ESTHER:

A BOOK FOR GIRLS. 

BY

ROSA NOUCHETTE CAREY

CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER I. The Last Day at Redmayne House. 

CHAPTER II. The Arrival at Combe Manor. 

CHAPTER III. Dot. 

CHAPTER IV. Uncle Geoffrey. 

CHAPTER V. The Old House at Milnthorpe. 

CHAPTER VI. The Flitting. 

CHAPTER VII. Over the Way. 

CHAPTER VIII. Flurry and Flossy. 

CHAPTER IX. The Cedars. 

CHAPTER X. "I Wish I Had a Dot of My Own. "

CHAPTER XI. Miss Ruth's Nurse. 

CHAPTER XII. I Was Not Like Other Girls. 

CHAPTER XIII. "We Have Missed Dame Bustle. "

CHAPTER XIV. Playing in Tom Tidler's Ground. 

CHAPTER XV. Life at the Brambles. 

CHAPTER XVI. The Smugglers' Cave. 

CHAPTER XVII. A Long Night. 

CHAPTER XVIII. "You Brave Girl!"

CHAPTER XIX. A Letter from Home. 

CHAPTER XX. "You Were Right, Esther. "

CHAPTER XXI. Santa Claus. 

CHAPTER XXII. Allan and I Walk to Eltham Green. 

CHAPTER XXIII. Told in the Sunset. 

CHAPTER XXIV. Ringing the Changes. 

ESTHER

CHAPTER I. 

THE LAST DAY AT REDMAYNE HOUSE. 

What trifles vex one!

I was always sorry that my name was Esther; not that I found faultwith the name itself, but it was too grave, too full of meaning forsuch an insignificant person. Some one who was learned in suchmatters--I think it was Allan--told me once that it meant a star, orgood fortune. 

It may be so, but the real meaning lay for me in the marginal noteof my Bible: Esther, fair of form and good in countenance, thatHadassah, who was brought to the palace of Shushan, the beautifulJewish queen who loved and succored her suffering people; truly abright particular star among them. 

Girls, even the best of them, have their whims and fancies, and Inever looked at myself in the glass on high days and holidays, when afestive garb was desirable, without a scornful protest, dumblyuttered, against so shining a name. There was such a choice, and Iwould rather have been Deborah or Leah, or even plain Susan, orMolly; anything homely, that would have suited my dark, low-browedface. Tall and angular, and hard-featured--what business had I withsuch a name?

"My dear, beauty is only skin-deep, and common sense is worth itsweight in gold; and you are my good sensible Esther, " my mother saidonce, when I had hinted rather too strongly at my plainness. Dearsoul, she was anxious to appease the pangs of injured vanity, and wasfull of such sweet, balmy speeches; but girls in the ugly ducklingstage are not alive to moral compliments; and, well--perhaps I hopedmy mother might find contradiction possible. 

Well, I am older and wiser now, less troublesomely introspective, and by no means so addicted to taking my internal structure topieces, to find out how the motives and feelings work; but all thesame, I hold strongly to diversity of gifts. I believe beauty is agift, one of the good things of God; a very special talent, for whichthe owner must give account. But enough of this moralizing, for Iwant to speak of a certain fine afternoon in the year of our Lord, 18--well, never mind the date. 

It was one of our red-letter days at Redmayne House--in other words, a whole holiday; we always had a whole holiday on Miss Majoribanks'birthday. The French governess had made a grand toilette, and hadgone out for the day. Fraulein had retired to her own room, and waswriting a long sentimental effusion to a certain "liebe Anna, " wholived at Heidelberg. As Fraulein had taken several of us intoconfidence, we had heard a great deal of this Anna von Hummel, alittle round-faced German, with flaxen plaits and china-blue eyes, like a doll; and Jessie and I had often wondered at this strongTeutonic attachment. Most of the girls were playing croquet--theyplayed croquet then--on the square lawn before the drawing-roomwindows; the younger ones were swinging in the lime-walk. Jessie andI had betaken ourselves with our books to a corner we much affected, where there was a bench under a may-tree. 

Jessie was my school friend--chum, I think we called it; she was afair, pretty girl, with a thoroughly English face, a neat compactfigure, and manners which every one pronounced charming and lady-like;her mind was lady-like too, which was the best of all. 

Jessie read industriously--her book seemed to rivet her attention;but I was restless and distrait. The sun was shining on the limes, and the fresh green leaves seemed to thrill and shiver with life: alazy breeze kept up a faint soughing, a white butterfly was hoveringover the pink may, the girls' shrill voices sounded everywhere; athousand undeveloped thoughts, vague and unsubstantial as thesunshine above us, seemed to blend with the sunshine and voices. 

"Jessie, do put down your book--I want to talk. " Jessie raised hereyebrows a little quizzically but she was always amiable; she hadthat rare unselfishness of giving up her own will ungrudgingly; Ithink this was why I loved her so. Her story was interesting, but sheput down her book without a sigh. 

"You are always talking, Esther, " she said, with a provoking littlesmile; "but then, " she added, quickly, as though she were afraid thatI should think her unkind, "I never heard other girls talk so well. "

"Nonsense, " was my hasty response: "don't put me out of temper withmyself. I was indulging in a little bit of philosophy while you weredeep in the 'Daisy Chain. ' I was thinking what constituted a greatmind. "

Jessie opened her eyes widely, but she did not at once reply; shewas not, strictly speaking, a clever girl, and did not at once graspany new idea; our conversations were generally rather one-sided. EmmaHardy, who was our school wag, once observed that I used Jessie'sbrains as an airing-place for my ideas. Certainly Jessie listenedmore than she talked, but then, she listened so sweetly. 

"Of course, Alfred the Great, and Sir Philip Sidney, and PrincessElizabeth of France, and all the heroes and heroines of old time--allthe people who did such great things and lived such wonderful lives--may be said to have had great minds; but I am not thinking aboutthem. I want to know what makes a great mind, and how one is to getit. There is Carrie, now, you know how good she is; I think she maybe said to have one. "

"Carrie--your sister?"

"Why, yes, " I returned, a little impatiently; for certainly Jessiecould not think I meant that stupid, peevish little Carrie Steadman, the dullest girl in the school; and whom else should I mean, butCarrie, my own dear sister, who was two years older than I, and whowas as good as she was pretty, and who set us all such an example ofunworldliness and self-denial; and Jessie had spent the Christmasholidays at our house, and had grown to know and love her too; andyet she could doubt of whom I was speaking; it could not be deniedthat Jessie was a little slow. 

"Carrie is so good, " I went on, when I had cooled a little, "I amsure she has a great mind. When I read of Mrs. Judson and ElizabethFry, or of any of those grand creatures, I always think of Carrie. How few girls of nineteen would deprive themselves of half theirdress allowance, that they might devote it to the poor; she has givenup parties because she thinks them frivolous and a waste of time; andthough she plays so beautifully, mother can hardly get her topractice, because she says it is a pity to devote so much time to amere accomplishment, when she might be at school, or reading to poorold Betty Martin. "

"She might do both, " put in Jessie, rather timidly; for she neverliked contradicting any of my notions, however far-fetched andill-assorted they might be. "Do you know, Esther, I fancy your motheris a little sorry that Carrie is so unlike other girls; she told me oncethat she thought it such a pity that she had let her talents rustafter all the money that had been spent on her education. "

"You must have misunderstood my mother, " I returned, somewhatloftily; "I heard her once say to Uncle Geoffrey that she thoughtCarrie was almost perfection. You have no idea how much Mr. Arnoldthinks of her; he is always holding her up as his pattern young ladyin the parish, and declares that he should not know what to dowithout her. She plays the organ at all the week-day services, andteaches at the Sunday school, and she has a district now, and aBible-class for the younger girls. No wonder she cannot find time topractice, or to keep up her drawing. " And I looked triumphantly atJessie; but her manner did not quite please me. She might not beclever, but she had a good solid set of opinions to which she couldhold stoutly enough. 

"Don't think me disagreeable, Esther, " she pleaded. "I think a greatdeal of Carrie; she is very sweet, and pretty, and good, and weshould all be better if we were more like her; but no one is quitefaultless, and I think even Carrie makes mistakes at times. "

"Oh, of course!" I answered a little crossly, for I could not bearher finding fault with Carrie, who was such a paragon in my eyes. ButJessie took no notice of my manner, she was such a wise littlecreature; and I cannot help thinking that the less importance weattach to people's manner the better. Under a little roughness thereis often good stuff, and some good people are singularly unfortunatein manner. 

So Jessie went on in her gentle way, "Do you remember MissMajoribanks' favorite copy: 'Moderation in all things'? I think thisought to apply to everything we do. We had an old nurse once, whoused to say such droll things to us children. I remember I had beenvery good, and done something very wonderful, as I thought, andnursie said to me in her dry way, 'Well, Miss Jessie, my dear, dutyis not a hedgehog, that you should be bristling all over in that way. There is no getting at you to-day, you are too fully armed at allpoints for praise. ' And she would not say another word; and anothertime, when I thought I ought to have been commended; she said, 'Leastdone is soonest mended; and well done is not ill done, and that isall about it. ' Poor old nurse! she would never praise any one. "

"But, Jessie--how does this apply to Carrie?"

"Well, not very much, I dare say; only I think Carrie overdoes herduty sometimes. I remember one evening your mother look sodisappointed when Carrie said she was too tired to sing. "

"You mean the evening when the Scobells were there, and Carrie hadbeen doing parish work all the day, and she came in looking so paleand fagged? I thought mother was hard on her that night. Carrie criedabout it afterward in my room. "

"Oh, Esther, I thought she spoke so gently! She only said, 'Would itnot have been better to have done a little less to-day, and reservedyourself for our friends? We ought never to disappoint people if wecan help it. '"

"Yes; only mother looked as if she were really displeased; andCarrie could not bear that; she said in her last letter that motherdid not sympathize entirely in her work, and that she missed medreadfully, for the whole atmosphere was rather chilling sometimes. "

Jessie looked a little sorry at this. "No one could think that ofyour home, Esther. " And she sighed, for her home was very differentfrom ours. Her parents were dead, and as she was an only child, shehad never known the love of brother or sister; and the aunt whobrought her up was a strict narrow-minded sort of person, withmanners that must have been singularly uncongenial to myaffectionate, simple-minded Jessie. Poor Jessie! I could not helpgiving her one of my bear-like hugs at this, so well did I know themeaning of that sigh; and there is no telling into what channel ourtalk would have drifted, only just at that moment Belle Martin, thepupil-teacher, appeared in sight, walking very straight and fast, andcarrying her chin in an elevated fashion, a sort of practicalexposition of Madame's "Heads up, young ladies!" But this was onlyher way, and Belle was a good creature. 

"You are to go in at once, Miss Cameron, " she called out, almostbefore she reached us. "Miss Majoribanks has sent me to look for you;your uncle is with her in the drawing-room. "

"Uncle Geoffrey? Oh, my dear Uncle Geoff!" I exclaimed, joyfully. "Do you really mean it, Belle?"

"Yes, Dr. Cameron is in the drawing-room, " repeated Belle. But Inever noticed how grave her voice was. She commenced whispering toJessie almost before I was a yard away, and I thought I heard anexclamation in Jessie's voice; but I only said to myself, "Oh, mydear Uncle Geoff!" in a tone of suppressed ecstasy, and I lookedround on the croquet players as I threaded the lawn with a sense ofpity that not one of them possessed an uncle like mine. 

Miss Majoribanks was seated in state, in her well-preserved blacksatin gown, with her black gloves reposing in her lap, looking ratherlike a feminine mute; but on this occasion I took no notice of her. Iactually forgot my courtesy, and I am afraid I made one of my awkwardrushes, for Miss Majoribanks groaned slightly, though afterward sheturned it into a cough. 

"Why, Esther, you are almost a woman now, " said my uncle, putting mein front of him, and laying his heavy hand on my shoulder. "Bless me, how the child has grown, and how unlike she is to Carrie!"

"I was seventeen yesterday, " I answered, pouting a little, for Iunderstood the reference to Carrie; and was I not the ugly duckling?--but I would not keep up the sore feeling a minute, I was so pleasedto see him. 

No one would call Uncle Geoffrey handsome--oh, dear, no! hisfeatures were too rugged for that; but he had a droll, clever face, and a pair of honest eyes, and his gray hair was so closely croppedthat it looked like a silver cap. He was a little restless andfidgety in his movements, too, and had ways that appeared singular tostrangers, but I always regarded his habits respectfully. Clever men, I thought, were often eccentric; and I was quite angry with my motherwhen she used to say, "Geoff was an old bachelor, and he wanted awife to polish him; I should like to see any woman dare to marryUncle Geoff. "

"Seventeen, sweet seventeen! Eh, Esther?" but he still held my handand looked at me thoughtfully. It was then I first noticed how gravehe looked. 

"Have you come from Combe Manor, Uncle Geoff, and are they all quitewell at home?" I asked, rather anxiously, for he seemed decidedlynervous. 

"Well, no, " he returned, rather slowly; "I am sorry to spoil yourholiday, child, but I have come by your mother's express desire tofetch you home. Frank--your father, I mean--is not well, and theywill be glad of your help and--bless me"--Uncle Geoff's favoriteexclamation--"how pale the girl looks!"

"You are keeping something from me--he is very ill--I know he isvery ill!" I exclaimed, passionately. "Oh, uncle, do speak out! he is--" but I could not finish my sentence, only Uncle Geoffrey understood. 

