean, father?\"\n\n\"Why you see 'tis like this, Pollie,\" said the miller, \"we read a\ngoodish bit about soldiers and armour and fighting and watching in the\nBible, and many of us would as lief as not put on a sword and a helmet\nand a drum and march along to battle!\"\n\nPollie laughed a soft little laugh at her father's quaint way, in which\nhe often lodged a thought in his children's hearts, which would not\nhave got in perhaps in a long sermon.\n\n\"And if Apollyon were to come to meet us, we should be very brave with\nour drum, and try to frighten him off, or fetch him a cut with our\nsword, and think to demolish him at a blow, eh, Pollie?\"\n\n\"I don't suppose the 'drum' would do much good,\" she answered smiling.\n\n\"No; nor do I,\" said her father, smiling too. \"But the fact is, Pollie,\nApollyon doesn't come stalking along the road with fire coming out of\nhis mouth! And the battle isn't out of doors on a wide plain, or even\nin a dark valley! It's at home, my child, in the mill and in the school\nand in the market, we have to face our foes. They come to some of us\nthe first thing in the morning with\u2014\n\n\"'Pollie, mind you clear out \"all\" the ashes from the kitchen grate,'\nor 'Pollie, where's my hammer that you had last night?'\"\n\nPollie's head went down; how true that sounded; how like that very\nmorning!\n\n\"Or the battle-field may come to some of us like this\u2014it may come in\nthoughts of worry, in cares for the future, in fretting over the low\nprice flour fetches\u2014half a dozen things\u2014all invisible foes, but as bad\nas Apollyon nevertheless.\n\n\"Or it may come to Jim in his sister's voice like this: 'Jim!' (sharp\nas a nettle sting) 'Jim! You haven't washed your hands for breakfast!\nJim! You said you'd take that note to Miss Loveday, and you haven't!'\"\n\n\"Oh, father!\" said Pollie in a low distressed tone.\n\n\"'Tisn't that I want to grieve you, my little girl,\" continued her\nfather kindly, \"but I want you and myself to remember that Satan is\nvery strong and very watchful, and we are very weak and very careless.\nLet us watch as well as pray, Pollie; let us 'stand fast in the Lord,\nand in the power of \"His\" might.'\"\n\n\"I will try to remember,\" said Pollie humbly.\n\n\"Your greatest enemy is your not being willing to submit to your\nmother, my child. Apollyon meets you every day there!\"\n\nPollie knew that that was true, and her father's words had been so\ntender that even her proud little spirit did not take offence.\n\nIt was hard work to settle in to the homely duties of the mill after\nher gay, easy life at Chichester, but now she understood what it was to\nhave strength \"renewed,\" and when she went for it, she received it from\nher Lord and Master.\n\nSo the months rolled on. Occasionally she heard from Clara, but her\nletters were not satisfactory. They still kept their secret from their\nmother, and nothing more had been heard of \"H. F.,\" as Clara still\ncalled Laura's friend.\n\nOf Laura she said very little, but Pollie gathered that she was\nrestless and sorrowful. She thought how such a secret would prey upon\nher own mind, and did not wonder.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\n_POLLIE'S BATTLE-FIELD._\n\n\"YOU'LL have to go down to the stream, and bring up the biggest goose,\nPoll,\" said her mother, wringing up a towel very hard, and throwing it\nin the basket. \"I can't think why you have not done it an hour ago!\"\n\n\"I was busy,\" grumbled Pollie. \"You told me to wash the teacups, and\nsweep the kitchen, and make the beds, and clean the step, and peel the\npotatoes\u2014\"\n\n\"So I did,\" said her mother vexedly; \"and still there would have been\nplenty of time if you hadn't idled away half your morning. I never did\nsee any one so provoking in my life!\"\n\nIf there was one thing Pollie hated to do, it was catching and carrying\nthe struggling, cackling geese when her mother happened to sell any.\nBut even that unpleasant duty had not been the chief reason of her\ndelay that morning.\n\nHer Sunday-school teacher had offered a prize for the greatest number\nof texts found on a certain subject, and she had been searching for\nthem when she was upstairs making the rooms straight. Her conscience\ntold her that she was not doing right, but she had persuaded herself\nthat it could not be wrong to be reading her Bible.\n\nShe sauntered forth now very unwillingly, and made her way over the\nstony path down to the brook.\n\nHer teacher would be pleased, at any rate, she thought, even if her\nmother was not. And her teacher was more important than mother. Miss\nLoveday always spoke gently, and never seemed to have any difficulties.\nShe couldn't have rooms to sweep, or tiresome geese to catch.\n\nPollie had a long chase, and a hard struggle with the strong bird\nbefore she turned homewards. And just as she was battling up the hill,\nwith the wind nearly blowing her down, and the geese making a hubbub\naround her, who should cross her path but Miss Loveday herself, walking\nslowly along.\n\n\"Why, Pollie!\" she said.\n\nPollie held on to her charge and blushed crimson, thinking of her late\nthoughts.\n\n\"I've done the texts, ma'am,\" she said, after a moment.\n\n\"Already?\"\n\nPolly hung her head, while Miss Loveday added, \"I hope it was not\ninstead of some duty, little Pollie. Girls at home haven't much time\nin the morning, and this is only Monday! To please Jesus, the 'right'\nthing must come before the pleasant thing.\"\n\nWith a gentle smile she passed on, and Pollie pushed up the hill, and\nat length stood before her mother, still holding on to her burden.\n\n\"The geese nearly tore me in pieces,\" she said ungraciously. \"I wish\nJames would have caught it before he let them out this morning; he\nmight just as well!\"\n\n\"What have you been doing upstairs, Pollie?\" was her mother's greeting,\nas she took the heavy bird from her.\n\nNo pity for the wind, no sympathy for her hard struggle and hot climb,\nno thanks for her work, only sharp blame implied in the tone of her\nmother's inquiry!\n\n\"I was making the beds, mother.\"\n\n\"You couldn't take an hour over two beds, and that's how long you were!\"\n\nPolly was silent. She did not wish to explain, and was only anxious to\nget out of the way before any more questions should be asked.\n\n\"Where shall I put the goose, mother?\"\n\n\"In the coop; your father's going to kill it when he comes home to\ndinner. What was it you did while you were upstairs?\"\n\n\"Something for Miss Loveday.\"\n\n\"Instead of your work? Then you will not go to class next Sunday.\"\n\nSharp and unalterable came the blow. Pollie knew that she had lost her\nchance.\n\nFull of passion, she slowly took the goose from her mother, and walked\nout to the empty hen-coop. Then she went back again, and began to clean\nthe knives for dinner with a black frown on her face.\n\nMiss Loveday never had such things as this to bear! Such hard, hard\nthings! She had all things smooth in her life, she was sure!\n\nWhen she thought of Sunday, she felt as if she could not bear it. The\nknives flew along the board, and the brickdust flew about the floor,\nand still Pollie felt stunned with disappointment and anger.\n\n\"What's up?\" said her father's voice in the doorway.\n\n\"Only Poll's doing things for her class, and neglecting her home,\" said\nher mother's voice from the kitchen.\n\n\"I'm sorry for that,\" said her father gravely, \"because Pollie will\nhave to let go the class, if so.\"\n\n\"That's what I told her,\" said her mother.\n\nPollie was going to speak, but her passion sealed her lips. She only\nwent on cleaning faster than ever.\n\nHer mother went upstairs for a clean apron, and Pollie found herself\nalone with her father, who was standing warming his hands at the fire.\n\n\"Mother's so hard on me, father,\" she said bitterly, from her position\nat the knife-board.\n\nThere was no answer, and the girl came to the doorway.\n\n\"It is cruel to keep me away from the class, when I didn't mean to do\nany harm.\"\n\n\"Your mother won't do anything cruel,\" answered her father. \"If you\nhaven't done wrong, she'll not punish you. If you have, it's best to\nfind it out, Pollie, and not be let go on wrong.\"\n\n\"It can't be wrong to search for texts!\"\n\n\"I don't know that! There's many a one that does a lot of God's 'work,'\nand forgets to do His 'will.'\"\n\nHer mother came back at the moment, and Pollie retreated from the\ndoorway and fetched the knives, wiping them carefully and setting them\nround table, that her father, at any rate, might see no fault in her\nperformance of that duty. She did not glance towards her mother, and\nsat in silence for the rest of the dinner.\n\nWhen it was over, she cleared the things into the scullery, and, as was\nher habit, she shut the door and began to wash the dishes.\n\nHer mother's voice rose and fell for a few minutes in the kitchen, and\nthen she heard her father go out, and all was still.\n\nPollie worked away perhaps all the faster that her spirit was so high,\nand soon all was done, and she stood still, undecided as to what she\nshould employ herself upon for the rest of the afternoon.\n\nShe would have gone up to her texts, but this involved passing through\nthe kitchen, and she did not care to face her mother. Besides, what was\nthe use of doing them if she might not go to the class?\n\nThis thought made her almost frantic. She had promised Miss Loveday,\nyes, promised; what could she do now? Slowly her hand was put out\ntowards the kitchen door, and softly she turned the knob, uncertain\nwhat she should say to her mother when she got there, but, at any rate,\nvery certain that she should not ask her forgiveness.\n\nThe kitchen stood empty and bare. No mother, only a clean-swept hearth\nand her mother's workbasket closed and orderly.\n\nPollie was too astonished to know what to do. Generally at this time\nher mother sat there mending those everlasting stockings; and if she\nwere going out, every one knew it.\n\nPollie did not like to follow her mother upstairs, after her temper at\ndinner, so she looked round for occupation, and seeing none that suited\nher, she drew forth her knitting from the cupboard and tried to amuse\nherself with that. She was even glad to hear her brother's step coming\nup the path, and to know that she would not be alone any longer.\n\n\"Where's mother?\" asked James on entering.\n\n\"I don't know. Come here, Jim, and hold something for me.\"\n\n\"What's that?\"\n\n\"My wool. I've been waiting to get this tangle out this half-hour.\"\n\nJim did as he was asked, but added, \"I expect mother's took sick!\"\n\n\"What?\" asked Pollie, putting down the skein.\n\n\"Took sick. She said her heart was bad before I went out after dinner.\"\n\nPollie looked pale and miserable.\n\n\"I wish you'd go up and see after her, Jim,\" she said presently.\n\n\"Why don't you?\"\n\n\"Because I'd rather you did.\"\n\n\"Haven't you seen to her all the afternoon?\" asked James, rather\nseverely, as he put the wool down.\n\nPollie shook her head. She opened the staircase door for him in\nsilence, and then came back to the fire.\n\nHow long his steps seemed going up, and then how long before they were\nheard coming down again!\n\n\"She's bad, Poll,\" he announced abruptly, \"and she don't want anything,\nand you may go out if you like.\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\n_HARD THINGS._\n\nTO go out was exactly what Pollie longed for, but to be sent off, and\nnot to be wanted, was a different thing.