"No, no, it is not so bad as that, " putting his arm round me, for Iwas trembling and shaking all over; "he is very ill--I dare not denythat there is much ground for fear; but Esther, we ought to lose notime in getting away from here. Will you swallow this glass of wine, like a good, brave child, and then pack up your things as soon aspossible?"

There was no resisting Uncle Geoffrey's coaxing voice; all hispatients did what he told them, so I drank the wine, and tried tohurry from the room, only my knees felt so weak. 

"Miss Martin will assist you, " whispered Miss Majoribanks, as Ipassed her; and, sure enough, as I entered the dormitory, there wasBelle emptying my drawers, with Jessie helping her. Even in mybewildered state of wretchedness I wondered why Miss Majoribanksthought it necessary for me to take all my things. Was I bidding good-byto Redmayne House?

Belle looked very kindly at me as she folded my dresses, but Jessiecame up to me with tears in her eyes. "Oh, Esther!" she whispered, "how strange to think we were talking as we were, and now theopportunity has come?" and though her speech was a little vague, Iunderstood it; she meant the time for me to display my greatness ofmind--ah, me! my greatness of mind--where was it? I was of no use atall; the girls did it all between them, while I sat on the edge of mylittle bed and watched them. They were as quick as possible, and yetit seemed hours before the box was locked, and Belle had handed methe key; by-and-by, Miss Majoribanks came and fetched me down, forshe said the fly was at the door, and Dr. Cameron was waiting. 

We girls had never cared much for Miss Majoribanks, but nothingcould exceed her kindness then. I think the reason why schoolmistressesare not often beloved by their pupils--though there certainly areexceptions to that rule--is that they do not often show their good hearts. 

When Miss Majoribanks buttoned my gloves for me, and smoothed myhair, and gave me that motherly kiss, I felt I loved her. "God blessyou my dear child! we shall all miss you; you have worked well andbeen a credit to the establishment. I am sorry indeed to part withyou. " Actually these were Miss Majoribanks' words, and spoken, too, in a husky voice!

And when I got downstairs, there were all the girls, many of themwith their croquet mallets in their hands, gathered in the frontgarden, and little Susie Pierrepoint, the baby of the school, carrying a large bunch of lavender and sweet-william from her ownlittle garden, which she thrust into my hands. 

"They are for you, " cried Susie; and then they all crowded round andkissed me. 

"Good-by, Esther; we are so sorry to lose you; write to us and letus know how you are. "

Jessie's pale little face came last. "Oh, my darling! how I shall bethinking of you!" cried the affectionate creature; and then I brokedown, and Uncle Geoffrey led me away. 

"I am glad to see your school-fellows love you, " he said, as wedrove off, and Redmayne House became lost to sight. "Human affectionis a great boon, Esther. "

Dear Uncle Geoffrey! he wanted to comfort me; but for some time Iwould not speak or listen. 

CHAPTER II. 

THE ARRIVAL AT COMBE MANOR. 

The great secret of Uncle Geoffrey's influence with people was acertain quiet undemonstrative sympathy. He did not talk much; he wasrather given to letting people alone, but his kindliness of look madehis few spoken words more precious than the voluble condolences ofothers. 

He made no effort to check the torrent of tears that followed myfirst stunned feelings; indeed, his "Poor child!" so tenderlyuttered, only made them flow more quickly. It was not until we wereseated in the railway compartment, and I had dried them of my ownaccord, that he attempted to rouse me by entering into conversation, and yet there was much that he knew must be said, only "great haste, small speed, " was always Uncle Geoffrey's favorite motto. "There istime for all things, and much more, " as he used to tell us. 

"Are you better now?" he asked, kindly. "That is right; put yourhandkerchief away, and we can have a little talk together. You are asensible girl, Esther, and have a wise little head on your shoulders. Tell me, my child, had you any idea of any special anxiety or troublethat was preying on your father's mind?"

"No, indeed, " I returned, astonished. "I knew the farm was doingbadly, and father used to complain now and then of Fred'sextravagance, and mother looked once or twice very worried, but wedid not think much about it. "

"Then I am afraid what I am going to tell you will be a greatshock, " he returned, gravely. "Your father and mother must have hadheavy anxieties lately, though they have kept it from you children. The cause of your father's illness is mental trouble. I must not hidefrom you, Esther, that he is ruined. "

"Ruined!" I tried to repeat the word aloud, but it died on my lips. 

"A man with a family ought not to speculate, " went on my uncle, speaking more to himself than me. "What did Frank know about thebusiness? About as much as Fred does about art. He has spentthousands on the farm, and it has been a dead loss from thebeginning. He knew as much about farming as Carrie does. Stuff andnonsense! And then he must needs dabble in shares for Spanish mines;and that new-fangled Wheal Catherine affair that has gone to smashlately. Every penny gone; and a wife, and--how many of you are there, Esther?"

But I was too much overwhelmed to help him in his calculation, so hecommenced striking off on his fingers, one by one. 

"Let me see; there's Fred, brought up, young coxcomb! to thinkhimself a fine gentleman and an artist, with almost as much notion ofwork as I have of piano playing; and Allan, who has more brains thanthe rest of you put together; and Carrie, who is half a saint andslightly hysterical; and your poor little self; and then comes thatnondescript article Jack. Why in the world do you call a femininecreature Jack? And poor little Dot, who will never earn a penny forhimself--humph, six of you to clothe and feed--"

"Oh, Uncle Geoff!" I burst out, taking no notice of this longtirade; and what did it matter if Dot never earned anything when Iwould work my fingers to the bone for him, the darling! "oh, UncleGeoff, are things really so bad as that? Will Fred be obliged to giveup his painting, when he has been to Rome, too; and shall we have toleave Combe Manor, and the farm? Oh, what will they all do? andCarrie, too?"

"Work, " was the somewhat grim reply, and then he went on in a mildertone. "Things are very bad, Esther; about as bad as they can be--forwe must look matters in the face--and your father is very ill, andthere is no knowing where the mischief may end; but you must all putyour shoulders to the domestic wheel, and push it up the HillDifficulty. It is a crisis, and a very painful one, but it will provewhich of you has the right mettle. 

"I am not afraid of Allan, " he went on; "the lad has plenty of goodstuff in him; and I am not much afraid of you, Esther, at least Ithink not; but--" He hesitated, and then stopped, and I knew he wasthinking of Fred and Carrie; but he need not. Of course Carrie wouldwork as heartily as any of us; idling was never her forte; and Fred--well, perhaps Fred was not always industrious. 

I seemed to have lost myself in a perfect tangle of doubt and dread. Uncle Geoffrey went on with his talk, half sad and half moralizing, but I could not follow all he said. Two thoughts were buzzing aboutme like hornets. Father was ill, very ill, and we should have toleave Combe Manor. The sting of these thoughts was dreadful. 

I seemed to rouse out of a nightmare when Uncle Geoffrey suddenlyannounced that we were at Crowbridge. No one was waiting for us atthe station, which somewhat surprised me; but Combe Manor was not aquarter of a mile off, so the luggage was wheeled away on a truck, and Uncle Geoffrey and I walked after it, up the sandy lane, andround by the hazel copse. And there were the fields, where Dapple, the gray mare, was feeding; and there were Cherry and Spot, andBrindle, and all the rest of the dear creatures, rubbing their hornedheads against the hedge as usual; and two or three of them standingknee-deep in the great shallow pool, where Fred and Allan used tosail their boats, and make believe it was the Atlantic. We alwayscalled the little bit of sedgy ground under the willow America, andused to send freights of paper and cardboard across the mimic ocean, which did not always arrive safely. 

How lovely and peaceful it all looked on this June evening! The sunshone on the red brick house and old-fashioned casements; roses wereclimbing everywhere, on the walls, round the porch, over the verygateway. Fred was leaning against the gate, in his brown velveteencoat and slouched hat, looking so handsome and picturesque, poorfellow! He had a Gloire de Dijon in his button-hole. I remember Iwondered vaguely how he had had the heart to pick it. 

"How is he?" called out Uncle Geoffrey. And Fred started, for thoughhe was watching for us he had not seen us turn the corner of the lane. 

"No better, " was the disconsolate answer, as he unlatched the gate, and stooped over it to kiss me. "We are expecting Allan down by thenext train, and Carrie asked me to look out for you; how do you do, Esther? What have you done to yourself?" eyeing me with a mixture ofchagrin and astonishment. I suppose crying had not improved myappearance; still, Fred need not have noticed my red eyes; but he wasone who always "looked on the outward appearance. "

"She is tired and unhappy, poor little thing, " repeated UncleGeoffrey, answering for me, as he drew my arm through his. "I hopeCarrie has got some tea for her;" and as he spoke Carrie came out inthe porch to meet us. How sweet she looked, the "little nun, " as Fredalways called her, in her gray dress; with her smooth fair hair andpale pretty face. 

"Poor Esther, how tired you look!" she said, kissing meaffectionately, but quietly--Carrie was always a littleundemonstrative--"but I have got tea for you in the brown room" (wealways called it the brown room, because it was wainscoted in oak);"will you have it now, or would you like to see mother?"

"You had better have tea first and see your mother afterward, "observed Uncle Geoffrey; but I would not take this prudent counsel. On the stairs I came upon Jack, curled up on a window-sill, withSmudge, our old black cat, in her arms, and was welcomed by both ofthem with much effusion. Jack was a tall, thin girl, all legs andarms, with a droll, freckled face and round blue eyes, with all theawkwardness of fourteen, and none of its precocity. Her real name wasJacqueline, but we had always called her Jack, for brevity, andbecause, with her cropped head and rough ways, she resembled a boymore than a girl; her hair was growing now, and hung about her neckin short ungainly lengths, but I doubt whether in its present stageit was any improvement. I am not at all sure strangers consideredJack a prepossessing child, she was so awkward and overgrown, but Iliked her droll face immensely. Fred was always finding fault withher and snubbing her, which brought him nothing but pert replies;then he would entreat mother to send her to school, but somehow shenever went. Dot could not spare her, and mother thought there wasplenty of time, so Jack still roamed about at her own sweet will;riding Dapple barebacked round the paddock, milking Cherry, andfeeding the chickens; carrying on some pretense at lessons withCarrie, who was not a very strict mistress, and plaguing Fred, whohad nice ways and hated any form of untidiness. 

"Oh, you dear thing!" cried Jack, leaping from the window-seat andnearly strangling me, while Smudge rubbed himself lovingly against mydress; "oh, you dear, darling, delightful old Esther, how pleased Iam to see you!" (Certainly Jack was not undemonstrative. ) "Oh, it hasbeen so horrid the last few days--father ill, and mother always withhim, and Fred as cross as two sticks, and Carrie always too busy ortoo tired for any one to speak to her; and Dot complaining of pain inhis back and not caring to play, oh!" finished Jack, with a long-drawnsigh, "it has been almost too horrid. "

"Hush, Jack, " was my sole reply; for there was dear mother comingdown the passage toward us. I had only been away from her two months, and yet it struck me that her hair was grayer and her face wasthinner than it used to be, and there were lines on her forehead thatI never remember to have seen before; but she greeted me in her oldaffectionate way, putting back my hair from my face to look at me, and calling me her dear child. "But I must not stop a moment, Esther, " she said hurriedly, "or father will miss me; take off yourhat, and rest and refresh yourself, and then you shall come up andsee him. "

"But, mother, where is Dot?"

"In there, " motioning toward the sick room; "he is always there, wecannot keep him out, " and her lip trembled. When Jack and I returnedto the brown room, we found the others gathered round the table. Carrie, who was pouring out the tea, pointed to the seat beside her. 

It was the first dreary meal I had ever remembered in the brownroom; my first evening at home had always been so happy. The shallowblue teacups and tiny plates always seemed prettier than otherpeople's china, and nothing ever tasted so delicious as our home-madebrown bread and butter. 

But this evening the flavor seemed spoiled. Carrie sat in mother'splace looking sad and abstracted, and fingering her little silvercross nervously. Fred was downcast and out of spirits, returning onlybrief replies to Uncle Geoffrey's questions, and only waking up tosnub Jack if she spoke a word. Oh, how I wished Allan would make hisappearance and put us all right! It was quite a relief when I heardmother's voice calling me, and she took me into the great cool roomwhere father lay. 

Dot was curled up in mother's great arm-chair, with his favoritebook of natural history; he slipped a hot little hand in mine as Ipassed him. 

Dot was our name for him because he was so little, but he had beencalled Frank, after our father; he was eight years old, but he hardlylooked bigger than a child of six. His poor back was crooked, and hewas lame from hip-disease; sometimes for weeks together the cruelabscesses wasted his strength, at other times he was tolerably freefrom pain; even at his worst times Dot was a cheery invalid, for hewas a bright, patient little fellow. He had a beautiful little face, too, though perhaps the eyes were a trifle too large for the thinfeatures; but Dot was my pet, and I could see no fault in him;nothing angered me more than when people pitied him or lamented overhis infirmity. When I first came home the sound of his crutch on thefloor was the sweetest music in my ear. But I had no eyes even forDot after my first look at father. Oh, how changed, how terriblychanged he was! The great wave of brown hair over his forehead wasgray, his features were pinched and haggard, and when he spoke to mehis voice was different, and he seemed hardly able to articulate. 

"Poor children--poor children!" he groaned; and as I kissed hischeek he said, "Be a good girl, Esther, and try to be a comfort toyour mother. "

"When I am a man I shall try and be a comfort too, " cried Dot, inhis sharp chirpy voice; it quite startled father. 

"That's my brave boy, " said father, faintly, and I think there weretears in his eyes. "Dora"--my mother's name was Dora--"I am too tiredto talk; let the children go now, and come and sit by me while I goto sleep;" and mother gently dismissed us. 

I had rather a difficulty with Dot when I got outside, for hesuddenly lowered his crutch and sat down on the floor. 

"I don't want to go to bed, " he announced, decidedly. "I shall sithere all night, in case mother wants me; when it gets dark she mayfeel lonely. "

"But, Dot, mother will be grieved if she comes out and finds youhere; she has anxiety enough as it is; and if you make yourself ill, too, you will only add to her trouble. Come, be a good boy, and letme help you to undress. " But I might as well have talked to Smudge. Dot had these obstinate fits at times; he was tired, and his nerveswere shaken by being so many hours in the sick room, and nothingwould have induced him to move. I was so tired at last that I satdown on the floor, too, and rested my head against the door, and Dotsat bolt upright like a watchful little dog, and in this ridiculousposition we were discovered by Allan. I had not heard of his arrival;and when he came toward us, springing lightly up two stairs at atime, I could not help uttering a suppressed exclamation of delight. 

He stopped at once and looked at us in astonishment. "Dot andEsther! in the name of all that is mysterious; huddled up like twoChinese gods on the matting. Why, I took Esther for a heap of clothesin the twilight. " Of course I told him how it happened. Dot wasnaughty and would not move, and I was keeping him company. Allanhardly heard me out before he had shouldered Dot, crutch and all, andwas walking off with him down the passage. "Wait for me a fewminutes, Esther, " he whispered; and I betook myself to the window-seatand looked over the dusky garden, where the tall white lilieslooked like ghostly flowers in the gloom. 

It was a long time before Allan rejoined me. "That is a curiouslittle body, " he said, half laughing, as he sat down beside me. "Ihad quite a piece of work with him for carrying him off in thatfashion; he said 'I was a savage, a great uncivilized man, to takesuch a mean advantage of him; If I were big I would fight you, ' hesaid, doubling his fists; he looked such a miserable little atom of achap as he said it. "

"Was he really angry?" I asked, for Dot was so seldom out of temper. 

"Angry, I believe you. He was in a towering rage; but he is allright now, so you need not go to him. I stroked him down, and praisedhim for his good intentions, and then I told him I was a doctor now, and no one contradicted my orders, and that he must be a good boy andlet me help him to bed. Poor little fellow; he sobbed all the time hewas undressing, he is so fond of father. I am afraid it will go badlywith him if things turn out as I fear they will, " and Allan's voicewas very grave. 

We had a long talk after that, until Uncle Geoffrey came upstairsand dislodged us, by carrying Allan off. It was such a comfort tohave him all to myself; we had been so much separated of late years. 

Allan was five years older than I; he was only a year younger thanFred, but the difference between them was very great. Allan lookedthe elder of the two; he was not so tall as Fred, but he was stronglybuilt and sturdy; he was dark-complexioned, and his features werealmost as irregular as mine; but in a man that did not so muchmatter, and very few people called Allan plain. 

Allan had always been my special brother--most sisters know what Imean by that term. Allan was undemonstrative; he seldom petted ormade much of me, but a word from him was worth a hundred from Fred;and there was a quiet unspoken sympathy between us that wassufficiently palpable. If Allan wanted his gloves mended he alwayscame to me, and not to Carrie. I was his chief correspondent, and hemade me the confidante of his professional hopes and fears. Inreturn, he good-humoredly interested himself in my studies, directedmy reading, and considered himself at liberty to find fault witheverything that did not please him. He was a little peremptorysometimes, but I did not mind that half so much as Fred's sarcasms;and he never distressed me as Fred did, by laughing at my largehands, or wondering why I was not so natty in my dress as Carrie. 

CHAPTER III. 

DOT. 

I went to my room to unpack my things, and by-and-by Carrie joined me. 

I half hoped that she meant to help me, but she sat down by thewindow and said, with a sigh, how tired she was; and certainly hereyes had a weary look. 

She watched me for some time in silence, but once or twice shesighed very heavily. 

"I wish you could leave those things, Esther, " she said, at last, not pettishly--Carrie was never pettish--but a little tooplaintively. "I have not had a creature to whom I could talk sinceyou left home in April. "

The implied compliment was very nice, but I did not half likeleaving my things--I was rather old-maidish in my ways, and neverliked half measures; but I remembered reading once about "the lust offinishing, " and what a test of unselfishness it was to put by ahalf-completed task cheerfully at the call of another duty. Perhaps itwas my duty to leave my unpacking and listen to Carrie, but there wasone little point in her speech that did not please me. 

"You could talk to mother, " I objected; for mother always listenedto one so nicely. 

"I tried it once, but mother did not understand, " sighed Carrie. Iused to wish she did not sigh so much. "We had quite an argument, butI saw it was no use--that I should never bring her to my way ofthinking. She was brought up so differently; girls were allowed solittle liberty then. My notions seemed to distress her. She said thatI was peculiar, and that I carried things too far, and that shewished I were more like other girls; and then she kissed me, and saidI was very good, and she did not mean to hurt me; but she thoughthome had the first claim; and so on. You know mother's way. "

"I think mother was right there--you think so yourself, do you notCarrie?" I asked anxiously, for this seemed to me the A B C of commonsense. 

"Oh, of course, " rather hastily. "Charity begins at home, but itought not to stop there. If I chose to waste my time practicing forFred's violin, and attending to all his thousand and one fads andfancies, what would become of all my parish work? You should haveheard Mr. Arnold's sermon last Sunday, Esther; he spoke of the miseryand poverty and ignorance that lay around us outside our homes, andof the loiterers and idlers within those homes. " And Carrie's eyeslooked sad and serious. 

"That is true, " I returned, and then I stopped, and Jessie's wordscame to my mind, "Even Carrie makes mistakes at times. " For the firsttime in my life the thought crossed me; in my absence would it nothave been better for Carrie to have been a little more at home? Itwas Jessie's words and mother's careworn face that put the thoughtinto my head; but the next moment I had dismissed it as heresy. Mygood, unselfish Carrie, it was impossible that she could makemistakes! Carrie's next speech chimed in well with my unspokenthoughts. 

"Home duties come first, of course, Esther--no one in their sensescould deny such a thing; but we must be on our guard against make-believe duties. It is my duty to help mother by teaching Jack, and Igive her two hours every morning; but when Fred comes into theschoolroom with some nonsensical request that would rob me of an houror so, I am quite right not to give way to him. Do you think, "warming into enthusiasm over her subject, "that Fred's violin playingought to stand in the way of any real work that will benefit souls aswell as bodies--that will help to reclaim ignorance and teachvirtue?" And Carrie's beautiful eyes grew dark and dewy with feeling. I wish mother could have seen her; something in her expressionreminded me of a picture of Faith I had once seen. 

"Oh, Esther, " she continued, for I was too moved to answer her, "every day I live I long to give myself more entirely to benefitingmy fellow creatures. Girl as I am, I mean to join the grand army ofworkers--that is what Mr. Arnold called them. Oh, how I wish I couldremember all he said! He told us not to be disheartened by pettydifficulties, or to feel lonely because, perhaps, those who were ournearest and dearest discouraged our efforts or put obstacles in ourway. 'You think you are alone, ' he said, 'when you are one of therank and file in that glorious battalion. There are thousands workingwith you and around you, although you cannot see them. ' And then heexhorted us who were young to enter this crusade. "

"But, Carrie, " I interrupted, somewhat mournfully, for I was tiredand a little depressed, "I am afraid our work is already cut out forus, and we shall have to do it however little pleased we may be withthe pattern. From what Uncle Geoffrey tells me, we shall be verypoor. "

"I am not afraid of poverty, Esther. "

"But still you will be grieved to leave Combe Manor, " I persisted. "Perhaps we shall have to live in a little pokey house somewhere, andto go out as governesses. "

"Perhaps so, " she answered, serenely; "but I shall still find timefor higher duties. I shall be a miser, and treasure all my minutes. But I have wasted nearly half-an-hour now; but it is such a luxury totalk to somebody who can understand. " And then she kissed meaffectionately and bade me hasten to bed, for it was getting late, and I looked sadly tired; but it never entered into her head to helpme put away the clothes that strewed my room, though I was aching inevery limb from grief and fatigue. If one looks up too much at theclouds one stumbles against rough stones sometimes. Star gazing isvery sweet and elevating, but it is as well sometimes to pick up thehomely flowers that grow round our feet. "What does Carrie mean byhigher duties?" I grumbled, as I sought wearily to evoke order out ofchaos. "To work for one's family is as much a duty as visiting thepoor. " I could not solve the problem; Carrie was too vague for methere; but I went to bed at last, and dreamed that we two werebuilding houses on the seashore. Carrie's was the prettier, for itwas all of sea-weed and bright-colored shells that looked as thoughthe sun were shining on them, while mine was made of clay, temperedby mortar. 

"Oh, Carrie, I like yours best" I cried, disconsolately; yet as Ispoke a long tidal wave came up and washed the frail building away. But though mine filled with foamy water, the rough walls remainedentire, and then I looked at it again the receding wave had strewnits floors with small shining pearls. 

I must pass over the record of the next few days, for they were sosad--so sad, even now, I cannot think of them without tears. On thesecond day after my return, dear father had another attack, andbefore many hours were over we knew we were orphans. 

Two things stood out most prominently during that terrible week;dear mother's exceeding patience and Dot's despair. Mother gave uslittle trouble. She lay on her couch weeping silently, but no word ofcomplaint or rebellion crossed her lips; she liked us to sit besideher and read her soothing passages of Scripture, and she was verythoughtful and full of pity for us all. Her health was never verygood, and just now her strength had given way utterly. Uncle Geoffreywould not hear of her exerting herself, and, indeed, she looked sofrail and broken that even Fred got alarmed about her. 

Carrie was her principal companion, for Dot took all my attention;and, indeed, it nearly broke our hearts to see him. 

Uncle Geoffrey had carried him from the room when father's lastattack had come on. Jack was left in charge of him, and the rest ofus were gathered in the sick room. I was the first to leave when allwas over, for I thought of Dot and trembled; but as I opened the doorthere he was, crouched down in a little heap at the entrance, withJack sobbing beside him. 

"I took away his crutch, but he crawled all the way on his hands andknees, " whispered Jack; and then Allan came out and stood beside me. 

"Poor little fellow!" he muttered; and Dot lifted his miserablelittle white face, and held out his arms. 

"Take me in, " he implored. "Father's dead, for I heard you allcrying; but I must kiss him once more. "

"I don't think it will hurt him, " observed Allan, in a low voice. "He will only imagine all sorts of horrors--and he looks sopeaceful, " motioning toward the closed door. 

"I will be so good, " implored the poor child, "if you only take mein. " And Allan, unable to resist any longer, lifted him in his arms. 

I did not go in, for I could not have borne it. Carrie told meafterward that Allan cried like a child when Dot nestled up to thedead face and began kissing and stroking it. 

"You are my own father, though you look so different, " he whispered. "I wish you were not so cold. I wish you could look and speak to me--I am your little boy Dot--you were always so fond of Dot, father. Letme go with you; I don't want to live any longer without you, " and soon, until Uncle Geoffrey made Allan take him away. 

Oh, how good Allan was to him! He lay down by his side all night, soothing him and talking to him, for Dot never slept. The next day wetook turns to be with him, and so on day after day; but I think Dotliked Allan best. 

"He is most like father, " he said once, which, perhaps, explainedthe preference; but then Allan had so much tact and gentleness. Freddid not understand him at all; he called him odd and uncanny, whichdispleased us both. 

One evening I had been reading to mother, and afterward I went up toDot. He had been very feverish and had suffered much all day, andAllan had scarcely left him; but toward evening he had grown quieter. I found Jack beside him; they were making up garlands for the grave;it was Dot's only occupation just now. 

"Look here, Essie, " he cried, eagerly. "Is not this a splendidwreath? We are making it all of pansies--they were father's favoriteflowers. He always called them floral butterflies. Fancy a wreath ofbutterflies!" and Dot gave a weak little laugh. It was a very ghostof a laugh, but it was his first, and I hailed it joyfully. I praisedthe quaint stiff wreath. In its way it was picturesque. The rich huesof the pansies blended well--violet and gold; it was a pretty idea, laying heartsease on the breast that would never know anxiety again. 

"When I get better, " continued Dot, "I am going to make such abeautiful little garden by dear father. Jack and I have been planningit. We are going to have rose-trees and lilies of the valley andsweet peas--father was so fond of sweet peas; and in the springsnowdrops and crocuses and violets. Allan says I may do it. "

"Yes, surely, Dot. "

"I wonder what father is doing now?" he exclaimed, suddenly, puttingby the unfinished wreath a little wearily. "I think the worst ofpeople dying is that we cannot find out what they are doing, " and hiseyes grew large and wistful. Alas! Dot, herein lies the sting ofdeath--silence so insupportable and unbroken!

"Shall I read you your favorite chapter?" I asked, softly; for everyday Dot made us read to him the description of that City with itsgolden streets and gem-built walls; but he shook his head, "It glitters too much for my head to-night, " he said, quaintly; "itis too bright and shining. I would rather think of dear fatherwalking in those green pastures, with all the good people who havedied. It must be very beautiful there, Esther. But I think fatherwould be happier if I were with him. "

"Oh, Dot, no!" for the bare idea pained me; and I felt I must arguethis notion away. "Allan and I could not spare you, or mother either;and there's Jack--what would poor Jack do without her playfellow?"