\n\nShe put on her hat and hurried out of the house, dashing down the hill\nat hot speed, nor even stopped until she stood breathless outside her\ndear Miss Loveday's gate, where, bending over her flowers, her teacher\nstood all unconscious of her presence.\n\nWhen she looked up, she saw something was wrong.\n\n\"Oh, Miss Loveday, may I come in?\" pleaded Pollie.\n\nMiss Loveday led the way into the back garden, and in a shady corner,\nwhere they were quite alone, Pollie poured out her tale of woe, of how\nangry she had been and was, of how hard her mother had seemed, and now\nthat her mother was sick and did not want her to nurse her.\n\nMiss Loveday listened very patiently and gently till it was all out.\n\"Poor little girlie, Jesus is sorry for you,\" was almost all she said.\n\nPollie was very hard still, her grievances stood out large and bitter,\nand she thought she was quite right to be angry.\n\nAnd then Miss Loveday drew her to her side, and smoothing the\nwind-blown hair with her hand she said softly\u2014\n\n\"Pollie dear, the hardest thing to bear in life is getting ever so\nlittle away from Jesus. Sometimes it is a very small thing that comes\nbetween us and Him, and then it grows very quickly into a big thing!\nLet us go back to Him, and ask Him to forgive us and make us good.\"\n\nPollie hung her head.\n\n\"You don't have hard things, Miss Loveday, I expect,\" she murmured.\n\n\"Do I not, dearie? Did you think that the girl who belongs to the Lord\nJesus, called Pollie Brown, is the only girl who has hard things to\nbear?\"\n\n\"I don't see that anyone else can be so tiresome as I am, nor need so\nmuch scolding, nor have mother so cross!\"\n\n\"Those are your trials just now, Pollie, but I have had hard things\ntoo\u2014if you only knew.\"\n\nPollie did not know enough of the world to understand that each heart\nknows its own bitterness. That trials which seem trifles to one looking\non may be heavy burdens to the weak strength which has to bear them.\n\nBut Miss Loveday understood, and that was why she could give out such\ntrue sympathy.\n\n\"Dear Miss Loveday\u2014but you do not have anyone telling you to do what\nyou do not like, do you?\"\n\n\"I have even had that, in a harder way than you can understand. Would\nit help you to tell you, Pollie?\"\n\n\"Please, dear Miss Loveday,\" she answered, still dwelling on her own\ngrievance, and thinking nobody else's could be as great.\n\n\"Pollie, did you ever hear of any one having some one she loved more\nthan all the world, taken away without a moment's warning, and told\nnever, never to come back?\"\n\nPollie looked up questioningly, but when her eyes met Miss Loveday's,\nshe buried her head in her lap.\n\n\"And then I found out that I had loved him more than Jesus! Some of us\nlove ourselves more than Jesus, and some of us\u2014\"\n\n\"I'll go home now and tell mother I'm sorry,\" whispered Pollie. \"Oh,\nMiss Loveday, I wish I could comfort you!\"\n\n\"You have, dearie. Let us both take heart. He is such a precious\nSaviour!\"\n\nPollie knew her time must be nearly gone. Pressing a passionate kiss on\nher teacher's hand, she hurried homewards, the mill standing out dark\nand gaunt against the sunset sky. She had promised Miss Loveday to beg\nher mother's pardon for her temper at dinner, but though her heart was\nsoftened by the remembrance of a grief which was infinitely greater\nthan her own, yet a hard task was in front of her. And the nearer\nshe got to home, and the steeper the hill got, the harder became the\nstruggle to confess herself in the wrong.\n\nFrom intending to do it the moment she got in, she began to find\nreasons why it would not be a suitable time; and then came reasons for\nputting it off till to-morrow or next week, until the thought presented\nitself that really after all there was very little reason to do it at\nall, only she had promised Miss Loveday.\n\nAt length, she got to the mill door, and by this time she was too out\nof breath to say anything.\n\nJames was sitting at the tea-table, and looked round as she entered.\n\n\"Father's up with mother, and you are to put those clothes to soak\nafter tea, and then mother wants you to mend those stockings.\"\n\n\"I shall take mother's tea up,\" said Pollie, feeling her heart die\nwithin her.\n\nNever before had she received messages like that through her little\nbrother; never before had she been anything but head and chief to do\nanything her mother wanted! Was her mother so angry with her that she\nwould not even see her?\n\n\"Father has taken that up,\" pursued James, \"and so we can begin. I\nthought you would be home to get the tea, Pollie.\"\n\n\"I was busy with Miss Loveday.\"\n\n\"You always are busy with Miss Loveday now; you think about nothing but\nher!\"\n\n\"I'm sure I don't!\"\n\n\"Ever since you began going to her class, you've taken to being fine in\nyour ways, and disagreeable at home.\"\n\n\"That I'm sure is wrong!\" exclaimed Pollie hotly. \"What fine ways have\nI taken up, I should like to know?\"\n\n\"Why, you brush your hair ever so many times a day, and wash your\nhands, too; and you are always wanting me to do the same.\"\n\nPollie tried to laugh, but the conversation was too much in earnest,\nand she went on\u2014\n\n\"Well\u2014there's no harm in that, I should hope.\"\n\nJim thought there was, but he pursued\u2014\n\n\"Then you are cross to mother, and are always thinking of what you can\ndo for Miss Loveday; in fact, you think of her before mother!\"\n\nPollie crimsoned, for she felt that the indictment was true.\n\n\"Well, come to tea,\" she said abruptly.\n\nShe sat down at the table and filled the two cups, the only two which\nwere there. Was father up with mother then, and was she so sick as not\nto be able to be left?\n\nPollie felt utterly miserable. She longed for her father to come\ndownstairs; she longed for James to go to bed; she longed for anything\nwhich should give her relief from her heartache.\n\nAnd all the while the relief was close to her, had she but turned to\nit! \"He is such a precious Saviour,\" Miss Loveday had told her, from\nthe depths of such a sorrowful heart as Pollie could not even dream of.\nAnd yet the girl nursed her own grievance, and forgot to look to Him in\nwhom is comfort and relief for every care, be it large or small.\n\nWhat a long time it seemed before James had finished his lessons!\n\nPollie washed the teacups, and put the washing in to soak; she soaped\nall the clothes in the way her mother liked, and did her work with a\nwill, so that long before she wished it, there was nothing left to do.\n\nWhile she was busy in the scullery, her father came down the little\nstaircase into the kitchen, and went out to do something about the\nmill, and she did not hear him come in again, for the splashing water\ndrowned all other sounds.\n\nAt last, too uneasy to bear it any longer, she took off her shoes, and\npassing through the kitchen, she ascended the few steps to her mother's\nroom, and stood trembling outside her door, but she could not pluck up\nher courage to enter. All was still, except that she thought she could\nhear the occasional turning of the leaves of a book.\n\nSo she crept down again. Surely she had not deserved such punishment at\nthis!\n\n\"Jim, why won't mother let me go and wait on her?\" she asked, as she\nentered the kitchen.\n\n\"I don't know, unless it's your black face,\" said Jim, with a very\nsuperior feeling of having his chance now to pay off a few old scores.\n\n\"Black face?\" asked Pollie, glancing in the little glass which hung by\nthe window, \"I don't see\u2014\"\n\n\"Of course you don't! But I did, at dinner, and so did mother. When\npeople's hearts are bad, they don't want black faces about 'em. I heard\nmother say so!\"\n\nPollie crimsoned, first with shame and then with anger. She clenched\nher hands together with a pressure which positively hurt her. And then,\nafter a moment's bitter struggle, she proudly took her candle and went\nto her little room next to the kitchen where she could be alone, to see\nno one again that night, if she were wanted so little as that.\n\nSuddenly a thought struck her. If her mother would not see her, she\nwould write her a letter.\n\nThat would be a great deal easier than saying it, and it would do just\nas well.\n\nShe hurriedly seized a piece of paper, and tossed off a few words.\nThen, having by this given some vent to her feelings, she sat down\ndejectedly as before, listening for an opportunity to ask her father to\ncarry the note for her. She was sure he would do that!\n\nAnd then she looked out on the quiet moonlight, and as she did so, she\nsaw the spire of the church glittering in the soft beams, and she could\npicture Miss Loveday's eyes resting on the same sight, and could even\nhear again her soft thrilling tones, \"He is such a precious Saviour.\"\n\nShe thought it was all very well for a girl like the Vicar's niece to\nbe able to get on.\n\nPollie thought of her own cousins at Chichester, and even wished\nherself back with them, and in her discontent even began to envy them.\n\nShe liked smooth things; and now, just as she had come home with the\nnew-found joy of her new-found Saviour, to have every day such hard\nthings to face seemed to her inexplicable. She suddenly thought of what\nher father had said about Apollyon meeting her in her-every day life,\nbut she put the thought away with a shudder.\n\nNo, Pollie's heart was hard yet. She only looked at the moon, and\nthought of her friend down in the valley, but as yet she refused to\nhear the voice of her best Friend, One who sticketh closer than a\nbrother, who would surely have aided her if she had turned to Him.\n\nThe old-fashioned clock which stood in the kitchen struck the hours one\nafter another, and the candle burned down to half its size. So Pollie\nput it out and got into bed by the moonlight.\n\n\nAfter some time, she heard James go up to his little cupboard of a room\nover hers; she heard her father go round with his swinging lantern to\nshut up the mill for the night. She heard him rake open the fire, and\nthen clink a cup and saucer; she heard him stir something for ever so\nlong, and then go up to her mother with the cup and saucer. She heard\nhim talking in a low tone, and then he came down again and shut the\nkitchen door, and all was still.\n\nWhat could have happened? Surely that was ten o'clock striking, and her\nhard-working father was invariably in bed by that time.\n\nThe sense of desolation grew unbearable. Several times she had\ndetermined to speak to her father, but now she could stand it no\nlonger. Hastily lighting her candle, and taking her letter in her hand,\nshe stepped noiselessly to the door opening into the kitchen, and\npeeped into the dim fire-lighted room with beating heart.\n\nThere sat her father, fast asleep, with his arm resting on the large\nBible.\n\nPollie did not know what to do. All at once, she felt ashamed of that\nhasty, passionate apology which she had written.\n\nWould her father think it worth taking to her mother? \"Was\" it worth\ntaking?\n\nShe hurriedly put it on the glowing embers, and then stood waiting and\ntrembling till her father should stir.\n\nAt length the candle flickered in its socket, and he woke with a start\nto find his little daughter crouching by the fire wrapped in a big\nshawl.\n\n\"Why, Pollie,\" he said, \"I thought you were in bed.\"\n\n\"So I was, father, but I could not sleep. How is mother now?\"\n\n\"She's a bit easier, I hope.\"\n\n\"Why are you sitting up then, father?\"\n\n\"I was waiting to give her her medicine at eleven o'clock. I was afraid\nif I got to bed, I might oversleep myself.