"I don't feel I shall ever play again, " said Dot, leaning his chinon his mites of hands and peering at us in his shrewd way. "Jack is agirl, and she cannot understand; but when one is only a Dot, and hasan ugly crutch and a back that never leaves off aching, and a fatherthat has gone to heaven, one does not care to be left behind. "

"But you are not thinking of us, Dot, and how unhappy it would makeus to lose you too, " I returned. And now the tears would come one byone; Dot saw them, and wiped them off with his sleeve. 

"Don't be silly, Esther, " he said, in a coaxing little voice. "I amnot going yet. Allan says I may live to be a man. He said so lastnight; and then he told me he was afraid we should be very poor; andthat made me sorry, for I knew I should never be able to work, withmy poor back. "

"But Allan and I will work for you, my darling, " I exclaimed, throwing my arms round him; "only you must not leave us, Dot, evenfor father;" and as I said this I began to sob bitterly. I wasterribly ashamed of myself when Allan came in and discovered me inthe act; and there was Jack keeping me company, and frowning away hertears dreadfully. 

I thought Allan would have scolded us all round; but no, he didnothing of the kind. He patted Jack's wet cheeks and laughed at thehole in her handkerchief; and he then seated himself on the bed, andasked me very gently what was the matter with us all. Dot wasspokesman: he stated the facts of the case rather lugubriously and ina slightly injured voice. 

"Esther is crying because she is selfish, and I am afraid I amselfish too. "

"Most likely, " returned Allan, dryly; "it is a human failing. Whatis the case in point, Frankie?"

Allan was the only one of us who ever called Dot by his proper name. 

"I should not mind growing up to be a man, " replied Dot, fencing alittle, "if I were big and strong like you, " taking hold of the hugesinewy hand. "I could work then for mother and the girls; but now youwill be always obliged to take care of me, and so--and so--" and hereDot's lips quivered a little, "I would rather go with dear father, ifEsther would not cry about it so. "

"No, no, you must stay with us, Sonny, " returned Allan, cheerily. "Esther and I are not going to give you up so easily. Why, look here, Frankie; I will tell you a secret. One of these days I mean to have anice little house of my own, and Esther and you shall come and livewith me, and I will go among my patients all the morning, and in theevening I shall come home very lazy and tired, and Esther shall fetchme my slippers and light the lamp, and I shall get my books, and youwill have your drawing, and Esther will mend our clothes, and weshall be as cozy as possible. "

"Yes, yes, " exclaimed Dot, clapping his hands. The snug picture hadfascinated his childish fancy; Allan's fireside had obscured thelights of paradise. From this time this imaginary home of Allan'sbecame his favorite castle in the air. When we were together he wouldoften talk of it as though it were reality. We had planted the gardenand furnished the parlor a dozen times over before the year was out;and so strong is a settled imagination that I am almost sure Dotbelieved that somewhere there existed the little white cottage withthe porch covered with honeysuckle, and the low bay-window with thegreat pots of flowering plants, beside which Dot's couch was to stand. 

I don't think Jack enjoyed these talks so much as Dot and I did, aswe made no room for her in our castle-building. 

"You must not live with us, Jack, " Dot would say, very gravely; "youare only a girl, and we don't want girls"--what was I, I wonder?--"but you shall come and see us once a week, and Esther will give youbrown bread and honey out of our beehives; for we had arranged theremust be a row of beehives under a southern wall where peaches were togrow; and as for white lilies, we were to have dozens of them. Dear, dear, how harmless all these fancies were, and yet they kept uscheerful and warded off many an hour of depression from pain whenDot's back was bad. I remember one more thing that Allan said thatnight, when we were all better and more cheerful, for it was rather agrave speech for a young man; but then Allan had these fits ofgravity. 

"Never mind thinking if you will grow up to be a man, Dot. Wishingwon't help us to die an hour sooner, and the longest life must havean end some day. What we have to do is to take up our life, and dothe best we can with it while it lasts, and to be kind and patient, and help one another. Most likely Esther and I will have to work hardenough all our lives--we shall work, and you may have to suffer; butwe cannot do without you any more than you can do without us. There, Frankie!"

CHAPTER IV. 

UNCLE GEOFFREY. 

The day after the funeral Uncle Geoffrey held a family council, atwhich we were all present, except mother and Dot; he preferredtalking to her alone afterward. 

Oh, what changes! what incredible changes! We must leave Combe Manorat once. With the exception of a few hundred pounds that had beenmother's portion, the only dowry that her good old father, a navalcaptain, had been able to give her, we were literally penniless. Theboys were not able to help us much. Allan was only a house-surgeon inone of the London hospitals; and Fred, who called himself an artist, had never earned a penny. He was a fair copyist, and talked theordinary art jargon, and went about all day in his brown velveteencoat, and wore his hair rather long; but we never saw much resultfrom his Roman studies; latterly he had somewhat neglected hispainting, and had taken to violin playing and musical composition. Uncle Geoffrey used to shake his head and say he was "Jack of alltrades and master of none, " which was not far from the mark. Therewas a great deal of talk between the three, before anything wassettled. 

Fred was terribly aggravating to Uncle Geoffrey, I could see; butthen he was so miserable, poor fellow; he would not look at things intheir proper light, and he had a way with him as though he thoughtUncle Geoffrey was putting upon him. The discussion grew very warm atlast, for Allan sided with Uncle Geoffrey, and then Fred said everyone was against him. It struck me Uncle Geoffrey pooh-poohed Fred'swhim of being an artist; he wanted him to go into an office; therewas a vacant berth he could secure by speaking to an old friend ofhis, who was in a China tea-house, a most respectable money-makingfirm, and Fred would have a salary at once, with good prospects ofrising; but Fred passionately scouted the notion. He would ratherenlist; he would drown, or hang himself sooner. There were no end ofnaughty things he said; only Carrie cried and begged him not to be sowicked, and that checked him. 

Uncle Geoffrey lost his patience at last, and very nearly told himhe was an idiot, to his face; but Fred looked so handsome andmiserable, that he relented; and at last it was arranged that Fredwas to take a hundred pounds of mother's money--she would have givenhim the whole if she could, poor dear--and take cheap rooms inLondon, and try how he could get on by teaching drawing and takingcopying orders. 

"Remember, Fred, " continued Uncle Geoffrey, rather sternly, "you aretaking a sixth part of your mother's entire income; all that she hasfor herself and these girls; if you squander it rashly, you will berobbing the widow and the fatherless. You have scouted my well-meantadvice, and Allan's"--he went on--"and are marking out your own pathin life very foolishly, as we think; remember, you have only yourselfto blame, if you make that life a failure. Artists are of the samestuff as other men, and ought to be sober, steady, and persevering;without patience and effort you cannot succeed. "

"When my picture is accepted by the hanging committee, you and Allanwill repent your sneers, " answered Fred, bitterly. 

"We do not sneer, my boy, " returned Uncle Geoffrey, more mildly--forhe remembered Fred's father had only been dead a week--"we are onlydoubtful of the wisdom of your choice; but there, work hard at yourdaubs, and keep out of debt and bad company, and you may yet triumphover your cranky old uncle. " And so the matter was amicably settled. 

Allan's arrangements were far more simple. He was to leave thehospital in another year, and become Uncle Geoffrey's assistant, witha view to partnership. It was not quite Allan's taste, a practice ina sleepy country town; but, as he remarked rather curtly, "beggarsmust not be choosers, " and he would as soon work under Uncle Geoffreyas any other man. I think Allan was rather ambitious in his secretviews. He wanted to remain longer at the hospital and get into aLondon practice; he would have liked to have been higher up the treethan Uncle Geoffrey, who was quite content with his quiet position atMilnthorpe. But the most astonishing part of the domestic programmewas, that we were all going to live with Uncle Geoffrey. I couldscarcely believe my ears when I heard it, and Carrie was just assurprised. Could any of us credit such unselfish generosity? He hadnot prepared us for it in the least. 

"Now, girls, you must just pack up your things, you, and the mother, and Dot; of course we must take Dot, and you must manage to shakeyourselves down in the old house at Milnthorpe"--that is how he putit; "it is not so big as Combe Manor, and I daresay we shall berather a tight fit when Allan comes; but the more the merrier, eh, Jack?"

"Oh, Uncle Geoff, do you mean it?" gasped Jack, growing scarlet; butCarrie and I could not speak for surprise. 

"Mean it! Of course. What is the good of being a bachelor uncle, ifone is not to be tyrannized over by an army of nephews and nieces? Doyou think the plan will answer, Esther?" he said, rather moreseriously. 

"If you and Deborah do not mind it, Uncle Geoffrey, I am sure itought to answer; but we shall crowd you, and put you and Deborah tosad inconvenience, I am afraid;" for I was half afraid of Deborah, who had lived with Uncle Geoffrey for five-and-twenty years, and wasused to her own ways, and not over fond of young people. 

"I shall not ask Deb's opinion, " he answered, rather roguishly; "wemust smooth her down afterward, eh, girls? Seriously, Allan, I thinkit is the best plan under the circumstances. I am not fond of beingalone, " and here Uncle Geoffrey gave a quick sigh. Poor Uncle Geoff!he had never meant to be an old bachelor, only She died while he wasfurnishing the old house at Milnthorpe, and he never could fix hismind on any one else. 

"I like young folks about me, " he continued, cheerfully. "When I getold and rheumatic, I can keep Dot company, and Jack can wait on usboth. Of course I am not a rich man, children, and we must all helpto keep the kettle boiling; but the house is my own, and you can allshelter in it if you like; it will save house-rent and taxes, at anyrate for the present. "

"Carrie and I will work, " I replied, eagerly; for, though UncleGeoffrey was not a poor man, he was very far from being rich, and hecould not possibly afford to keep us all. A third of his income wentto poor Aunt Prue, who had married foolishly, and was now a widowwith a large family. 

Aunt Prue would have been penniless, only father and Uncle Geoffagreed to allow her a fixed maintenance. As Uncle Geoff explained tous afterward, she would now lose half her income. 

"There are eight children, and two or three of them are verydelicate, and take after their father. I have been thinking about itall, Esther, " he said, when Allan and I were alone with him, "and Ihave made up my mind that I must allow her another hundred a year. Poor soul, she works hard at that school-keeping of hers, and none ofthe children are old enough to help her except Lawrence, and he isgoing into a decline, the doctors say. I am afraid we shall have topinch a bit, unless you and Carrie get some teaching. "

"Oh, Uncle Geoff, of course we shall work; and Jack, too, when sheis old enough. " Could he think we should be a burden on him, when wewere all young and strong?

I had forgotten poor Aunt Prue, who lived a long way off, and whomwe saw but seldom. She was a pretty, subdued little woman, who alwayswore shabby black gowns; I never saw her in a good dress in my life. Well, we were as poor as Aunt Prue now, and I wondered if we shouldmake such a gallant fight against misfortune as she did. 

We arranged matters after that--Allan and Uncle Geoff and I; forCarrie had gone to sit with mother, and Fred had strolled offsomewhere. They wanted me to try my hand at housekeeping; at least, until mother was stronger and more able to bear things. 

"Carrie hates it, and you have a good head for accounts, " Allanobserved, quietly. It seemed rather strange that they should make metake the head, when Carrie was two years older, and a week ago I wasonly a schoolgirl; but I felt they were right, for I liked planningand contriving, and Carrie detested anything she called domesticdrudgery. 

We considered ways and means after that. Uncle Geoffrey told us theexact amount of his income, He had always lived very comfortably, butwhen he had deducted the extra allowance for poor Aunt Prue, we sawclearly that there was not enough for so large a party; but at thefirst hint of this from Allan Uncle Geoffrey got quite warm andeager. Dear, generous Uncle Geoff! he was determined to share hislast crust with his dead brother's widow and children. 

"Nonsense, fiddlesticks!" he kept on saying; "what do I want withluxuries? Ask Deborah if I care what I eat and drink; we shall dovery well, if you and Esther are not so faint-hearted. " And when wefound out how our protests seemed to hurt him, we let him have hisown way; only Allan and I exchanged looks, which said as plainly aslooks could, "Is he not the best uncle that ever lived, and will wenot work our hardest to help him?"

I had a long talk with Carrie that night; she was very submissiveand very sad, and seemed rather downhearted over things. She wasquite as grateful for Uncle Geoff's generosity as we were, but Icould see the notion of being a governess distressed her greatly. "Iam very glad you will undertake the housekeeping, Esther, " she said, rather plaintively; "it will leave me free for other things, " andthen she sighed very bitterly, and got up and left me. I was a littlesorry that she did not tell me all that was in her mind, for, if weare "to bear each other's burdens, " it is necessary to break down thereserve that keeps us out of even a sister's heart sometimes. 

But though Carrie left me to my own thoughts, I was not able toquiet myself for hours. If I had only Jessie to whom I could talk!and then it seemed to me as though it were months since we sattogether in the garden of Redmayne House talking out our girlishphilosophy. 

Only a fortnight ago, and yet how much had happened since then! Whata revolution in our home-world! Dear father lying in his quiet grave;ourselves penniless orphans, obliged to leave Combe Manor, andindebted to our generous benefactor for the very roof that was tocover us and the food that we were to eat. 

Ah, well! I was only a schoolgirl, barely seventeen. No wonder Ishrank back a little appalled from the responsibilities that awaitedme. I was to be Uncle Geoff's housekeeper, his trusted right-hand andreferee. I was to manage that formidable Deborah, and the stolid, broad-faced Martha; and there was mother so broken in health andspirits, and Dot, and Jack, with her hoidenish ways and torn frocks, and Allan miles away from me, and Carrie--well, I felt half afraid ofCarrie to-night; she seemed meditating great things when I wanted herto compass daily duties. I hoped she would volunteer to go on withJack's lessons and help with the mending, and I wondered with moreforebodings what things she was planning for which I was to leave herfree. 

All these things tired me, and I sat rather dismally in themoonlight looking out at the closed white lilies and the swayingbranches of the limes, until a text suddenly flashed into my mind, "As thy day, so shall thy strength be. " I lit my candle and opened myBible, that I might read over the words for myself. Yes, there theywere shining before my eyes, like "apples of gold in pictures ofsilver, " refreshing and comforting my worn-out spirits. Strengthpromised for the day, but not beforehand, supplies of heavenly manna, not to be hoarded or put by; the daily measure, daily gathered. 

An old verse of Bishop Ken's came to my mind. Very quaint and richin wisdom it was:

 "Does each day upon its wing Its appointed burden bring? Load it not besides with sorrow That belongeth to the morrow. When by God the heart is riven, Strength is promised, strength is given: But fore-date the day of woe, And alone thou bear'st the blow. "

When I had said this over to myself, I laid my head on the pillowand slept soundly. 

Mother and I had a nice little talk the next day. It was arrangedthat I was to go over to Milnthorpe with Uncle Geoffrey, who wasobliged to return home somewhat hastily, in order to talk to Deborahand see what furniture would be required for the rooms that wereplaced at our disposal. As I was somewhat aghast at the amount ofbusiness entrusted to my inexperienced hands, Allan volunteered tohelp me, as Carrie could not be spared. 

We were to stay two or three days, make all the arrangements thatwere necessary, and then come back and prepare for the flitting. IfAllan were beside me, I felt that I could accomplish wonders;nevertheless, I carried rather a harassed face into dear mother'sdressing-room that morning. 

"Oh, Esther, how pale and tired you look!" were her first words as Icame toward her couch. "Poor child, we are making you a woman beforeyour time!" and her eyes filled with tears. 

"I am seventeen, " I returned, with an odd little choke in my voice, for I could have cried with her readily at that moment. "That isquite a great age, mother; I feel terribly old, I assure you. "

"You are our dear, unselfish Esther, " she returned, lovingly. Dearsoul, she always thought the best of us all, and my heart swelled howproudly, and oh! how gratefully, when she told me in her sweet gentleway what a comfort I was to her. 

"You are so reliable, Esther, " she went on, "that we all look to youas though you were older. You must be Uncle Geoffrey's favorite, Ithink, from the way he talks about you. Carrie is very sweet and goodtoo, but she is not so practical. "

"Oh, mother, she is ever so much better than I!" I cried, for Icould not bear the least disparagement of my darling Carrie. "Thinkhow pretty she is, and how little she cares for dress and admiration. If I were like that, " I added, flushing a little over my words, "I'mafraid I should be terribly vain. "

Mother smiled a little at that. 

"Be thankful then that you are saved that temptation. " And then shestroked my hot cheek and went on softly: "Don't think so much aboutyour looks, child; plain women are just as vain as pretty ones. Notthat you are plain, Esther, in my eyes, or in the eyes of any one wholoves you. " But even that did not quite comfort me, for in my secretheart my want of beauty troubled me sadly. There, I have owned theworst of myself--it is out now. 

We talked for a long time after that about the new life that laybefore us, and again I marveled at mother's patience and submission;but when I told her so she only hid her face and wept. 

"What does it matter?" she said, at last, when she had recoveredherself a little. "No home can be quite a home to me now without him. If I could live within sight of his grave, I should be thankful; butCombe Manor and Milnthrope are the same to me now. " And though thesewords struck me as strange at first, I understood afterward; for inthe void and waste of her widowed life no outer change ofcircumstances seemed to disturb her, except for our sakes and for us. 

She seemed to feel Uncle Geoffrey's kindness as a sort of stay andsource of endless comfort. "Such goodness--such unselfishness!" shekept murmuring to herself; and then she wanted to hear all that Allanand I proposed. 

"How I wish I could get strong and help you, " she said, wistfully, when I had finished. "With all that teaching and housekeeping, I amafraid you will overtax your strength. "

"Oh, no, Carrie will help me, " I returned, confidently. "UncleGeoffrey is going to speak to some of his patients about us. Herather thinks those Thornes who live opposite to him want agoverness. "

"That will be nice and handy, and save you a walk, " she returned, brightening up at the notion that one of us would be so near her; butthough I would not have hinted at such a thing, I should rather haveenjoyed the daily walk. I was fond of fresh air, and exercise, andrushing about, after the manner of girls, and it seemed rather tameand monotonous just to cross the street to one's work; but Iremembered Allan's favorite speech, "Beggars must not be choosers, "and held my peace. 

On the whole, I felt somewhat comforted by my talk with mother. Ifshe and Uncle Geoffrey thought so well of me, I must try and live upto their good opinion. There is nothing so good as to fix a highstandard for one's self. True, we may never reach it, never satisfyourselves, but the continued effort strengthens and elevates us. 

I went into Carrie's room to tell her about the Thornes, and lay ourplans together, but she was reading Thomas a Kempis, and did not seeminclined to be disturbed, so I retreated somewhat discomforted. 

But I forgot my disappointment a moment afterward, when I went intothe schoolroom and found Dot fractious and weary, and Jack vainlytrying to amuse him. Allan was busy, and the two children had passeda solitary morning. 

"Dot wanted Carrie to read to him, but she said she was too tired, and I could do it, " grumbled Jack, disconsolately. 

"I don't like Jack's reading; it is too jerky, and her voice is tooloud, " returned Dot; but his countenance smoothed when I got the bookand read to him, and soon he fell into a sound sleep. 

CHAPTER V. 

THE OLD HOUSE AT MILNTHORPE. 

The following afternoon Uncle Geoffrey, Allan, and I, started forMilnthorpe. Youthful grief is addicted to restlessness--it is onlythe old who can sit so silently and weep; it was perfectly natural, then, that I should hail a few days' change with feelings of relief. 

It was rather late in the evening when we arrived. As we drovethrough the market place there was the usual group of idlersloitering on the steps of the Red Lion, who stared at us lazily as wepassed. Milnthorpe was an odd, primitive little place--the sunniestand sleepiest of country towns. It had a steep, stragglingHighstreet, which ended in a wide, deserted-looking square, whichrather reminded one of the Place in some Continental town. The weeklymarkets were held here, on which occasion the large white portico ofthe Red Lion was never empty. Milnthorpe woke with brief spasms oflife on Monday morning; broad-shouldered men jostled each other onthe grass-grown pavements; large country wagons, sweet-smelling inhaymaking seasons, blocked up the central spaces; country women, withgay-colored handkerchiefs, sold eggs, and butter, and poultry In thesquare; and two or three farmers, with their dogs at their heels, lingered under the windows of the Red Lion, fingering the samples intheir pockets, and exchanging dismal prognostications concerning thecrops and the weather. One side of the square was occupied by St. Barnabas, with its pretty shaded churchyard and old gray vicarage. Onthe opposite side was the handsome red brick house occupied by Mr. Lucas, the banker, and two or three other houses, more or lesspretentious, inhabited by the gentry of Milnthorpe. 

Uncle Geoffrey lived at the lower end of the High street. It was atall, narrow house, with old-fashioned windows and wire blinds. Theseblinds, which were my detestation, were absolutely necessary, as thestreet door opened directly on the street. There was one smooth, longstep, and that was all. It had rather a dull outside look, but themoment one entered the narrow wainscoted hall, there was a cheeryvista of green lawn and neatly graveled paths through the glass door. 

The garden was the delight of Uncle Geoffrey's heart. It wassomewhat narrow, to match the house; but in the center of the lawn, there was a glorious mulberry tree, the joy of us children. Behindwas a wonderful intricacy of slim, oddly-shaped flower-beds, intersected by miniature walks, where two people could withdifficulty walk abreast; and beyond this lay a tolerable kitchengarden, where Deborah grew cabbages and all sorts of homely herbs, and where tiny pink roses and sturdy sweet-williams blossomed amongthe gooseberry bushes. 

On one side of the house were two roomy parlors, divided by foldingdoors. We never called them anything but parlors, for the shabbywainscoted walls and old-fashioned furniture forbade any similitudeto the modern drawing-room. 

On the other side of the hall was Uncle Geoffrey's study--a somewhatgrim, dingy apartment, with brown shelves full of ponderous tomes, apipe-rack filled with fantastic pipes, deep old cupboards full ofhetereogeneous rubbish, and wide easy-chairs that one could hardlylift, one of which was always occupied by Jumbles, Uncle Geoffrey'sdog. 

Jumbles was a great favorite with us all. He was a solemn, wise-looking dog of the terrier breed, indeed, I believe Uncle Geoffcalled him a Dandy Dinmont--blue-gray in color, with a great head, and deep-set intelligent eyes. It was Uncle Geoffrey's opinion thatJumbles understood all one said to him. He would sit with his headslightly on one side, thumping his tail against the floor, with asort of glimmer of fun in his eyes, as though he comprehended ourconversation, and interposed a "Hear, hear!" and when he had hadenough of it, and we were growing prosy, he would turn over on hisback with an expression of abject weariness, as though caninereticence objected to human garrulity. 

Jumbles was a rare old philosopher--a sort of four-footed Diogenes. He was discerning in his friendships, somewhat aggressive andsplenetic to his equals; intolerant of cats, whom he hunted likevermin, and rather disdainfully condescending to the small dogs ofMilnthorpe. Jumbles always accompanied Uncle Geoffrey in his rounds. He used to take his place in the gig with undeviating punctuality;nothing induced him to desert his post when the night-bell rang. Hewould rouse up from his sleep, and go out in the coldest weather. Weused to hear his deep bark under the window as they sallied out inthe midnight gloom. 

The morning after we arrived, Allan and I made a tour of inspectionthrough the house. There were only three rooms on the first floor--Uncle Geoffrey's, with its huge four-post bed; a large front room, that we both decided would just do for mother; and a smaller one atthe back, that, after a few minutes' deliberation, I allotted toCarrie. 

It caused me an envious pang or two before I yielded it, for I knewI must share a large upper room with Jack; the little room behind itmust be for Dot, and the larger one would by-and-by be Allan's. Iconfess my heart sank a little when I thought of Jack's noisiness andthriftless ways; but when I remembered how fond she was of goodbooks, and the great red-leaved diary that lay on her little table, Ithought it better that Carrie should have a quiet corner to herself, and then she would be near mother. 

If only Jack could be taught to hold her tongue sometimes, and keepher drawers in order, instead of strewing her room with muddy bootsand odd items of attire! Well, perhaps it might be my mission totrain Jack to more orderly habits. I would set her a good example, and coax her to follow it. She was good-tempered and affectionate, and perhaps I should find her sufficiently pliable. I was so lost inthese anxious thoughts that Allan had left me unperceived. I foundhim in the back parlor, seated on the table, and looking about himrather gloomily. 

"I say, Esther!" he called out, as soon as he caught sight of me, "Iam afraid mother and Carrie will find this rather shabby after thedear old rooms at Combe Manor. Could we not furbish it up a little?"And Allan looked discontentedly at the ugly curtains and little, straight horse-hair sofa. Everything had grown rather shabby, onlyUncle Geoffrey had not found it out. 

"Oh, of course!" I exclaimed, joyfully, for all sorts of brilliantthoughts had come to me while I tossed rather wakefully in the earlymorning hours. "Don't you know, Allan, that Uncle Geoffrey hasdecided to send mother and Carrie and Dot down to the sea for a week, while you and I and Jack make things comfortable for them? Now, whyshould we not help ourselves to the best of the furniture at CombeManor, and make Uncle Geoff turn out all these ugly things? We mighthave our pretty carpet from the drawing-room, and the curtains, andmother's couch, and some of the easy-chairs, and the dear littlecarved cabinet with our purple china; it need not all be sold when wewant it so badly for mother. "

Allan was so delighted at the idea that we propounded our views toUncle Geoffrey at dinner-time; but he did not see the thing quite inour light. 

"Of course you will need furniture for the bedrooms, " he returned, rather dubiously; "but I wanted to sell the rest of the things thatwere not absolutely needed, and invest the money. "

But this sensible view of the matter did not please me or Allan. Wehad a long argument, which ended in a compromise--the question ofcarpets might rest. Uncle Geoffrey's was a good Brussels, although itwas dingy; but I might retain, if I liked, the pretty stripedcurtains from our drawing-room at Combe Manor, and mother's couch, and a few of the easy-chairs, and the little cabinet with the purplechina; and then there was mother's inlaid work-table, and Carrie'sdavenport, and books belonging to both of us, and a little gilt clockthat father had given mother on her last wedding-day--all thesethings would make an entire renovation in the shabby parlors. 

I was quite excited by all these arrangements; but an interview withDeborah soon cooled my ardor. 

Allan and Jumbles had gone out with Uncle Geoffrey, and I wassitting at the window looking over the lawn and the mulberry tree, when a sudden tap at the door startled me from my reverie. Of courseit was Deborah; no one else's knuckles sounded as though they wereiron. Deborah was a tall, angular woman, very spare and erect offigure, with a severe cast of countenance, and heavy black curlspinned up under her net cap; her print dresses were always starcheduntil they crackled, and on Sunday her black silk dress rustled as Inever heard any silk dress rustle before. 

"Yes, Deborah, what is it?" I asked, half-frightened; for surely myhour had come. Deborah was standing so very erect, with the basket ofkeys in her hands, and her mouth drawn down at the corners. 