\"\n\n\"Father, why did not mother want me to wait on her?\" asked Pollie,\nhesitating, while her cheeks burned.\n\n\"Mother was too poorly to be worried, Pollie. I've been very anxious\nabout her. I saw that you hadn't come round to be a right down good\ngirl, and so thought you'd better keep out of her room.\"\n\nPollie was silent. Was she \"a right down good girl\" now? She hardly\nknew.\n\n\"Go to bed now, my dear, and ask God to help you. He can soften hard\nhearts when we can't ourselves.\"\n\nPollie hurriedly kissed him, and went back to her room. She thought she\nwould kneel down and do as her father advised, but how cold she was,\nand of how little use it could be to be sorry if she might not go to\nher mother even if she were.\n\nSo she crept into bed, sad at heart, and only longed for the morning,\nwhen the bright sunshine should perhaps help to banish the clouds of\nvexation which hovered over her spirit.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\n_SUBMISSION._\n\nTHE morning sun streamed into Pollie's room, and her eyes opened to it\nwith a sense of relief. But soon came back the dull ache of yesterday's\nwrong feelings, and she wondered if to-day could possibly be as unhappy\nas that had been.\n\nShe heard her father moving about in the kitchen, and in another\nmoment, he put his head in at the door.\n\n\"Get up now, Pollie, and light the fire, while I go to see to the mill.\nYour mother's a bit better, I hope, to-day.\"\n\nHe went, and Pollie hastened to dress herself. She lighted the fire,\nfilled the kettle at the well, and then set the breakfast; after which\nshe called James, and then when her father came in, she asked if she\nmight take up her mother's breakfast.\n\nHer father hesitated, glanced at her intently, and then gave her\npermission.\n\nSo Pollie poured out the tea, and slowly began to mount the stairs.\n\nHere was her chance, but though she had assured herself last night that\nshe had had none, when it came she was not ready to take it.\n\nShe entered her mother's room, and crept across to her side.\n\n\"I am sorry you are ill, mother,\" she said gently. \"I hope you feel\nbetter now.\"\n\nHer mother looked pale and quiet, but answered pretty cheerfully that\nshe did feel better, and should get up after breakfast.\n\nAnd Pollie, having deposited the little tray, had nothing further to\ndo, and came down again.\n\nYes, she had missed her chance! It would be infinitely harder to meet\nher mother next time, and have to say it then. How could she have been\nso stupid, she thought, not to have done it when she might?\n\n\"You can go down to the village after breakfast with those eggs,\"\nremarked her father, as they sat together. \"There's more than we can\neat, and it's a pity to let them spoil.\"\n\n\"The first thing?\" asked Pollie, with beating heart. Then she should\nperhaps see Miss Loveday, and have to tell her that she had broken her\npromise.\n\n\"Yes, directly; because if your Uncle Brown is going to sell them, he\nwill want them early.\"\n\nSo she started at once with her basket of rich brown and white\ntreasures, and soon her quick steps brought her to the bottom of the\nhill, and in front of the church where her Uncle Brown's shop stood.\n\nShe handed them across the counter with only the number named, and then\nrunning out of the shop, looked up the street to the vicarage, where\nher darling Miss Loveday lived.\n\nYes, there she was, standing at the gate waiting for the postman, and\nPollie came quite close before the quiet eyes turned in her direction.\n\n\"Oh, Miss Loveday!\" she exclaimed. \"I've never done what I promised! I\nsaid I would tell mother, and I haven't.\"\n\nMiss Loveday looked down in her face inquiringly.\n\n\"I couldn't; I did not see her last night, and then this morning I did\nnot feel as if I could. Miss Loveday, why is it so hard to do things?\"\n\n\"Then I am afraid, Pollie dear, you did not ask the Lord Jesus to do\nfor you what you were not willing to do yourself?\"\n\nPollie hung her head. \"I was so vexed I did not care to\u2014\"\n\n\"Poor little girlie,\" said her teacher, with tender sympathy, \"I know\nhow hard it must be. I have gone through it myself lately, so I know.\nBut oh, Pollie, I know one thing too, and that is, that the Lord works\nin us by His Spirit to do the things to please Him, which otherwise we\ncould not do. With God 'nothing' is impossible.\"\n\nHow earnestly she gazed down the road! And what a colour flashed into\nher face as the postman came in view, and trudged into one cottage\ngarden after another.\n\nPollie stood spell-bound, watching him too. Would he pause at Miss\nLoveday's side, and hand her a precious missive? Why had her pale\ncheeks turned to deep crimson? Was the letter she was expecting of such\ngreat importance?\n\nNo! He came up quickly to where they stood, and with a smiling \"None\nfor you, miss,\" passed on.\n\nThe crimson cheeks were pale now. Miss Loveday seemed as if all life\nand hope had gone out of her face.\n\n\"Come into the garden, Pollie,\" said her teacher slowly.\n\nPerhaps she craved human sympathy; perhaps she thought that Pollie's\nown struggling little experience would help her to understand better\nthan anyone at the parsonage.\n\nThey walked quickly through the garden, and Miss Loveday led the way\ndown to the stream which flowed so quietly at the bottom of the hill;\nnor did she stop till they stood close to the water's edge.\n\n\"Pollie,\" she said, catching her breath, \"I have need to remember what\nI have said to you!\"\n\n\"Did you want a letter so much, dear Miss Loveday?\"\n\n\"Oh, Pollie!\" Miss Loveday sat down on a rock and hid her face.\n\n\"Perhaps it will come another day,\" comforted Pollie.\n\n\"I do not think it can. He will have sailed by this time,\" she\nwhispered.\n\nPollie did not know what to answer, for she did not know all that had\ncome and gone. She laid her little trembling hand on her teacher's\nknee, and knelt down by her side in silent sympathy.\n\n\"I will tell you, Pollie, because\u2014oh, because I'm so very, very\nmiserable\u2014because I want to do right, and it is so hard!\n\n\"You know I live with my uncle and aunt? My father left me to their\ncare, to take their advice, to do exactly as they bid me. He made me\npromise that I would obey them as if they were my own parents.\"\n\nPollie pressed her hand softly; she did not dare to interrupt by a word.\n\n\"Then I went on a visit to Devonshire, and while I was there I met\nsomeone who\u2014who wanted me to go out to China with him, to make his home\nhappy there.\"\n\nPollie shrank\u2014Miss Loveday going away! But how selfish of her to think\nof herself! It was evident Miss Loveday wanted to go, and that she\nthought it would make her happy.\n\n\"When I came back from Devonshire I told my uncle and aunt, and they\nsaid they would make inquiries about\u2014my friend\u2014Harry Fulbert.\n\n\"When the answer came to their letter, I thought my heart would break.\nMy uncle forbade me to speak to him again. I was to write to him once\nand say so, and that was all.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" said Polka with filling eyes. \"How dreadful! Did you have to?\"\n\n\"For days and days I could not\u2014I would not. I felt sure my own father\nand mother would not have done such a thing, and my heart was all in a\ntumult, and I felt dreadfully angry that my uncle and aunt could be so\ncruel.\n\n\"I would not speak to them about it, I felt so bad. And so it went on\nfor nearly a week.\n\n\"At last came Sunday, when we had those words in our lesson (do you\nremember them, Pollie?): 'If ye do not forgive, neither will your\nFather which is in heaven forgive your trespasses'; and I thought how\ncould I prepare to give you girls that lesson, if I could not say the\nwords from my heart myself?\n\n\"Oh, Pollie, it was dreadful. At last I thought, as I have told you,\nthat what I could not do of myself God could enable me to do, and I\nknelt down and asked Him to help me to submit to His will, and to feel\nrightly towards my uncle and aunt.\n\n\"Then, Pollie, I went down to them, and I told them how wrong I had\nbeen to be so angry; and then I asked them why it was I might not see\nHarry, and begged them to let me do so.\n\n\"Then, Pollie, they told me that they had heard, on authority which\nthey could not question, that Harry was not good and steady, and told\nme that I must have nothing to do with him. I cannot tell you all, but\nat last I had to let him go; they would not give way, and I dare not\ndisobey; and that is the end of it!\"\n\nPollie listened intently, her eyes gazing in the sad ones which, like a\ndumb suffering animal's, sought her sympathy.\n\nAt last she said shyly:\n\n\"'Did' God help you to do His will?\"\n\nThere was an instant's breathless pause. Then Miss Loveday's head sank\nlower, and she said brokenly, \"There was nothing else to do; I dare not\ndisobey.\"\n\n\"Then I suppose it must have been,\" added Pollie reverently.\n\n\"And if it was His will\u2014you think I ought to be glad to do it, Pollie?\"\n\nPollie was sobbing now. Miss Loveday opened her arms, and they cried\ntogether for ever so long.\n\nAt last, Miss Loveday wiped away her tears, and began to prepare\nherself to go back to the house.\n\n\"I'll never forget\u2014never,\" said Pollie, clinging to her; \"and I'll pray\nevery day that God will let him come back!\"\n\n\"There 'must' be some mistake, Pollie, or I ought not to wish it, of\ncourse. But I am sure\u2014so very sure\u2014that he loves my Saviour, and wishes\nto serve Him.\"\n\n\"I will pray,\" whispered Pollie brokenly, and then she sped home, her\nanger all gone, nothing but love left in her heart which had been so\nhard.\n\n\"Oh, mother!\" was all she could say when she found her sitting in the\nkitchen. And then she found kisses of forgiveness pressed on her face,\nand arms of forgiveness clasping her round.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\n_TELLING FATHER._\n\nTHAT night, Pollie's mother went to bed early, and after her father had\nfinished his work, he came in and settled down by the fire.\n\nHow different Pollie felt now that she was what her father called \"a\nright down good girl.\"\n\nJim was upstairs reading to their mother, so she took her knitting and\nsat thinking of Miss Loveday.\n\nSuddenly she looked up.\n\n\"Father!\" she exclaimed.\n\n\"Well?\" he asked.\n\n\"Father! Isn't it Devonshire where grandmother lives?\"\n\n\"Why surely!\" said father, smiling. \"What's made you think of that?\"\n\n\"I was wondering who you knew there.\"\n\n\"Why do you ask?\"\n\n\"Father\u2014\" Pollie paused. \"I don't want to tell anything I ought not,\nbut I have somebody's secret that makes me very sad, and I wanted to\nknow if you knew somebody there very particularly. But I can trust you,\nfather.\"\n\n\"You may, my dear; and if I can do anybody any good, you can tell me.\"\n\n\"Do you know anybody of the name of Harry Fulbert, father?\"\n\n\"Devonshire's a large place, but I do happen to know some one of that\nname there too.\"\n\n\"Do you, father?\" asked Pollie, with her heart beating fast.\n\n\"And the funny thing is I know two of 'em, Pollie, as far asunder as\nthe poles though they are.\"\n\n\"Two of them! How?\"\n\n\"First cousins of the same name. A stupid thing, as I take it, to name\n'em alike, but they do tell that neither of the sisters knew what the\nother was doing till they were named, and then 'twas no use cryin' over\nspilt milk! One of 'em is as good as gold, and the other, sad to say,\nis not worth a brass farthin'!\"\n\n\"Where does the good one live, father?\" asked Pollie, almost\nbreathlessly.\n\n\"His 'mother' lives at Exeter. He comes home to see her now and again,\nbut I believe he lives in foreign parts somewhere.\"\n\n\"And the bad one, father?\" Pollie's voice was almost faint with\nanxiety. Which was the one who was a friend to her dear Miss Loveday?\n\n\"The other knocks about everywhere. He has plenty of money, and travels\na great deal, but I would be sorry for any one 'I' loved to have much\nto do with him. Why do you ask me, Pollie?\"\n\n\"Father, I hope\u2014oh, I hope I am not wrong to tell you, but could you\nfind out for me? It is Miss Loveday, father; and he has gone out to\nChina to-day, and Miss Loveday is so sad because\u2014.\" And then Pollie\ntold her father as much as she knew herself, and begged him to help her\nfind out all about it.\n\n\"I told her I would pray, and I have. But I never guessed the answer\nmight come so soon, nor that perhaps I might bring it to Miss Loveday.\nOh, father, do you think God will let me?\"\n\n\"That I can't tell, my dear, but this I do know, it says, 'Commit thy\nway unto the Lord, trust also in Him, and He will bring it to pass.'\"\n\nPollie could hardly sleep that night for thinking of what she ought to\ndo about Miss Loveday. Her father had advised her to \"commit her way\nunto the Lord,\" and she did, but what was the next step?\n\nDare she go to the vicar and ask him if there were some mistake? Would\nhe tell her she was an impertinent girl?\n\nIf it were \"right\" to go, she would dare even that. But \"was\" it right?\nWhat if Miss Loveday's friend should not turn out to be the true gold?\n\nSo she tossed till morning, and no light came. She got up early and\nbusied herself in her duties at the mill, but still no light came.\n\nHer mother was not very well, and Pollie had all the cooking to do,\nand the bread to make. Her father was off early to the market with his\nsacks of flour, and would not be in till afternoon. She thought and\nthought, but could come to no decision.\n\nAt last, just as she had washed up the dinner-plates, and was going up\nto fetch her mother to the tidy kitchen, a thought came which comforted\nher: \"'Trust also in Him; and He will bring it to pass!'\"\n\n\"I've been worrying and not trusting,\" she said to herself.\n\nAnd when she had placed her mother comfortably, and brought her\nworkbasket, she went into her little room and knelt down in silence by\nthe bedside.\n\nThen she took her knitting, and sat down on the doorstep to watch for\nher father.\n\nBefore long, she saw a girl making her way up the steep hill, and as\nshe came nearer, she found it was one of the maids from the vicarage.\n\nHer heart beat fast, and she jumped up and stood waiting, hardly liking\nto run and meet her; and yet\u2014\n\n\"Pollie!\" said the maid eagerly. \"My Miss Mary is very poorly, and she\nwants to see you, and I was coming all the morning, but I was too busy.\nCan you run down to see her now?\"\n\nSo, in less than half an hour, Pollie stood at her bedside, finding it\ndifficult to repress her eagerness. Miss Loveday put out her hand and\ndrew her down to kiss her, and began at once\u2014\n\n\"Pollie, I wanted to tell you\u2014Yesterday I thought it was harder than\nI could bear. I felt forsaken, as if I never could get over it. But\nto-day\u2014\"\n\n\"To-day?\" echoed Pollie, with her heart in her eyes. \"Has it come\nright? Oh, Miss Loveday!\"\n\n\"Right so far as this,\" answered her teacher gently, \"that I have\ntrusted it all to my Lord, and left it with Him to do as He likes.\"\n\nPollie's lips parted to speak, but the heavenly look in Miss Loveday's\nface stopped her. She knelt down by the bed, and covered her friend's\nlittle white hand with kisses.\n\n\"Dear Miss Loveday, I may pray that it may all come right, mayn't I?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, dear but\u2014indeed I want to do His will\u2014not mine.\"\n\nPollie was silent. How could she break her news? And yet all the way\ndown the hill, she had been sure that it would be right for her to tell\nMiss Loveday herself all about it.\n\n\"Father knows Devonshire,\" she said very softly; \"he knows people\nthere.\"\n\n\"Does he, dear? Why do you tell me that?\" asked Miss Loveday, looking\nat her.\n\n\"Father said he knew two people called that name. I thought you would\nnot mind, because father is perfectly safe, and he was so sorry.\"\n\nAnd then Pollie told her all she had heard, and Miss Loveday's pale\nface brightened into a flush of hope.\n\n\"I know he's the golden gold!\" she whispered. \"And God has sent you,\nPollie, to show my uncle that there is some mistake. Oh, I am so glad\nthat I wanted God's will better than my own, for He gives abundantly,\nPollie!\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\n_HOPE._\n\nBUT though the first thought had been that the Harry Fulbert she knew\nwas golden gold, the second came with terrible desolation.\n\nToo late! It was too late now! That letter, so hard to write, had gone\non its way, and ere this Harry would have started for China, with his\nhopes crushed and his heart sore.\n\nMiss Loveday tried to recall what she had said as she had sat that\nevening, three days ago, doing her uncle's bidding.\n\n\"If I were to disobey those whom my father told me to obey, I should\nnever have a happy moment, nor could I look for God's blessing; and\nwhat would life be without God's blessing, Harry?\" she had said.\n\nShe could hardly remember the words; it seemed months ago, instead of\ndays. But at any rate, she was sure that they had not conveyed one word\nof hope!\n\nHope! As she lay on her bed with these thoughts chasing each other\nthrough her mind, it seemed as if there were some soothing balm being\napplied to her aching wounds.\n\n\"Hope thou in God!\"\n\nYes, she had! She had hoped in God when things had been at their very\ndarkest, when no ray of light had come, or seemed as if it could come;\nand now she would praise Him, who would not allow His child to be\ntempted above that she was able to bear.\n\nPollie had sat very still; she had waited till the closed eyes should\nopen, and the contracted forehead grow smooth, like her own dear Miss\nLoveday.\n\n\"Pollie,\" said her teacher gently, \"will you go down now and tell my\nuncle what you have found out for me?\"\n\nPollie crimsoned, but rose to her feet instantly. If there were one\nperson in the world she was afraid of, it was the vicar.\n\n\"Am I asking too much?\" said Miss Loveday.\n\n\"No, no; I will do it,\" exclaimed Pollie. \"But where shall I find him,\nand what\u2014\"\n\nHer hand was already on the door.\n\n\"He will be coming in to tea very soon; go down and wait for him in the\nstudy. Ask one of the maids to take you there. I would rather my uncle\nheard it from you, Pollie!\"\n\nWith one look at the dear face she loved so well, Pollie, with beating\nheart, sped on her errand.\n\nShe reached the hall and looked around. There were the pretty ferns and\npalms, making the hall look like fairyland; the stained glass doors,\nthe drooping curtains, the carpeted floor, all joined in making Pollie\nfeel strange and shy.\n\nWhere were the servants? She could hear a murmur of voices and the\nsound of teacups, but how could she dare to pass through one of those\nclosed doors?\n\nAt length a bell sounded. The fact was, Miss Loveday had guessed her\nplight, and had rung for her maid so that she might insure Pollie's\nsafe conduct to the study.\n\nSuddenly one of the glass doors was pushed open, and the servant who\nhad fetched her from the mill came forward.\n\n\"Why, Pollie,\" she said, \"can't you find your way out?\"\n\nThen Pollie, with many blushes, explained that she had a message to the\nvicar, and was forthwith shewn into the study to wait his arrival.\n\nThe maid fidgeted round the room, looking at Pollie several times\nuncertainly, which increased Pollie's discomfort tenfold. She looked up\nin her face enquiringly, waiting for her to speak.\n\nAt last she said, \"Hadn't you better come and sit in the kitchen till\nmaster comes in?\"\n\n\"I don't mind,\" answered Pollie, \"only Miss Loveday said I was to go to\nthe study\u2014\"\n\n\"Master is very particular, and perhaps he won't like to find anyone\nhere,\" objected the maid, who, it must be confessed, was somewhat\njealous of Miss Loveday's evident partiality for her pupil at the Mill.\n\nPollie felt very uncomfortable, and though she had a dim perception of\nthe state of the case, she was so disconcerted that she would fain have\nrun home to escape from her difficulties.\n\nBut then, what would become of her important errand?\n\nAt length she said bravely, \"If you don't think he'll like it, I'll go\nup and ask Miss Loveday! Shall I?\"\n\n\"Oh no,\" said the maid carelessly; \"I daresay it doesn't matter. Stay\nwhere you are.\"\n\nShe went back to the kitchen to her tea, and Pollie was left alone.\n\nShe waited in the darkening study till her heart was faint within her.\nShe had had time to grow hot and cold three or four times over before\nthe vicar came.\n\nBut at last, a thought quieted her, and, like Hannah of old, \"her\ncountenance was no more sad.\"\n\n\"If God has this in charge, why am I so worried and fearful?\" was the\nthought.\n\nAnd so when the vicar really did come, with his grave, dignified\npresence, Pollie told her story as sweetly and clearly as her friend\nupstairs could have wished.\n\n\"Don't you think he 'may' be the true golden gold?\" she asked, looking\nup in the vicar's face as he bid her farewell.\n\n\"I hope so, my little girl,\" he said heartily; \"and it shall be my\nbusiness to find that out at once. But, Pollie\u2014\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"You would not wish your dear Miss Mary to love any one who was not\ngood?\"\n\n\"Oh no, sir! Nor would she\u2014\"\n\n\"No, no; I am sure of that. She and you may trust me to do the very\nbest for her. Is she not God's child, as well as my brother's?\"\n\nHe said the last words almost to himself, and Pollie, hearing them,\nwent away comforted.\n\n\nShe ran homewards breathlessly. What would her mother think of her\nabsence?\n\nShe had left home that afternoon assuring her mother she should only\nrun down to the Vicarage and back again. She had had no idea of being\ndetained, and was afraid her mother would be vexed with her.\n\nJust as she reached the corner of the village street, she recognized\nher father's cart, making its way round the road to the back of the\nmill.\n\n\"Oh, father, stop!\" she called. \"I want to get in!\"\n\n\"Eh, Pollie! Bless you, child; what do you want out so late?\"\n\nThen Pollie told him, glad to pour out all her news into such kind,\nsympathising ears.\n\n\"I'd not like you to keep anything from your mother,\" he said; \"you had\nbetter tell it all to her when James is not by.\"\n\n\"Yes, father,\" said Pollie slowly.\n\n\"Mothers are good friends,\" said her father.\n\nHow she wished that he had been willing to let the secret be between\nher and himself!\n\nBut that was not her father's way. Once before Pollie had hoped her\nfather would not tell her mother something, but she soon found her\nmother knew all about it.\n\n\"Mother's as safe to trust as I am,\" he said then, \"and I never keep\nanything from her, nor she from me. It's a safe rule, Pollie, and a\nhappy one.\"\n\nThey jogged along in silence for a few minutes. The hill was stiff, and\nher father got out to walk.\n\nWhen he drew up at the door, and came to lift her down, he said\nsoberly, \"There is such a text as 'Honour thy father and thy \"mother,\"'\nPollie; we must not forget that!