"Master said this morning, " began Deborah, grimly, "as how there wasa new family coming to live here, and that I was to go to Miss Estherfor orders. Five-and-twenty years have I cooked master's dinners forhim, and received his orders, and never had a word of complaint fromhis lips, and now he is putting a mistress over me and Martha. "

"Oh, Deborah, " I faltered, and then I came to a full stop; for wasit not trying to a woman of her age and disposition, used to UncleGeoffrey's bachelor ways, to have a houseful of young people turnedon her hands? She and Martha would have to work harder, and they wereboth getting old. I felt so much for her that the tears came into myeyes, and my voice trembled. 

"It is hard!" I burst out; "it is very hard for you and Martha tohave your quiet life disturbed. But how could we help coming here, when we had no home and no money, and Uncle Geoffrey was so generous?And then there was Dot and mother so ailing. " And at the thought ofall our helplessness, and Uncle Geoffrey's goodness a great tearrolled down my cheek. It was very babyish and undignified; but, afterall, no assumption of womanliness would have helped me so much. Deborah's grim mouth relaxed; under her severe exterior, and with hersharp tongue, there beat a very kind heart, and Dot was her weakpoint. 

"Well, well, crying won't help the pot to boil, Miss Esther!" shesaid, brusquely enough; but I could see she was coming round. "Masterwas always that kind-hearted that he would have sheltered the wholeparish if he could. I am not blaming him, though it goes hard withMartha and me, who have led peaceable, orderly lives, and never had amistress or thought of one since Miss Blake died, and the master tookup thoughts of single blessedness in earnest. "

"What sort of woman was Miss Blake?" I asked, eagerly, forgetting myfew troubled tears at the thought of Uncle Geoffrey's one romance. The romance of middle-aged people always came with a faint, far-awayodor to us young ones, like some old garment laid up in rose-leavesor lavender, which must needs be of quaint fashion and material, butdoubtless precious in the eyes of the wearer. 

"Woman!" returned Deborah, with an angry snort; "she was a lady, ifthere ever was one. We don't see her sort every day, I can tell youthat, Miss Esther; a pretty-spoken, dainty creature, with long faircurls, that one longed to twine round one's fingers. "

"She was pretty, then?" I hazarded more timidly. 

"Pretty! she was downright beautiful. Miss Carrie reminds me of hersometimes, but she is not near so handsome as poor Miss Rose. Sheused to come here sometimes with her mother, and she and master wouldsit under that mulberry tree. I can see her now walking over thegrass in her white gown, with some apple blossoms in her hand, talking and laughing with him. It was a sad day when she lay in thefever, and did not know him, for all his calling to her 'Rose! Rose!'I was with her when she died, and I thought he would never hold uphis head again. "

"Poor Uncle Geoffrey! But he is cheerful and contented now. "

"But there, I must not stand gossiping, " continued Deborah, interrupting herself. "I have only brought you the keys, and wish toknow what preserve you and Mr. Allan might favor for tea. "

But here I caught hold, not of the key-basket, but of the hard, work-wornhand that held it. 

"Oh, Deborah! do be good to us!" I broke out: "we will trouble youand Martha as little as possible, and we are all going to put ourshoulders to the wheel and help ourselves; and we have no home butthis, and no one to take care of us but Uncle Geoffrey. "

"I don't know but I will make some girdle cakes for tea, " returnedDeborah, in the most imperturbable voice; and she turned herselfround abruptly, and walked out of the room without another word. ButI was quite well satisfied and triumphant. When Deborah baked girdlecakes, she meant the warmest of welcomes, and no end of honor toUncle Geoffrey's guests. 

"Humph! girdle cakes!" observed Uncle Geoffrey, with a smile, as heregarded them. "Deb is in a first-rate humor, then. You have playedyour cards well, old lady, " and his eyes twinkled merrily. 

I went into the kitchen after tea, and had another long talk withDeborah. Dear old kitchen! How many happy hours we children had spentin it! It was very low and dark, and its two windows looked out onthe stable-yard; but in the evening, when the fire burned clear andthe blinds were drawn, it was a pleasant place. Deborah and Marthaused to sit in the brown Windsor chairs knitting, with Puff, thegreat tabby cat, beside them, and the firelight would play on the redbrick floor and snug crimson curtains. 

Deborah and I had a grand talk that night. She was a trifleobstinate and dogmatical, but we got on fairly well. To do herjustice, her chief care seemed to be that her master should not beinterfered with in any of his ways. "He will work harder than ever, "she groaned, "now there are all these mouths to feed. He and Jumbleswill be fairly worn out. "

But our talk contented me. I had enlisted Deborah's sympathies onour side. I felt the battle was over. I was only a "bit thing" asDeborah herself called me, and I was tolerably tired when I went upto my room that night. 

Not that I felt inclined for sleep. Oh dear no! I just dragged thebig easy-chair to the window, and sat there listening to the patterof summer rain on the leaves. 

It was very dark, for the moon had hidden her face; but through thecool dampness there crept a delicious fragrance of wet jasmine andlilies. I wanted to have a good "think;" not to sit down and takemyself to pieces. Oh no, that was Carrie's way. Such introspectionbored me and did me little good, for it only made me think more ofmyself and less of the Master; but I wanted to review the pastfortnight, and look the future in the face. Foolish Esther! As thoughwe can look at a veiled face. Only the past and the present is ours;the future is hidden with God. 

Yes, a fortnight ago I was a merry, heedless schoolgirl, with noresponsibilities and few duties, except that laborious one ofself-improvement, which must go on, under some form or other, untilwe die. And now, on my shrinking shoulders lay the weight of a woman'swork. I was to teach others, when I knew so little myself; it was Iwho was to have the largest share of home administration--I, who wasso faulty, so imperfect. 

Then I remembered a sentence Carrie had once read to me out of oneof her innumerable books, and which had struck me very greatly at thetime. 

"Happy should I think myself, " said St. Francis de Sales, "if Icould rid myself of my imperfections but one quarter of an hourprevious to my death. "

Well, if a saint could say that, why should I lose heart thinkingabout my faults? What was the good of stirring up muddy water to tryand see one's own miserable reflection, when one could look up intothe serene blue of Divine Providence? If I had faults--and, alas! howmany they were--I must try to remedy them; if I slipped, I must prayfor strength to rise again. 

Courage, Esther! "Little by little, " as Uncle Geoffrey says; "smallbeginnings make great endings. " And when I had cheered myself withthese words I went tranquilly to bed. 

CHAPTER VI. 

THE FLITTING. 

So the old Combe Manor days were over, and with them the girlhood ofEsther Cameron. 

Ah me! it was sad to say good-by to the dear old home of ourchildhood; to go round to our haunts, one by one, and look ourlast at every cherished nook and corner; to bid farewell to ourfour-footed pets, Dapple and Cherry and Brindle, and the dear littlespotted calves; to caress our favorite pigeons for the last time, andto feed the greedy old turkey-cock, who had been the terror of ouryounger days. It was well, perhaps, that we were too busy for aprolonged leave-taking. Fred had gone to London, and his handsomelugubrious face no longer overlooked us as we packed books and china. Carrie and mother and Dot were cozily established in the littlesea-side lodging, and only Allan, Jack, and I sat down to our mealsin the dismantled rooms. 

It was hard work trying to keep cheerful, when Allan left offwhistling, as he hammered at the heavy cases, and when Jack wasdiscovered sobbing in odd corners, with Smudge in her arms--of courseSmudge would accompany us to Milnthorpe; no one could imagine Jackwithout her favorite sable attendant, and then Dot was devoted tohim. Jack used to come to us with piteous pleadings to take first oneand then another of her pets; now it was the lame chicken she hadnursed in a little basket by the kitchen fire, then a pair of guineapigs that belonged to Dot, and some carrier pigeons that theyspecially fancied; after that, she was bent on the removal of a youngfamily of hedgehogs, and some kittens that had been discovered in thehay-loft, belonging to the stable cat. 

We made a compromise at last, and entrusted to her care Carrie'stame canaries, and a cage of dormice that belonged to Dot, in whosefate Smudge look a vast amount of interest, though he never venturedto look at the canaries. The care of these interesting captives wasconsolatory to Jack, though she rained tears over them in secret, andwas overheard by Allan telling them between her sobs that "they wereall going to live in a little pokey house, without chickens or cows, or anything that would make life pleasant, and that she and they mustnever expect to be happy again. " Ah, well! the longest day must havean end, and by-and-by the evening came when we turned away from dearold Combe Manor forever. 

It was far more cheerful work fitting up the new rooms atMilnthorpe, with Deborah's strong arms to help, and Uncle Geoffreystanding by to encourage our efforts; even Jack plucked up heartthen, and hung up the canaries, and hid away the dormice out ofSmudge's and Jumbles' reach, and consented to stretch her long legsin our behalf. Allan and I thought we had done wonders when all wasfinished, and even Deborah gave an approving word. 

"I think mother and Carrie will be pleased, " I said, as I put somefinishing touches to the tea-table on the evening we expected them. Allan had gone to the station to meet them, and only Uncle Geoffreywas my auditor. There was a great bowl of roses on the table, greatcrimson-hearted, delicious roses, and a basket of nectarines, thatsome patient had sent to Uncle Geoffrey. The parlors looked verypretty and snug; we had arranged our books on the shelves, and hadhung up two or three choice engravings, and there was the gleam ofpurple and gold china from the dark oak cabinet, and by the gardenwindow there were mother's little blue couch and her table andworkbox, and Carrie's davenport, and an inviting easy-chair. The newcurtains looked so well, too. No wonder Uncle Geoffrey declared thathe did not recognize his old room. 

"I am sure they will be pleased, " I repeated, as I moved theold-fashioned glass dish full of our delicious Combe Manor honey;but Uncle Geoffrey did not answer; he was listening to some wheelsin the distance. 

"There they are, " he said, snatching up his felt wide-awake. "Don'texpect your mother to notice much to-night, Esther; poor thing, thisis a sad coming home to her. "

I need not have worked so hard; that was my first thought when I sawmother's face as she entered the room. She was trembling like a leaf, and her face was all puckered and drawn, as I kissed her; but UncleGeoffrey would not let her sit down or look at anything. 

"No, no, you shall not make efforts for us to-night, " he said, patting her as though she were a child. "Take your mother upstairs, children, and let her have quiet! do you hear, nothing but quietto-night. " And then Allan drew her arm through his. 

I cried shame on myself for a selfish, disappointed pang, as Ifollowed them. Of course Uncle Geoffrey was right and wise, as healways was, and I was still more ashamed of myself when I entered theroom and found mother crying as though her heart would break, andclinging to Allan. 

"Oh, children, children! how can I live without your father?" sheexclaimed, hysterically. Well, it was wise of Allan, for he let thatpass and never said a word; he only helped me remove the heavywidow's bonnet and cloak, and moved the big chintz couch nearer tothe window, and then he told me to be quick and bring her some tea;and when I returned he was sitting by her, fanning and talking to herin his pleasant boyish way; and though the tears were still flowingdown her pale cheeks she sobbed less convulsively. 

"You have both been so good, and worked so hard, and I cannot thankyou, " she whispered, taking my hand, as I stood near her. 

"Esther does not want to be thanked, " returned Allan, sturdily. "Nowyou will take your tea, won't you, mother? and by-and-by one of thegirls shall come and sit with you. "

"Are we to go down and leave her?" I observed, dubiously, as Allanrose from his seat. 

"Yes, go, both of you, I shall be better alone; Allan knows that, "with a grateful glance as I reluctantly obeyed her. I was too youngto understand the healing effects of quiet and silence in a greatgrief; to me the thought of such loneliness was dreadful, until, later on, she explained the whole matter. 

"I am never less alone than when I am alone, " she said once, verysimply to me. "I have the remembrance of your dear father and hiswords and looks ever before me, and God is so near--one feels thatmost when one is solitary. " And her words remained with me longafterward. 

It was not such a very sad evening, after all. The sea air had doneDot good, and he was in better spirits; and then Carrie was so goodand sweet, and so pleased with everything. 

"How kind of you, Esther, " she said, with tears in her eyes, as Iled her into her little bedroom. "I hardly dared hope for this, andso near dear mother. " Well, it was very tiny, but very pretty, too. Carrie had her own little bed, in which she had slept from a child, and the evening sun streamed full on it, and a pleasant smell ofwhite jasmine pervaded it; part of the window was framed with thedelicate tendrils and tiny buds; and there was her little prayer-desk, with its shelf of devotional books, and her little round tableand easy-chair standing just as it used; only, if one looked out ofthe window, instead of the belt of green circling meadows, dottedover by grazing cattle there was the lawn and the mulberry tree--alittle narrow and homely, but still pleasant. 

Carrie's eyes looked very vague and misty when I left her and wentdown to Dot. Allan had put him to bed, but he would not hear of goingto sleep; he had his dormice beside him, and Jumbles was curled up atthe foot of the bed; he wanted to show me his seaweed and shells, andtell me about the sea. 

"I can't get it out of my head, Essie, " he said, sitting up amonghis pillows and looking very wide-awake and excited. "I used to fallasleep listening to the long wash and roll of the waves, and in themorning there it was again. Don't you love the sea?"

"Yes, dearly, Dot; and so does Allan. "

"It reminded me of the "Pilgrim's Progress"--just the last part. Don't you remember the river that every one was obliged to cross?Carrie told me it meant death. " I nodded; Dot did not always need ananswer to his childish fancies, he used to like to tell them all outto Allan and me. "One night, " he went on, "my back was bad, and Icould not sleep, and Carrie made me up a nest of pillows in a bigchair by the window, and we sat there ever so long after mother wasfast asleep. 