\"\n\n\"Why, my dear!\" exclaimed her mother when she got in. \"I've sent Jim\ndown the field-path to meet you!\"\n\n\"I've come up with father; he's putting up the horse. Mother, I waited\nto speak to the vicar, and I'll tell you all about it! Only\u2014mother, I\ndo believe I never was so hungry in all my life!\"\n\n\"Well, here's tea,\" smiled her mother comfortably, \"and while you eat\nit, you can tell me!\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThrough a mistake at the Post Office, Harry Fulbert only got that\nletter at his London hotel the very day he was to sail for China.\n\nTo go? Impossible!\n\nTo stay? Equally impossible!\n\nThose were his first and second thoughts. Then slowly he turned and\nlooked round the room.\n\nAlmost everything was packed; his cases had gone on board the P. and O.\nboat three days ago; his portmanteau lay open at his feet; nothing but\na few last purchases had to be made.\n\nHis passage in that special boat had long been taken, his friends would\nturn up at the appointed time at Tilbury to wave him good-bye. He had\nparted from his mother\u2014how could he alter now?\n\nHe stood with his elbow on the mantelshelf, looking at Mary's picture,\nand then suddenly, he walked over to the door, and turned the key in\nthe lock; and then, with another sudden movement, he threw himself on\nhis knees, and buried his head on his arms.\n\nWas he the true golden gold after all?\n\nWas he only giving way to his overwhelming disappointment? Or was he\nasking his best Counsellor what he was to do in this sore crisis?\n\nWhen he arose from his knees, he looked round once more. He put away\nthe photograph, locked his portmanteau, took up his hat and went out.\n\nIn another half-hour he was standing at the counter of the office of\nthe P. and O., anxiously asking, if there were any way of getting out\nof going.\n\n\"I refused a gentleman, a Mr. Strong, this very morning,\" said the\nagent. \"Every berth is filled up, and now it will probably be too late\nfor him.\"\n\nHarry Fulbert asked eagerly if the agent knew the gentleman's address,\nand upon its being produced, the cab was once more set going, and Harry\nfound himself stopping at a mansion at the West End.\n\nA few words of explanation introduced him to the would-be traveller,\nwhom he found in the midst of his luggage, having just returned from\nhis fruitless errand to the City.\n\nMr. Strong acknowledged he was anxious to exchange his berth, taken in\nthe next boat, for one in Harry's, but the agent had assured him it was\ntoo late now to arrange anything.\n\n\"But your luggage?\" said Mr. Strong, when in a few hurried words they\nhad canvassed the whole subject, and arranged for an exchange of\ntickets.\n\nHarry laughed.\n\n\"That I can do without till I follow it! I cannot tell you what a load\nis taken from my heart!\"\n\nAnd the gentleman shook his hand warmly with a genial smile.\n\n\"I expect you are as glad to stay as I to go!\"\n\nHarry was so overjoyed at the release, that it carried him over his\nsurprise and grief at Mary's letter. Now he would have the opportunity\nto go back to her, and find out what she could mean by those few\nhurried sentences, in which she had told him that she must give him up.\n\nJust now he was only anxious to enable his new friend to catch the\nboat. There was little enough time, but he kept his cab while the last\nfew things were collected, and before long they were rolling together\nto Fenchurch Street, \"en route\" for Tilbury, the gentleman to start\non his long journey, and Harry to meet his friends and tell them that\nunexpected and pressing business detained him in England.\n\nAs to Mary's letter he would not think of that! There must be some\nmistake!\n\nSo while Pollie was waiting with beating heart in the vicar's study to\ntell her tale, Harry was paying his bill at the hotel, and taking his\nticket at the Great Western station to a country village sixty miles\nfrom London.\n\nLittle did she think that the threads which seemed in such a hopeless\ntangle were held in Hands which knew the end of every one of them; nor\nhow surely out of the confusion was coming His perfect will for those\nwho trusted Him so fully.\n\nLittle did Pollie think as she sat telling her mother all about it,\nreceiving her sympathy and finding it more comforting than she had\nexpected, that the subject of their thoughts was even now drawing\nnearer and nearer to that moonlit village, as fast as the train could\nbring him.\n\n\"Mother, you are 'very' kind,\" said Pollie gratefully, as she wished\nher good-night. How glad she felt now that she had \"honoured\" her\nmother from her heart, and not only obeyed \"in the letter.\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\n_OFF TO LONDON._\n\n\"WHERE is uncle going?\" exclaimed Mary Loveday the next morning, as she\nand her aunt sat in the vicarage dining-room after breakfast.\n\n\"Up to the mill, Mary.\"\n\n\"Oh, auntie, how kind of him, so early!\"\n\n\"We were young ourselves once, Mary,\" she said; \"and besides\u2014\"\n\nMary had been very brave, but at the kind tone she broke down. She had\nno mother into whose arms she might throw herself, and sob out her\ngrief. Perhaps her aunt felt that, for she came over to her, and put\nher arm round her shoulders.\n\n\"It will surely come right in the end, if we trust it to God, Mary,\"\nshe said gently, \"but this suspense is a sore trial for you.\"\n\n\"It is not exactly suspense,\" said Mary brokenly \"because\u2014except for\nGod having it in hand\u2014it is too late. My letter must have reached him\nbefore he sailed yesterday, and he has sent me no answer.\"\n\nHer aunt was silent. It was a great perplexity, and gave her more\nheartache than she liked to acknowledge.\n\nBut Mary raised her head.\n\n\"Aunt, I'm not going to think how hopeless it is. Pollie said, 'It\ncouldn't happen without God's will,' and that is true. I am not going\nto grieve any more.\"\n\nShe was walking by faith, and not by sight. She had hold of her\nFather's hand, and knew that, come rain or shine, she was being led \"by\nthe right way.\"\n\nWould she be able to thank Him by-and-by for even this dark bit?\n\nIn an hour the vicar returned, and he came at once to where his wife\nand Mary were sitting working.\n\n\"I'm going to London,\" he said, \"by the two o'clock train. And if you\nare well enough, Mary, I am going to take you for the little jaunt with\nme, to give you a change.\"\n\n\"I? Oh, uncle!\"\n\n\"Yes, you! And I thought there was another little body that would be\npleased to go to London, so I've done a bold thing, my dear,\" turning\nto his wife. \"I've asked Mary at the mill to bear our Mary company for\ntwo days. I like that girl! She's as true as steel\u2014or what is it, Mary?\nSomething better than steel, eh?\"\n\n\"Asked Mary at the mill?\" echoed Mrs. Loveday, astonished. \"Did her\nfather like her to go?\"\n\n\"Yes, to be sure, he did! Why not? It was her mother who hesitated, but\nI think that was about a hat or something.\"\n\n\"'Just let her put on what she comes to church in on Sundays,' I said,\n'and she will be all right. She is always neat, and what do you want\nmore?'\"\n\n\"Where will she meet us, uncle?\" asked Mary. \"Will she come here, or go\nto the station?\"\n\n\"Yes, come here at half-past one. I said I would drive you both in the\ntrap.\"\n\nSo Mary ran up to make her few preparations, and then, till lunch\nshould be ready, she went out into the garden, glad to be quiet for a\nfew minutes. What did her uncle mean by this sudden journey to London?\nAnd how could it be of any use if Harry had already sailed?\n\nWhile Pollie was turning over her drawers at the mill, trembling with\nexcitement, and wondering whether her things would be good enough to\ndo honour to her dear Miss Mary, Mary herself, ready for her journey,\nstood looking into the stream at the bottom of her uncle's garden, and\nwondering what her journey to London would bring forth.\n\nShe had longed to be alone that she might recollect once more that she\nhad given all up into her Lord's hands, and was going patiently to wait\ntill He should do His will.\n\nHow still the water was. How silently it flowed on and on; how clear\nits depths; how bright its reflections when it caught the sunlight.\n\nMary was fond of turning to-day's sights and sounds into little lessons\nof love set by her heavenly master, so she thought now that she would\nwish to be as the stream, deep and still in the shade, and bright and\npraise-giving in the sunshine.\n\n\"I want to 'please' Jesus,\" she said, with a happy smile, turning away\nnow she had had a glimpse, by faith, of her Saviour, \"and He knows\nthat!\"\n\nPeople often wondered why Miss Loveday had such an influence among her\nclass of girls.\n\nBut some one had once said to her, \"Never be satisfied in the day till\nyou have seen Jesus!\" and this was her secret.\n\nSo if a cloud arose, she tried to have a moment's quiet to get a\nsight of her Saviour, and having had that sight, she went on her way\nrejoicing.\n\nSo she turned from the stream and left its singing waters behind, with\ntheir shadows and sunshine, and made her way back to the house, ready\nto enliven her aunt, or meet Pollie, or do anything happily that came\nto hand.\n\n\nMeanwhile Pollie was wishing her mother good-bye at the mill, and\nfeeling as if, even for two days' absence, the parting was harder\nthan she could bear. She tried to say everything, and ended in saying\nnothing. She wanted to tell her mother that she was sorry she had been\nso tiresome lately, but the words stuck in her throat and made a sort\nof ball there. She wanted to beg Jim to do everything for her mother,\neven better than she had, but instead she only got out the words,\n\"Don't forget to water my plants!\"\n\nAnd then she found herself running down the field-path as if she were\npursued, with her eyes so blinded that she nearly went headlong in her\nbest clothes.\n\nAt last she paused at the stile at the bottom, and just as she was\ngoing to spring over it, she met the vicarage maid hurrying up.\n\n\"Pollie,\" she exclaimed, \"Miss Mary wants to see you!\"\n\n\"Why, I was coming!\" said Pollie, surprised. \"It isn't late, is it?\"\n\n\"No\u2014not late, only\u2014\"\n\nPollie had swallowed her tears. The maid did not explain, but seemed in\na great hurry to get back, so Pollie followed her in silence, inwardly\nwondering why Miss Loveday had sent to meet her, but concluding it\nmight be because she feared that she might be late for the train.\n\nAt the vicarage gate the trap was already standing waiting. Was she\nlate after all?\n\nAs they entered the hall door, Mary ran out from the drawing-room\nand took Pollie by both hands, drawing her into the dining-room and\nshutting the door.\n\n\"Pollie!\" she said. \"Shall you be dreadfully disappointed if we do not\ngo to London after all?\"\n\n\"Why, no, dear Miss Loveday, if you would rather not!\"\n\n\"Uncle says you and I shall go another time, if possible,\" she said\nhurriedly, \"but such a strange thing has happened, Pollie! He's come\u2014\"\n\nPollie was just going to ask who, but something in Miss Loveday's face\nmade it unnecessary.\n\n\"Harry?\" she asked, and then crimsoned at her familiarity. \"Mr.\nFulbert\u2014I mean?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nMary sat down, still holding her little friend's hands; and then she\ndisengaged one, and stroked the glowing cheeks softly, while she said,\nas if she could say nothing else, \"How nice you look, dear! And how\nkind of your mother to spare you! I cannot bear that you should not\ngo\u2014and yet\u2014\"\n\n\"I do not mind a bit\u2014not a bit, if you are glad, Miss Loveday!\"\n\nMary paused for a moment, and then she said, looking down and speaking\nsoftly, \"It has been so wonderful, Pollie, that I can hardly believe\nit. But you have been such a dear little friend to me that I should\nlike to tell you all about it.\"\n\nShe took off Pollie's hat and gloves, she folded her necktie, but still\nshe did not seem as if she could begin.\n\nAt length she said, in a low tone, \"I went down to the stream this\nmorning to have a little quiet time alone. I wanted to tell God all\nabout it, Pollie\u2014to ask Him to take every bit of anxiety away about all\nthis, and to take charge of everything for us, so that we might know\nthat He had it in hand.\n\n\"While I was there, and while my uncle was finishing up a few things\nbefore he started, a stranger came to the door and asked for him, and\nsent in his card\u2014Mr. Filbert.\n\n\"Yes, Pollie, it was Harry! He did not get my letter till he was just\nstarting for China, and then he could not bear to go. And I do not\nknow yet how he managed it all, but he found somebody to exchange his\npassage, and the gentleman went to China instead of him, and he came\nhere!\"\n\n\"Oh, Miss Loveday!\" exclaimed Pollie, with her face glowing. \"And is\nhe\u2014is he the true golden gold?\"\n\n\"How could you think anything else, Pollie? I 'knew' he was!\"\n\n\"And will Mr. Loveday allow it now?\" asked Pollie longingly.\n\n\"Harry does not wish it to be settled till he has sent for his mother,\nbut my uncle is perfectly satisfied. He said, Pollie, that he knew 'the\ntrue ring' when he heard it.\"\n\nPollie did not know what \"the true ring\" meant; and before she could\nask, Miss Loveday had risen.\n\n\"Harry is talking to my aunt, and I must go and put on my hat. He is\ngoing back by our train, Pollie, to meet his mother in London. He will\ntelegraph for her at the station; and he says he knows she will come.\nShe is staying near London, and they may be back here to-night. I am\ngoing to drive him to the station, only I wanted to see you first.\"\n\nMary stooped and kissed her little friend.\n\n\"I shall never forget what a comfort you have been to me, nor all that\nyou have done for me,\" she added gratefully. \"It was you who won my\nuncle to think it was possible there might be a mistake!\"\n\n\"I had better go back home, dear Miss Loveday,\" said Pollie. \"I am so\nglad that we had not started.\"\n\n\"So am I. But we will go to town another day, Pollie.\"\n\nPollie set off homewards, and just as she got to the stile, she heard\nwheels, and in a moment, before she could disengage her dress from a\nnail which had caught it, Mary and Mr. Fulbert were close upon her, as\nthe vicar's fleet pony took them quickly past. Not too fast, however,\nfor Pollie not to recognise, in her dear Miss Loveday's friend, some\none whom she had seen before, and knew long ago to be the true golden\ngold!\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\n_POLLIE RECOGNISES A FRIEND._\n\n\"MOTHER!\" exclaimed Pollie, running over the green in front of the mill\nand throwing herself into her mother's arms, \"I haven't gone! But it's\nall right. There is no need to go now.\"\n\n\"You don't say so?\" asked her mother. \"I am glad, but I expect you are\nrather disappointed, my dear!\"\n\n\"No, I'm not; I'm too glad to care on my own account. And, besides, I\ncould not bear to leave you, mother.\"\n\n\"Foolish little girl!\" said her mother fondly, but there were tears in\nher eyes as she said it. Perhaps she felt at that moment rewarded for\nall the love and care she had expended on her wayward child.\n\n\"And, mother,\" Pollie went on unconsciously, \"such a wonderful thing\nhas happened. Come in, and I will tell you.\"\n\nThey entered the mill together, and Pollie went to put away her best\nhat, wondering if it could be true that it was only an hour since she\nhad put it on with such care for her visit to London.\n\nWhen she came back into the kitchen, her mother was getting out some\nteacups.\n\n\"Come along, my dear,\" she said in her cosy way; \"you had but a\nmouthful of dinner before you started, and I daresay you will not be\nsorry to see a cup of tea. I shall not, myself, I am sure; and then you\ncan tell me your tale.\"\n\nPollie thought that there was nobody in the world so comfortable as her\nmother, and sat down by the fire with a very contented face.\n\n\"Well, my dear?\" asked her mother, smiling at her.\n\n\"Oh, such a wonderful thing!\" exclaimed Pollie again. \"Do you remember,\ntwo years ago, when I was at Aunt Elizabeth's?\"\n\n\"I remember that very well\u2014and so do you,\" answered her mother.\n\n\"Yes\u2014; and do you remember I told you about the gentleman that was\npreaching there, and how good he was, and how interesting?\"\n\n\"Yes, I remember that.\"\n\n\"Well, mother, 'he' is Mr. Harry Fulbert! No need for anybody to send\nup to London to ask about him now, for the moment I saw him driving by\nthe side of her I knew him again. He's the one that\u2014that brought me to\nChrist, mother; and now, if you will let me, I want to go back and tell\nthe vicar. May I, mother?\"\n\n\"I'll think about it. But you are sure, Pollie?\"\n\n\"'Sure?'\" asked Pollie. \"I should know him anywhere. I could never\nforget him, never.\"\n\nThen Pollie explained all about Mr. Fulbert's coming, and about the\npostponed visit, and the afternoon slipped away so fast that it was\nnearly her father's tea-time before she had finished.\n\nWhen he came in, he did not see any objection to Pollie's paying\nthe vicar another visit, and himself accompanied her down the hill,\npromising to wait for her at her Uncle Brown's till she should have\nmade her call.\n\nThe vicar was standing at his door with his hat on. He greeted Pollie\nvery kindly, and asked her if she would walk up the road with him, as\nhe had just been called to a village two miles up the valley to see a\ndying man, and he could not venture to wait.\n\n\"Life and death are awful things, Pollie,\" he said solemnly. \"Life\nwithout Christ is hopeless enough, but death\u2014\"\n\nThey walked along in silence for some time, till the vicar said\nsuddenly:\n\n\"You wanted to speak to me.\"\n\nThen Pollie told him about it, and was quite surprised at the vicar's\ngratitude.\n\n\"I call you a very kind little friend,\" he said, when she had finished.\n\"It is not that I doubted him in the very least after the talk I had\nwith him, but to find that my Master has honoured and blessed him by\ngiving him 'souls for his hire' makes me more glad than I can say. Mary\nwas quite right, you see, in saying that there could be no mistake in\nsuch an one as he. She 'knew' it was all right.\"\n\nSo Pollie retraced her steps a happy girl, and found her father deep in\na political discussion with his brother, and not having found the time\nat all long.\n\n\"So you've never been to London after all!\" he said, as she took his\narm affectionately, and they turned homewards.\n\n\"No,\" said Pollie, shaking her head, \"but that can wait. I never was so\nhappy and grateful, I do believe, father! At least, never since that\nday at Aunt Elizabeth's. Of course that was the happiest day.\"\n\nHer father nodded emphatically.\n\n\"It's a wondrous thing to be allowed to carry the King's messages,\"\nhe said thoughtfully, referring to Harry Fulbert. \"Perhaps some of us\nwould be trusted with more of them if we were more willing!\"\n\n\nMeanwhile the lamp was lighted, and Mary and her aunt sat working in\nthe pretty vicarage drawing-room.\n\nThe train could not come in till after nine that night. And unless\nHarry had sped wonderfully well, he and his mother could not arrive\neven by that.\n\nBut he had sped wonderfully well. His mother had been at home when the\ntelegram reached her, and had prepared to start back with him as soon\nas he desired.\n\n\"I shall telegraph to you, anyway,\" he had said to Mary, as they were\ndriving to the station, \"then you will know when to expect us.\"\n\nThey sat very silent.\n\nMary's aunt was thinking of the change it would be to them all if Mary\nshould go to China. And as to Mary, she was praying that the happiness\nwhich had come into her life might never make a cloud between her and\nher Lord.\n\nShe had said something of that sort to Harry that afternoon, and he had\nanswered, \"You cannot desire that more than I do, Mary. I want Him to\nbe first to both of us.\"\n\nMrs. Loveday was called away to attend to the needs of some villager,\nand was detained some time. When she came back, Mary was sitting where\nshe had left her, but her work had dropped on the floor, and instead,\nshe was studying a pink piece of paper which had arrived during her\naunt's absence.\n\n\"Here it is, auntie,\" said Mary, springing up. \"Just read it yourself.\"\n\n  \"All well; my mother and I just starting from Paddington.\"\n\nHow cheerful it all looked when at half-past nine o'clock the wheels\nwere heard on the drive, and the travellers walked into the room!\n\nMrs. Loveday went forward to greet her guest, and one look into the\nsweet placid face, beaming with love and hopefulness, was enough to\nsatisfy her.\n\n\"Where is Mary?\" Mrs. Fulbert asked, and held out her arms. \"I have\nwanted a daughter all my life, and now I shall have one!\"\n\n\"You will indeed,\" said the vicar heartily. \"Harry must forgive all\nthe trouble we have given him, in the blessing of having our Mary for\nhis own. I was convinced this morning that I might happily give her to\nhim, but since then I have had most unexpected confirmation, and I have\nnothing to say but to thank God that my brother's child has found such\na helpmeet.\"\n\nSuch a supper table as that was! Mrs. Fulbert sat with \"her two\nchildren\" by her, and when she looked at the face of one, she turned\nand looked into the face of the other with a mute appeal that touched\nthem both very much.\n\n\"I was coming to see you directly Harry had sailed,\" she said once,\n\"but I was not very well. Little did I think that you could have had\nall this to go through.\"\n\n\"It has been all for the best,\" said Mary, gently. \"I would not have it\ndifferent.\"\n\n\"Nor I,\" said Harry, smiling. \"But for this, I should have been on my\nway to China!\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\n_\"I NEVER THOUGHT OF IT!\"_\n\n\"HARRY! I shall never be able to spare you both,\" said his mother,\nlooking at him earnestly, when, after supper, the vicar and his wife\nhad left the three together to have a quiet talk. \"Can you not come\nhome again and settle down with me in my old age? I have enough for you\nboth.\"\n\nHarry took her hand in his, that dear thin hand that had guided him all\nthose thirty years. After a pause, he said gravely\u2014\n\n\"It shall be as you wish, mother. How can I refuse you anything\nto-night? Somebody else will be glad of my post in China, I suppose.\"\n\nHis mother smiled peacefully, with a little na\u00efve nod at Mary.\n\n\"It never suited his health, and he will not be sorry in a few months.\nThere is plenty to do at Exeter, and we shall be very happy and very\nbusy, eh, my Harry?\"\n\nAnd when she wished Mary good-night, she said softly, \"The Lord has\ngiven me this day my heart's desire.\"\n\nMary kissed her affectionately, but she made no reply. For herself she\nwas glad enough for Harry to give up his post in China, but she feared\nthat he would be very disappointed.