"It was so light--almost as light as day--and there were all sortsof sparkles over the water, as though it were shaking out tiny starsin play; and there was one broad golden path--oh! it was so beautiful--and then I thought of Christian and Christiana, and Mr. Ready-to-halt, and father, and they all crossed the river, you know. "

"Yes, Dot, " I whispered. And then I repeated softly the well-knownverse we had so often sung:

 "One army of the living God, To His command we bow; Part of the host have crossed the flood, And part are crossing now. "

"Yes, yes, " he repeated, eagerly; "it seemed as though I could seefather walking down the long golden path; it shone so, he could nothave missed his way or fallen into the dark waters. Carrie told methat by-and-by there would be "no more sea, " somehow; I was sorry forthat--aren't you, Essie?"

"Oh, no, don't be sorry, " I burst out, for I had often talked aboutthis with Carrie. "It is beautiful, but it is too shifting, tootreacherous, too changeable, to belong to the higher life. Think ofall the cruel wrecks, of all the drowned people it has swallowed upin its rage; it devours men and women, and little children, Dot, andhides its mischief with a smile. Oh, no, it is false in its beauty, and there shall be an end of it, with all that is not true andperfect. "

And when Dot had fallen asleep, I went down to Uncle Geoffrey andrepeated our conversation, to which he listened with a great deal ofinterest. 

"You are perfectly right, Esther, " he said, thoughtfully; "but Ithink there is another meaning involved in the words 'There shall beno more sea. '"

"The sea divides us often from those we love, " he went on musingly;"it is our great earthly barrier. In that perfected life that liesbefore us there can be no barrier, no division, no separatingboundaries. In the new earth there will be no fierce torrents orengulfing ocean, no restless moaning of waves. Do you not see this?"

"Yes, indeed, Uncle Geoffrey;" but all the same I thought in my ownmind that it was a pretty fancy of the child's, thinking that he sawfather walking across the moonlight sea. No, he could not have fallenin the dark water, no fear of that, Dot, when the angel of His mercywould hold him by the hand; and then I remembered a certain lake anda solemn figure walking quietly on its watery floor, and the words, "It is I, be not afraid, " that have comforted many a dying heart!

Allan had to leave us the next day, and go back to his work; it wasa pity, as his mere presence, the very sound of his bright, youngvoice, seemed to rouse mother and do her good. As for me, I knew whenAllan went some of the sunshine would go with him, and the worldwould have a dull, work-a-day look. I tried to tell him so as we tookour last walk together. There was a little lane just by UncleGeoffrey's house; you turned right into it from the High street, andit led into the country, within half a mile of the house. There weresome haystacks and a farmyard, a place that went by the name ofGrubbings' Farm; the soft litter of straw tempted us to sit down fora little, and listen to the quiet lowing of the cattle as they cameup from their pasture to be milked. 

"It reminds me of Combe Manor, " I said, and there was something weton my cheek as I spoke; "and oh, Allan! how I shall miss you to-morrow, "and I touched his coat sleeve furtively, for Allan was notone to love demonstration. But, to my surprise, he gave me a kindlittle pat. 

"Not more than I shall miss you, " he returned, cheerily. "We alwaysget along well, you and I, don't we, little woman?" And as I noddedmy head, for something seemed to impede my utterance at that moment, he went on more seriously, "You have a tough piece of work beforeyou, Esther, you and Carrie; you will have to put your Combe Manorpride in your pockets, and summon up all your Cameron strength ofmind before you learn to submit to the will of strangers. 

"Our poor, pretty Carrie, " he continued, regretfully; "the littlesaint, as Uncle Geoffrey used to call her. I am afraid her work willnot be quite to her mind, but you must smoothe her way as much aspossible; but there, I won't preach on my last evening; let me haveyour plans instead, my dear. "

But I had no plans to tell him, and so we drifted by degrees intoAllan's own work; and as he told me about the hospital and hisstudent friends, and the great bustling world in which we lived, Iforgot my own cares. If I had not much of a life of my own to lead, Icould still live in his. 

The pleasure of this talk lingered long in my memory; it was so niceto feel that Allan and I understood each other so well and had nodivided interests; it always seems to me that a sister ought to dwellin the heart of a brother and keep it warm for that other and sacredlove that must come by-and-by; not that the wife need drive thesister into outer darkness, but that there must be a humbler abidingin the outer court, perchance a little guest-chamber on the wall; thenearer and more royal abode must be for the elected woman among women. 

There is too little giving up and coming down in this world, toomuch jealous assertion of right, too little yielding of the scepterin love. It may be hard--God knows it is hard, to our poor humannature, for some cherished sister to stand a little aside whileanother takes possession of the goodly mansion, yet if she be wiseand bend gently to the new influence, there will be a "come uphigher, " long before the dregs of the feast are reached. Old bondsare not easily broken, early days have a sweetness of their own;by-and-by the sister will find her place ready for her, and welcominghands stretched out without grudging. 

The next morning I rose early to see Allan off Just at the lastmoment Carrie came down in her pretty white wrapper to bid himgood-by. Allan was strapping up his portmanteau in the hall, andshook his head at her in comic disapproval. "Fie, what pale cheeks, Miss Carrie! One would think you had been burning the midnight oil. "I wonder if Allan's jesting words approached the truth, for Carrie'sface flushed suddenly, and she did not answer. 

Allan did not seem to notice her confusion. He bade us both good-byvery affectionately, and told us to be good girls and take care ofourselves, and then in a moment he was gone. 

Breakfast was rather a miserable business after that; I was gladUncle Geoffrey read his paper so industriously and did not peepbehind the urn. Dot did, and slipped a hot little hand in mine, in anold-fashioned sympathizing way. Carrie, who was sitting in her usualdreamy, abstracted way, suddenly startled us all by addressing UncleGeoffrey rather abruptly. 

"Uncle Geoffrey, don't you think either Esther or I ought to go overto the Thornes? They want a governess, you know. "

"Eh, what?" returned Uncle Geoffrey, a little disturbed at theinterruption in the middle of the leading article. "The Thornes? Oh, yes, somebody was saying something to me the other day about them;what was it?" And he rubbed his hair a little irritably. 

"We need not trouble Uncle Geoffrey, " I put in, softly; "you and Ican go across before mother comes down. I must speak to Deborah, andthen I meant to hear Jack's lessons, but they can wait. "

"Very well, " returned Carrie, nonchalantly; and then she added, inher composed, elder sisterly way, "I may as well tell you, Esther, that I mean to apply for the place myself; it will be so handy, thehouse being just opposite; far more convenient than if I had a longerwalk. "

"Very well, " was my response, but I could not help feeling a littlerelief at her decision; the absence of any walk was an evil in myeyes. The Thornes' windows looked into ours; already I had had asufficient glimpse of three rather untidy little heads over the wireblind, and the spectacle had not attracted me. I ventured to hint myfears to Carrie that they were not very interesting children; but, tomy dismay, she answered that few children are interesting, and thatone was as good as another. 

"But I mean to be fond of my pupils, " I hazarded, rather timidly, asI took my basket of keys. I thought Uncle Geoffrey was deep in hispaper again. "I think a governess ought to have a good moralinfluence over them. Mother always said so. "

"We can have a good moral influence without any personal fondness, "returned Carrie, rather dryly. Poor girl! her work outside wasdistasteful to her, and she could not help showing it sometimes. 

"One cannot take interest in a child without loving it in time, " Ireturned, with a little heat, for I did not enjoy this slavish notionof duty--pure labor, and nothing else. Carrie did not answer, sheleaned rather wearily against the window, and looked absently out. Uncle Geoffrey gave her a shrewd glance as he folded up the newspaperand whistled to Jumbles. 

"Settle it between yourselves girls, " he observed, suddenly, as heopened the door; "but if I were little Annie Thorne, I know I shouldchoose Esther;" and with this parting thrust he left the room, makingus feel terribly abashed. 

CHAPTER VII. 

OVER THE WAY. 

I cannot say that I was prepossessed with the Thorne family, neitherwas Carrie. 

Mrs. Thorne was what I call a loud woman; her voice was loud, andshe was full of words, and rather inquisitive on the subject of herneighbors. 

She was somewhat good-looking, but decidedly over-dressed. Early asit was, she was in a heavily-flounced silk dress, a little the worsefor wear. I guessed that first day, with a sort of feminineintuition, that Mrs. Thorne wore out all her second-best clothes inthe morning. Perhaps it was my country bringing up, but I thought howpure and fresh Carrie's modest dress looked beside it; and as for thequiet face under the neatly-trimmed bonnet, I could see Mrs. Thornefell in love with it at once. She scarcely looked at or spoke to me, except when civility demanded it; and perhaps she was right, for whowould care to look at me when Carrie was by? Then Carrie played, andI knew her exquisite touch would demand instant admiration. I was amere bungler, a beginner beside her; she even sang a charming little_chanson_. No wonder Mrs. Thorne was delighted to secure such anaccomplished person for her children's governess. The three littlegirls came in by-and-by--shy, awkward children, with their mother'sblack eyes, but without her fine complexion; plain, uninterestinglittle girls, with a sort of solemn non-intelligence in their blankcountenances, and a perceptible shrinking from their mother's sharpvoice. 

"Shake hands with Miss Cameron, Lucy; she is going to teach you allmanner of nice things. Hold yourself straight, Annie. What will theseyoung ladies think of you, Belle, if they look at your dirtypinafore? Mine are such troublesome children, " she continued, in acomplaining voice; "they are never nice and tidy and obedient, likeother children. Mr. Thorne spoils them, and then finds fault with me. "

"What is your name, dear?" I whispered to the youngest, when Mrs. Thorne had withdrawn with Carrie for a few minutes. They werecertainly very unattractive children; nevertheless, my heart warmedto them, as it did to all children. I was child-lover all my life. 

"Annie, " returned the little one, shyly rolling her fat arms in herpinafore. She was less plain than the others, and had not outgrownher plumpness. 

"Do you know I have a little brother at home, who is a sad invalid;"and then I told them about Dot, about his patience and his sweetways, and how he amused himself when he could not get off his couchfor weeks; and as I warmed and grew eloquent with my subject, theireyes became round and fixed, and a sort of dawning interest woke upon their solemn faces; they forgot I was a stranger, and came closer, and Belle laid a podgy and a very dirty hand on my lap. 

"How old is your little boy?" asked Lucy, in a shrill whisper. Andas I answered her Mrs. Thorne and Carrie re-entered the room. Theyboth looked surprised when they saw the children grouped round me;Carrie's eyebrows elevated themselves a little quizzically, and Mrs. Thorne called them away rather sharply. 

"Don't take liberties with strangers, children. What will MissCameron think of such manners?" And then she dismissed them rathersummarily. I saw Annie steal a little wistful look at me as shefollowed her sisters. 

We took our leave after that. Mrs. Thorne shook hands with us verygraciously, but her parting words were addressed to Carrie. "OnMonday, then. Please give my kind regards to Dr. Cameron, and tellhim how thoroughly satisfied I am with the proposed arrangement. " AndCarrie answered very prettily, but as the door closed she sighedheavily. 

"Oh, what children! and what a mother!" she gasped, as she took myarm, and turned my foot-steps away from the house. "Never mind Jack, I am going to the service at St. Barnabas; I want some refreshmentafter what I have been through. " And she sighed again. 

"But, Carrie, " I remonstrated, "I have no time to spare. You knowhow Jack has been neglected, and how I have promised Allan to do mybest for her until we can afford to send her to school. "

"You can walk with me to the church door, " she returned, decidedly. I was beginning to find out that Carrie could be self-willedsometimes. "I must talk to you, Esther; I must tell you how I hateit. Fancy trying to hammer French and music into those children'sheads, when I might--I might--" But here she stopped, actually on theverge of crying. 

"Oh, my darling, Carrie!" I burst out, for I never could bear to seeher sweet face clouded for a moment, and she so seldom cried or gaveway to any emotion. "Why would you not let me speak? I might havesaved you this. I might have offered myself in your stead, and setyou free for pleasanter work. " But she shook her head, and struggledfor composure. 

"You would not have done for Mrs. Thorne, Esther. Don't think mevain if I say that I play and sing far better than you. "

"A thousand times better, " I interposed. "And then you can draw. "

"Well, Mrs. Thorne is a woman who values accomplishments. You areclever at some things; you speak French fairly, and then you are agood Latin scholar" (for Allan and I studied that together); "you canlay a solid foundation, as Uncle Geoffrey says; but Mrs. Thorne doesnot care about that, " continued Carrie a little bitterly; "she wantsa flimsy superstructure of accomplishments--music, and French, anddrawing, as much as I can teach a useful life-work, Esther. "

"Well, why not?" I returned, with a little spirit, for here was oneof Carrie's old arguments. "If it be the work given us to do, it mustbe a useful life-work. It might be our duty to make artificialflowers for our livelihood--hundreds of poor creatures do that--andyou would not scold them for waste of time, I suppose?"

"Anyhow, it is not work enough for me, " replied Carrie firmly, andpassing over my clever argument with a dignified silence; "it is thedrudgery of mere ornamentation that I hate. I will do my best forthose dreadful children, Esther. Are they not pitiful littleoverdressed creatures? And I will try and please their mother thoughI have not a thought in common with her. And when I have finished myornamental brick-making--told my tales of the bricks----" here shepaused, and looked at me with a heightened color. 

"And what then?" I asked, rather crossly, for there was a flaw inher speech somewhere, and I could not find it out. 

"We shall see, my wise little sister, " she said, letting go my armwith a kind pressure. "See, here is St. Barnabas; is it not a dearold building? Must you go back to Jack?"

"Yes, I must, " I answered, shortly. "_Laborare est orare_--tolabor is to pray, in my case, Carrie;" and with that I left her. 