\n\nMrs. Fulbert looked into her face questioningly.\n\n\"You do not think me selfish, I hope, my dear?\"\n\n\"No\u2014oh, no!\"\n\n\"You can hardly look at it with my eyes,\" she said, smiling, holding\nMary's hands between her own, as if to impress her words. \"I always\nsaid that no money compensated in my estimation for such separations\nas residence in foreign countries involves. Of course, if you go as a\nmissionary, that is a different thing; for Christ's sake we may have to\nforsake all that we have, but Harry had that situation before he knew\nwhat it was to belong to Christ, and so\u2014\"\n\nShe paused, for Harry was standing by them, looking intently into her\nface while she was speaking.\n\n\"'For Christ's sake'?\" he echoed slowly. \"I never thought of that. I\nhad my situation, and it never occurred to me to be a missionary!\"\n\n\"It has 'occurred' to you to do work for Christ out there, Harry,\" said\nMary earnestly, \"for you told me of several people that you had helped.\nIs not that being a missionary?\"\n\n\"I never thought of it,\" he said again thoughtfully and even solemnly.\n\nMrs. Fulbert had turned very pale. Surely her heart's desire, which she\nthought a moment ago her Lord had given her, was not going to be taken\naway by her own suggestion?\n\nMary stood very still, for she guessed that a crisis was going on in\nboth the hearts before her. What would be the end of it all? What a\nrevolution his mother's words might cause in all their lives!\n\nAt last Harry turned, and fondly put his arm round his mother.\n\n\"I have promised to do as you wish,\" he said, \"and so we will leave it.\nIf my Lord has any other plan for me, He will show it in His own time.\"\n\nMrs. Fulbert looked in his face.\n\n\"Harry, I cannot say, 'Thy will, \"not mine\" be done,' to-night, but He\nwill enable me, I feel sure.\"\n\nShe kissed them both in silence and left the room.\n\n\"Mary!\" exclaimed Harry. \"My mother's words have turned me upside down!\nWhat shall we do?\"\n\n\"Our Lord will show us,\" said Mary, \"and I do not think we have to\nsettle it to-night, have we, Harry? Perhaps the light will be clearer\nto-morrow.\"\n\nAnd the lonely mother upstairs, who had had her heart's desire so near\nher, knelt in beseeching prayer in her chamber, not asking so much that\nshe might have her will, as that she should be willing from her heart\nto have God's will.\n\nThe clock struck several hours, and still her wakeful eyes could find\nno rest, till at last, a thought came swiftly and sweetly over her with\nsoothing balm, \"'Commit' thy way unto the Lord; trust also in Him,\" and\nyielding to His will, she slept.\n\nMary was down the first on the following morning, and was busy\npreparing the breakfast when Mrs. Fulbert came in.\n\n\"Am I too early?\" she asked, as she came forward.\n\n\"Oh, no,\" said Mary, kissing her affectionately. \"I wonder how you\nslept, after all the excitement of yesterday?\"\n\n\"Pretty well, dear. It was a long while before I could give him up,\nMary, but I did at last. I will take God's will, whichever way it is,\nand trust Him.\"\n\n\"I am so glad,\" said Mary simply. Then, as if she could not help it,\nshe gave Mrs. Fulbert another kiss, and added: \"I know what it means,\nbut it is such peace afterwards!\"\n\nPerhaps Harry understood at his first glance at his mother's face, for\nno further mention was made of the subject for the present, and Mr. and\nMrs. Loveday were not yet aware either of the change of Harry's plans,\nnor of the fresh thought which his mother's words had put into their\nminds.\n\n\nAfter breakfast, Mary and he set out to carry some of her aunt's jelly\nto a sick man, and as their road lay near the mill, Mary left Harry\nsitting on the stile while she ran in to see Pollie.\n\nPollie was sitting outside the mill, paring apples for a pie, and soon\nsaw her dear teacher coming. She ran down to meet her, and asked if she\nwould come in.\n\n\"Not to-day, dear, because Harry is waiting. But, Pollie, I wanted to\ntell you something, and to ask you to pray\u2014\"\n\nPollie raised her eyes expectantly. It was not the first time by a good\nmany that she and Miss Loveday had \"agreed\" to pray.\n\n\"When we were talking last night, Harry's mother asked him not to\ngo back to China\u2014I mean not to stay\u2014of course, he must go back till\nthere is someone to take his place; and he promised he would do as she\nwished\u2014\"\n\n\"Oh, Miss Loveday!\"\n\n\"And then she said half a word about it being different if any one\nwent to China as a missionary. And, Mary, before we any of us knew,\nsomething had happened that could never be undone. Harry had seen that\nit might be that he should go to China as a missionary, and his mother\nsaw that the very thing which she dreaded\u2014the separation from her only\nson\u2014might after all be a duty which she could not evade.\"\n\nPollie's eyes were gazing intently into her friend's face.\n\n\"Did he say?\" she asked.\n\n\"No, not yet; but\u2014\"\n\n\"I'll pray,\" said Pollie earnestly. \"I am sure God will make it plain,\ndear Miss Loveday.\"\n\n\"Yes, so am I; only, Pollie, I feel as if I wanted to 'see!'\"\n\n\"Don't you remember that little story you told us last Sunday?\" said\nPollie, half-smiling.\n\n\"Which?\" asked Mary.\n\n\"Don't you remember? About the little child going a journey in the\ndark? You said he did not know the way in the least, and yet he was\nnot a bit anxious or worried, he knew he would get home at last,\njust as surely as if he were stepping over the doorway. But that was\nnot because he was strong or wise, but only just for one very simple\nreason\u2014his father's lantern lighted, the 'next' step, and he had hold\nof his father's hand.\"\n\nMary's eyes were full, and so were Pollie's to match. So full that they\ndid not notice a shadow fall upon them from some one who had come up\nclose.\n\n\"I will think of that,\" said Mary; \"thank you, my little Pollie, for\nreminding me.\"\n\n\"And I will think of that,\" said Harry, who was standing behind them.\n\"He will show the next step, Pollie, will he not?\"\n\nSo before long \"the next step\" seemed to be that Harry must go back to\nChina and wait for the filling of his post.\n\nHow quickly that week sped away!\n\nNear the end of it, Mary and Mrs. Fulbert accompanied Harry to London\nto see him off on his long journey; and Pollie, to her great delight,\nwas asked to go too.\n\nSo at last Pollie did go to London, and for the two days that elapsed\nbefore Harry sailed, she saw more sights than she had imagined it\npossible could be seen in the time. Anyone watching those four going\nabout would have said that they were perfectly happy. And so indeed\nthey were, though now and then the parting which was in front of them\nseemed to pass like a cloud over the brightness of the landscape.\n\nNot a word more had been said about the missionary project. By\nuniversal consent the subject was dropped. The four were praying about\nit, but even Harry and Mary did not mention it to each other.\n\nMary had often watched Harry's face questioningly, but though he\nunderstood, he did not seem prepared to talk of it. But the last\nevening came at length, and still nothing had been settled.\n\n\"Mother,\" said Harry, as they all stood at the window in the hotel at\nGravesend, \"have you thought any more about my being a missionary?\"\n\nMrs. Fulbert turned rather pale, but she put her hand very calmly on\nher son's arm.\n\n\"I should not like to keep you back, my dear, if God called you.\"\n\n\"What do you think, Mary?\" he said, turning to look into her face. \"I\nhave not asked you before, because I wanted for us all to do nothing in\na hurry.\"\n\n\"I am willing either way,\" said Mary, \"but\u2014\"\n\n\"What is the 'but'?\" he asked tenderly.\n\n\"We are young,\" she said, leaning her head on Mrs. Fulbert's shoulder,\n\"and we have each other\u2014but you\u2014\"\n\nMrs. Fulbert stroked her face softly.\n\n\"Thank you, my dear, for thinking of me.\"\n\nHarry was watching them both intently, and as his mother spoke, he bent\ntowards Mary and whispered, \"You are right; and I love you more than\never for being good to my mother! Mary, I see the next step now. When I\ncome back, if God spares us, we will stay a year with our dear mother.\nShe will be 'our' dear mother then, you know; and after that\u2014\"\n\n\"After that, if God points out the way, I will let you go happily, or\ngo with you!\" said Mrs. Fulbert. \"I am not too old yet to travel, if\nneed be,\" she added, smiling a little.\n\n\"Oh, mother,\" said Harry, \"how sweet you are! To think that we may be\npermitted to carry the unsearchable riches of Christ to some of the\nmillions of China!\"\n\nThat was a memorable evening to them all, and in one young heart a seed\nsank down to spring up and bear fruit in after days.\n\nWhen Pollie went into her little room that night, she knelt in silence\nfor a long time by her bedside, but the prayer that went up from her\nfull heart was this:\n\n\"Here am I. Send me, send me!\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\n_VISITORS AT SHANKLIN._\n\nTHE parting was over. Mary, very pale but more thoughtful of the frail\nmother than of herself, kept up bravely, and no one would have guessed\nthe desolate feeling which came over her as the beautiful steamer\nbecame every moment more and more a speck on the waters.\n\n\"It will not be long before he is with us again, God willing,\"\nwhispered Mrs. Fulbert.\n\n\"No,\" answered Mary. But her heart went straight as an arrow to her\nabiding-place, and found its best rest in the unchangeable love of\nJesus.\n\n   \"Hope had laid her anchor,\n      Found her rest,\n    In the sure calm haven\n      Of His breast.\"\n\nThey both had dreaded to go back to the hotel, and decided to pack up\nas quickly as possible and to travel home. But when they entered the\nfamiliar rooms, there sat the vicar and his wife, looking as natural as\nif they had been there for days.\n\nIt did not take long to explain that they had come to town to try\nto persuade Mrs. Fulbert and Mary to go with them to a southern\nwatering-place for a little change of scene, while they also bore\na letter from Pollie's mother containing a permission for her to\naccompany them.\n\n\"I am afraid I shall be in the way, dear Miss Loveday,\" said Pollie,\nblushing; \"and if so, please do not think of it. I can be put into the\ntrain, and go home by myself, I know.\"\n\nBut nobody would hear of this, and then Mr. Loveday acknowledged that\nhe had already arranged for rooms, which were only waiting for them to\ntravel to when they felt inclined.\n\nSo the next day, they found themselves sitting at tea within sight of\nthe sea at Shanklin, a happy party of five.\n\n\"Pollie,\" said Mary that evening, as they stood on the Esplanade and\nfelt the salt spray blow in their faces, \"you are my little friend, you\nknow, who understands more about me than anybody in the world\u2014more than\nHarry even\u2014and you must learn to call me Mary. I think of you as a dear\nlittle sister.\"\n\nPollie did not answer; she only squeezed her arm very tightly.\n\n\"Say you will, dear.\"\n\n\"I'll try,\" whispered Pollie, \"but whatever I call you, it will not\nalter my love.\"\n\n\nThe next morning, to Pollie's intense surprise, she found a letter from\nher father on her plate at breakfast.\n\nOn opening it, she gave such a start that Mary asked what was the\nmatter.\n\n\"My cousins\u2014the Browns\u2014from Chichester are staying here in a house on\nthe cliff!\"\n\n\"Well, are you glad?\" asked Mary.\n\n\"I suppose I am. I hardly know,\" said Pollie, a little soberly. Then,\nafter a few moments' silence, she added, \"If they get to know you I\nshall be, because you will do them good.\"\n\nSo Mary and she had some talk about them, and Pollie told her a little\nof their life at Chichester, and of the gay, unsatisfactory circle they\nwere in. Of her cousin's acquaintance with H. F. she said nothing, as\nshe felt it was not her secret.\n\n\"You must go up to call on them presently. Perhaps they do not know you\nare here,\" concluded Mary, as they got up from their seat in the Chine\nand made their way back to their lodgings.\n\n\"Perhaps not,\" said Pollie; \"if they do not know, they will think I\nhave dropped from the skies.\"\n\n\"So you have,\" smiled Mary.\n\nSo Pollie set forth, and soon found herself knocking at the door of a\nhandsome house where her cousins were lodging.\n\nFortunately, for her comfort, her father had written to them also,\ntelling them of Pollie's presence in Shanklin.\n\nClara received her with open arms, and led her straight into the\ngarden, where her Aunt Elizabeth was sitting. They were both loud in\ntheir praises of how Pollie had grown, and how she had improved.\n\nPresently her aunt went indoors, saying she would send Laura out, and\nbefore Clara had time to say something she was evidently longing to do,\nthere was a slow soft step on the gravel behind them, and Laura stood\nleaning on the end of the garden seat.\n\nClara got up and gave her sister her seat, and threw herself on the\ngrass beside them, looking down across the lawn to the view of the sea\nover the trees.\n\nPollie's eyes wandered several times to Laura's face, but they came\nback again unsatisfied.\n\nLaura looked as pretty as ever, but there was a transparency about\nher that reminded Pollie of a young girl who had died of consumption\nin their village. She was so taken up with this thought that she made\nquite a muddle of explaining how she came to be at Shanklin, and who\nMiss Loveday was.\n\n\"Isn't that the name of that old lady you and my father used to be so\ndevoted to?\" asked Clara, puzzled.\n\n\"That was my Miss Loveday's aunt,\" said Pollie. \"You will like to know\nher, I mean my Miss Mary, she is so awfully nice.\"\n\nClara laughed, but added more warmly, \"Well, I'll come down and make\nher acquaintance. I'm moped to death here, with Laura coughing all the\ntime. There will be some fun now you're here!\"\n\nSo Pollie stayed for half an hour and then went back, Clara\nvolunteering to accompany her down the hill.\n\nPollie looked towards Laura, but Clara said she would be all right till\nshe came back, and took up her hat and ran off down the garden.\n\n\"The fact is,\" she said abruptly, when they turned into the road, \"I\nwanted to have a little talk with you about Laura. We've never heard\nanother word from H. F. since you left, nearly a year ago. Of course\nthe friends he was staying with hear from him, I suppose, but he has\nnever sent even a message to Laura\u2014\"\n\n\"I am so sorry,\" said Pollie, \"I wish\u2014\"\n\n\"What's the use of wishing,\" said Clara bitterly. \"It has broken her\nheart. I see it all now, and if we had not been so secret over it, I\ndaresay it would not have happened. At any rate, she would not have\ntaken it to heart like this. As to me, I'm utterly miserable.\"\n\n\"Cannot you tell Aunt Elizabeth or Uncle?\" urged Pollie gently. \"You\nwould be so much happier.\"\n\nClara shook her head, and then added, \"Sometimes, I think I must, but\nLaura will not hear of it.\"\n\n\"Does she think he will come back?\" asked Pollie.\n\n\"Oh, no! There is a report that he is going to be married. Laura has\nnever raised her head since that.\"\n\n\"Poor Laura!\" said Pollie.\n\n\"Sometimes I have wished more than I can say to see you. I even asked\nMa to write and invite you. But she said she did not see that it could\ndo Laura any good.\"\n\n\"I wish I could,\" murmured Pollie.\n\n\"I fancy you might. Every day I see her getting weaker, and my heart is\nreally broken.\"\n\n\"But I could not help her,\" exclaimed Pollie, \"except\u2014\"\n\n\"Yes, that's it!\" said Clara eagerly. \"You have learned a secret that\nwe haven't. I thought that you might give her some of your comfort.\"\n\n\"Can't you?\" said Pollie. \"It is open to everyone. I mean Jesus Christ\nis\u2014\"\n\nClara had hold of her arm. She pressed it now with unusual affection.\n\"Pollie, you do sometimes pray?\"\n\n\"Sometimes!\" echoed Pollie.\n\n\"Well\u2014would you\u2014could you? I know we do not deserve it, but could you\npray for us?\"\n\n\"Of course I will, and so will Miss Mary.\"\n\n\"Oh, don't tell her!\"\n\n\"Not anything you do not like. But if you want a blessing, why should\nyou mind our praying for it?\"\n\nClara turned very white, but she suddenly exclaimed:\n\n\"Do as you think best. I'm so miserable! What if Laura should die?\"\n\n\"Oh, do tell my aunt,\" urged Pollie. \"Do, do, Clara. You will find a\nload gone when you do!\"\n\nThey had reached Pollie's home. Clara refused to come in, and with a\npassionate kiss on Pollie's cheek she turned homewards, while Pollie\nwith full heart went upstairs to find Mary and tell her all about it.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\n\n_MISSIONARIES AT HOME._\n\nTHAT evening after tea, Mary and Pollie set out for the cliff, Mary to\ncarry a bunch of flowers to the invalid and Pollie to ask her cousin\nClara if she would go for a walk.\n\nMrs. Brown was out at the moment. Thus Mary found herself sitting\nquietly with Laura, the golden glory of the sunset lighting up the\nCulver Cliffs and tipping the distant sails as they passed along the\nhorizon.\n\nLaura had been idly scanning the local paper, and her thin fingers\nrested in it still.\n\n\"I was reading the names of the visitors here,\" she said. \"There was no\none we know yesterday. Clara and Ma generally go out in the evening and\nthe time seems long.\"\n\n\"Perhaps you will let me come and see you sometimes?\" said Mary. \"We\nexpect to be here a fortnight.\"\n\n\"If you like,\" said Laura listlessly. \"Ma is going home to-morrow and\nClara will be very dull, as she says, with my cough.\"\n\nShe was still glancing at the paper, when suddenly a deep colour\nspread over her face, and with an exclamation of dismay, she exclaimed\nhurriedly:\n\n\"Where's Clara\u2014oh, Miss Loveday, call Clara!\"\n\n\"She is out, dear. What is it?\" said Mary soothingly. \"She will be back\ndirectly.\"\n\nLaura's cough had come on with such violence that she could not answer,\nbut she pointed piteously to the list of visitors staying at one of the\nhotels.\n\n\"Mr. and Mrs. Henry Fulbert,\" read Mary\u2014and then as by a flash, she\nrealized the whole story!\n\nThis was the H. F. to whom poor Laura had given her heart; this was the\none against whom her uncle had warned her! The Harry Fulbert who was\nnot the true golden gold!\n\nShe took the invalid into her arms, stranger though she was, and\ntried to comfort her with the comfort wherewith she herself had been\ncomforted of God.\n\n\"Poor Laura!\" she whispered. \"I see it all, but there is Jesus left. He\nhealeth the broken in heart and bindeth up their wounds.\"\n\n\"My heart is broken,\" sobbed Laura. \"I have been disobedient to what Ma\nwould have liked; I've kept a secret from her all this year. He told me\nhe would come back and ask me, and now he has gone and married someone\nelse! I had heard he was going to, but I would not believe it!\"\n\n\"Poor Laura!\" again said the soft, soothing voice. \"Let us tell the\nLord Jesus all about it, and come to Him for forgiveness. Indeed,\n'indeed' He will comfort you if you will let Him!\"\n\n\"I do not know anything about Him,\" said Laura, as she allowed Mary to\nlay her on the sofa, and then she buried her head in the cushions and\ncried as if her heart would break.\n\n\"It makes me cough to cry,\" she moaned; \"and I am so miserable! So\nmiserable!\"\n\n\"Can you bear to tell me all about it?\" asked Mary, guessing that if\nshe could bring herself to speak it out she would feel better.\n\nBut Laura only shook her head and lay sobbing and coughing.\n\n\"You will do yourself harm,\" said Mary at last. \"I fear for you if you\ngive way to grief like this\u2014\"\n\n\"And well you may,\" said Laura, turning round upon her, and looking at\nher with pathetic eyes. \"Ma doesn't guess it, nor Clara either, but I'm\ndying\u2014and I've no hope\u2014none!\"\n\nOh, how thankful Mary was that she knew the hope herself, and could\ntell the shrinking invalid of Him who has borne our griefs and carried\nour sorrows, and with whose stripes we are healed!\n\n\"He loves 'me?'\" questioned Laura, as she lay on her pillows utterly\nexhausted. \"Can He love me who has never given Him a thought, except to\nturn away from Him; who has said in her heart she would do without Him?\"\n\n\"Indeed He does,\" said Mary tenderly. \"'While we were yet sinners,\nChrist died for us.' That seems so wonderful, doesn't it, but so nice?\"\n\nLaura lay very still. The room grew darker and darker, but the others\ndid not come back, and Mary was thankful for it.\n\nAt last, Laura put out her trembling hand. \"I can never thank you,\" she\nwhispered. \"Would you mind kissing me?\"\n\nMary bent over her. \"You have let Jesus comfort you?\" she asked\ntenderly. \"It is not only mine, is it, dear?\"\n\n\"Oh, no!\" she responded earnestly. \"But it is only just in time\u2014\"\n\nAt the moment Mrs. Brown came bustling in.\n\n\"Ma, dear,\" said Laura faintly, \"come here.\"\n\nThere was some inexplicable change in the voice, something which even\nin the half darkness made a cold chill fall on that gay mother's heart.\n\n\"Ma, dear,\" she went on as Mrs. Brown came close, \"you will hear all\nwhen I am gone, Clara will tell you. I've gone astray like a lost\nsheep, but Jesus Christ has found me. Will you forgive me?\"\n\nMrs. Brown knelt down by her side, kissing her in an awestruck manner,\nand for a moment she felt two feeble arms round her neck, and then they\nrelaxed their hold, and slowly fell back. Laura had gone where all\ntears are wiped from off all faces.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nPollie's little story is done\u2014or perhaps not much more than begun.\n\nThe links, which were riveted in all that time of trouble, were a chain\nwhich no time or circumstance could break.\n\nHarry\u2014Mary's Harry\u2014came back from China in a few months' time, and very\nsoon he and Mary were married and went to Exeter for the promised year.\n\nPollie went to her home, to be the sunshine of her father and mother\nand Jim, waiting and working, ever with the view in her inmost heart of\nobeying her Lord's command to \"go\" to tell of his unsearchable riches\nto those who have never heard.\n\nClara went back to Chichester an altered girl, leaving that grave\nbehind her as a lasting memorial of their sorrowful deception.\n\nMrs. Brown was stunned by the sudden blow of her daughter's death, and\nfor years would only refer to the matter by a cold \"I never acted like\nthat myself, and I do not understand it.\"\n\nAll that time Clara's patience and love were severely taxed, but she\ncame out of the ordeal as gold purified seven times.\n\nAnd there came a day at last when her faith and patience were rewarded,\nand Mrs. Brown acknowledged with humbled spirit that she too needed a\nSaviour, and if Jesus had made Clara what she was, she might well trust\nHim.\n\n\n\n                        [Illustration: Finis]","title":"Just in time","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":23642}