But Carrie's arguments had seriously discomposed me. I longed totalk it all out with Allan, and I do not think I ever missed him somuch as I did that day. I am afraid I was rather impatient with Jackthat morning; to be sure she was terribly awkward and inattentive;she would put her elbows on the table, and ink her fingers, and thenshe had a way of jerking her hair out of her eyes, which drove menearly frantic. I began to think we really must send her to school. We had done away with the folding doors, they always creaked so, andhad hung up some curtains in their stead; through the folds I couldcatch glimpses of dear mother leaning back in her chair, with Dotbeside her. He was spelling over his lesson to her, in a queer, little sing-song voice, and they looked so cool and quiet that thecontrast was quite provoking; and there was Carrie kneeling in somedim corner, and soothing her perturbed spirits with softly-utteredpsalms and prayers. 

"Jack, " I returned, for the sixth time, "I cannot have you kick thetable in that schoolboy fashion. "

Jack looked at me with roguish malice in her eyes. "You are notquite well, Esther; you have got a pain in your temper, haven't you, now?"

I don't know what I might have answered, for Jack was right, and Iwas as cross as possible, only just at that moment Uncle Geoffrey puthis head in at the door, and stood beaming on us like an angel ofdeliverance. 

"Fee-fo-fum, " for he sometimes called Jack by that charming _sobriquet_, indeed, he was always inventing names for her, "it is too hot forwork, isn't it? I think I must give you a holiday, for I want Estherto go out with me. " Uncle Geoffrey's wishes were law, and I rose atonce; but not all my secret feelings of relief could prevent me fromindulging in a parting thrust. 

"I don't think Jack deserves the holiday, " I remarked, with a severelook at the culprit; and Jack jerked her hair over her eyes this timein some confusion. 

"Hullo, Fee-fo-fum, what have you been up to? Giving Esther trouble?Oh, fie! fie!"

"I only kicked the table, " returned Jack, sullenly, "because I hatelessons--that I do, Uncle Geoffrey--and I inked my fingers because Iliked it; and I put my elbows on the copy-book because Esther said Iwasn't to do it; and my hair got in my eyes; and William theConqueror had six wives, I know he had; and I told Esther she had apain in her temper, because she was as cross as two sticks; and Idon't remember any more, and I don't care, " finished Jack, who couldbe like a mule on occasions. 

Uncle Geoffrey laughed--he could not help it--and then he pattedJack kindly on her rough locks. "Clever little Fee-fo-fum; so Williamthe Conqueror had six wives, had he? Come, this is capital; we mustsend you to school, Jack, that is what we must do. Esther cannot bein two places at once. " What did he mean by that, I wonder! And thenhe bid me run off and put on my hat, and not keep him waiting. 

Jack's brief sullenness soon vanished, and she followed me out ofthe room to give me a penitent hug--that was so like Jack; the inkycaress was a doubtful consolation, but I liked it, somehow. 

"Where are you going, Uncle Geoff?" I asked, as we walked up theHigh street, followed by Jumbles, while Jack and Smudge watched usfrom the door. 

"Miss Lucas wants to see you, " he returned, briefly. "Bless me, there is Carrie, deep in conversation with Mr. Smedley. Where onearth has the girl picked him up?" And there, true enough, wasCarrie, standing in the porch, talking eagerly to a fresh-colored, benevolent-looking man, whom I knew by sight as the vicar of St. Barnabas. 

She must have waylaid him after service, for the other worshipershad dropped off; we had met two or three of them in the High street. I do not know why the sight displeased me, for of course she had aright to speak to her clergyman. Uncle Geoffrey whistled under hisbreath, and then laughed and wondered "what the little saint had tosay to her pastor;" but I did not let him go on, for I was tooexcited with our errand. 

"Why does Miss Lucas want to see me?" I asked, with a little beatingof the heart. The Lucas family were the richest people in Milnthorpe. 

Mr. Lucas was the banker, and kept his carriage, and had a prettycottage somewhere by the seaside; they were Uncle Geoffrey'spatients, I knew, but what had that to do with poor little me?

"Miss Lucas wants to find some one to teach her little niece, "returned Uncle Geoffrey; and then I remembered all at once thatMr. Lucas was a widower with one little girl. He had lost his wifeabout a year ago, and his sister had come to live with him and takecare of his motherless child. What a chance this would have been forCarrie! but now it was too late. I was half afraid as we came up tothe great red brick house, it was so grand and imposing, and so wasthe solemn-looking butler who opened the door and ushered us intothe drawing-room. 

As we crossed the hall some one came suddenly out on us from a darklobby, and paused when he saw us. "Dr. Cameron! This is your niece, Isuppose, whom my sister Ruth is expecting?" and as he shook handswith us he looked at me a little keenly, I thought. He was youngerthan I expected; it flashed across me suddenly that I had once seenhis poor wife. I was standing looking out of the window one coldwinter's day, when a carriage drove up to the door with a ladywrapped in furs. I remember Uncle Geoffrey went out to speak to her, and what a smile came over her face when she saw him. She was verypale, but very beautiful; every one said so in Milnthorpe, for shehad been much beloved. 

"My sister is in the drawing-room; you must excuse me if I say I amin a great hurry, " and then he passed on with a bow. I thought himvery formidable, the sort of man who would be feared as well asrespected by his dependants. He had the character of being a veryreserved man, with a great many acquaintances and few intimatefriends. I had no idea at that time that no one understood him sowell as Uncle Geoffrey. 

I was decidedly nervous when I followed Uncle Geoffrey meekly intothe drawing-room. Its size and splendor did not diminish my fears, and I little imagined then how I should get to love that room. 

It was a little low, in spite of its spaciousness, and its threelong windows opened in French fashion on to the garden. I had aglimpse of the lawn, with a grand old cedar in the middle, before myeyes were attracted to a lady in deep mourning, writing in a littlealcove, half curtained off from the rest of the room, and lookingdecidedly cozy. 

The moment she turned her face toward us at the mention of ournames, my unpleasant feelings of nervousness vanished. She was such alittle woman--slightly deformed, too--with a pale, sickly-lookingface, and large, clear eyes, that seemed to attract sympathy at once, for they seemed to say to one, "I am only a timid, simple littlecreature. You need not be afraid of me. "

I was not very tall, but I almost looked down on her as she gave meher hand. 

"I was expecting you, Miss Cameron, " she said, in such a sweet tonethat it quite won my heart. "Your uncle kindly promised to introduceus to each other. "

And then she looked at me, not keenly and scrutinizingly, as herbrother had done, but with a kindly inquisitiveness, as though shewanted to know all about me, and to put me at my ease as soon aspossible. I flushed a little at that, and my unfortunatesensitiveness took alarm. If it were only Carrie, I thought, with herpretty face and soft voice; but I was so sadly unattractive, no onewould be taken with me at first sight. Fred had once said so in myhearing, and how I had cried over that speech!

"Esther looks older than she is; but she is only seventeen, "interposed Uncle Geoffrey, as he saw that unlucky blush. "She is agood girl, and very industrious, and her mother's right hand, " wenton the simple man. If I only could have plucked up spirit andcontradicted him, but I felt tongue-tied. 

"She looks very reliable, " returned Miss Lucas, in the kindest way. To this day I believe she could not find any compliment compatiblewith truth. I once told her so months afterward, when we were verygood friends, and she laughed and could not deny it. 

"You were frowning so, Esther, " she replied, "from excess ofnervousness, I believe, that your forehead was quite lost in yourhair, and your great eyes were looking at me in such a funny, frightened way, and the corners of your mouth all coming down, Ithought you were five-and-twenty at least, and wondered what I was todo with such a proud, repellant-looking young woman; but when yousmiled I began to see then. "

I had not reached the smiling stage just then, and was revolving herspeech in rather a dispirited way. Reliable! I knew I was that; whenall at once she left off looking at me, and began talking to UncleGeoffrey. 

"And so you have finished all your Good Samaritan arrangements, Dr. Cameron; and your poor sister-in-law and her family are reallysettled in your house? You must let me know when I may call, or if Ican be of any use. Giles told me all about it, and I was sointerested. "

"Is it not good of Uncle Geoffrey?" I broke in. And then it musthave been that I smiled; but I never could have passed that over insilence, to hear strangers praise him, and not join in. 

"I think it is noble of Dr. Cameron--we both think so, " sheanswered, warmly; and then she turned to me again. "I can understandhow anxious you must all feel to help and lighten his burdens. WhenDr. Cameron proposed your services for my little niece--for he knowswhat an invalid I am, and that systematic teaching would beimpossible to me--I was quite charmed with the notion. But now, before we talk any more about it, supposing you and I go up to seeFlurry. "

CHAPTER VIII. 

FLURRY AND FLOSSY. 

What a funny little name! I could not help saying so to Miss Lucasas I followed her up the old oak staircase with its beautifullycarved balustrades. 

"It is her own baby abbreviation of Florence, " she returned, pausingon the landing to take breath, for even that slight ascent seemed toweary her. She was quite pale and panting by the time we arrived atour destination. "It is nice to be young and strong, " she observed, wistfully. "I am not very old, it is true"--she could not have beenmore than eight-and-twenty--"but I have never enjoyed good health, and Dr. Cameron says I never can hope to do so; but what can youexpect of a crooked little creature like me?" with a smile that wasquite natural and humorous, and seemed to ask no pity. 

Miss Ruth was perfectly content with her life. I found out afterwardshe evoked rare beauty out of its quiet every-day monotony, storingup precious treasures in homely vessels. 

Life was to her full of infinite possibilities, a gradual dawningand brightening of hopes that would meet their full fruitionhereafter. "Some people have strength to work, " she said once to me, "and then plenty of work is given to them; and some must just keepquiet and watch others work, and give them a bright word ofencouragement now and then. I am one of those wayside loiterers, " shefinished, with a laugh; but all the same every one knew how much MissRuth did to help others, in spite of her failing strength. 

The schoolroom, or nursery, as I believe it was called, was a largepleasant room just over the drawing-room, and commanding the sameview of the garden and cedar-tree. It had three windows, only theywere rather high up, and had cushioned window-seats. In one of themthere was a little girl curled up in company with a large brown andwhite spaniel. 

"Well, Flurry, what mischief are you and Flossy concocting?" askedMiss Lucas, in a playful voice, for the child was too busily engagedto notice our entrance. 

"Why, it is my little auntie, " exclaimed Flurry, joyously, and shescrambled down, while Flossy wagged his tail and barked. EvidentlyMiss Ruth was not a frequent visitor to the nursery. 

Flurry was about six, not a pretty child by any means, though theremight be a promise of future beauty in her face. She was a thin, serious-looking little creature, more like the father than themother, and no one could call Mr. Lucas handsome. Her dark eyes--nearly black they were--matched oddly, in my opinion, with herlong fair hair; such pretty fluffy hair it was, falling over herblack frock. When her aunt bade her come and speak to the lady whowas kind enough to promise to teach her, she stood for a momentregarding me gravely with childish inquisitiveness before she gaveme her hand. 

"What are you going to teach me?" she asked. "I don't think I wantto be taught, auntie; I can read, I have been reading to Flossy, andI can write, and hem father's handkerchiefs. Ask nursie. "

"But you would like to play to dear father, and to learn all sortsof pretty hymns to say to him, would you not, my darling! There aremany things you will have to know before you are a woman. "

"I don't mean to be a woman ever, I think, " observed Flurry; "I likebeing a child better. Nursie is a woman, and nursie won't play; shesays she is old and stupid. "

A happy inspiration came to me. "If you are good and learn yourlessons, I will play with you, " I said, rather timidly; "that is, ifyou care for a grown-up playfellow. "

I was only seventeen, in spite of my _pronounce_ features, andI could still enter into the delights of a good drawn battle ofbattledore and shuttlecock. Perhaps it was the repressed enthusiasmof my tone, for I really meant what I said; but Flurry's briefcoldness vanished, and she caught at my hand at once. 

"Come and see them, " she said; "I did not know you liked dolls, butyou shall have one of your own if you like;" and she led me to acorner of the nursery where a quantity of dolls in odd costumes andwonderfully constrained attitudes were arranged round an invertedbasket. 

"Joseph and his brethren, " whispered Flurry. "I am going to put himin the pit directly, only I wondered what I should do for the camels--this is Issachar, and this Gad. Look at Gad's turban. "

It was almost impossible to retain my gravity. I could see MissLucas smiling in the window seat. Joseph and his brethren--what adroll idea for a child! But I did not know then that Flurry's dollshad to sustain a variety of bewildering parts. When I next saw themthe smart turbans were all taken off the flaxen heads, a few dejectedsawdust bodies hung limply round a miller's cart. "Ancient Britons, "whispered Flurry. "Nurse would not let me paint them blue, but theydid not wear clothes then, you know. " In fact, our history lesson wasgenerally followed by a series of touching _tableaux vivants_, thedolls sustaining their parts in several moving scenes of "Alfred andthe Cakes, " "Hubert and Arthur, " and once "the Battle of Cressy. "

Flurry and I parted the best of friends; and when we joined UncleGeoffrey in the drawing-room I was quite ready to enter on my dutiesat once. 

Miss Lucas stipulated for my services from ten till five; a fewsimple lessons in the morning were to be followed by a walk, I was tolunch with them, and in the afternoon I was to amuse Flurry or teachher a little--just as I liked. 

"The fact is, " observed Miss Lucas, as I looked a little surprisedat this programme, "Nurse is a worthy woman, and we are all very muchattached to her; but she is very ignorant, and my brother will nothave Flurry thrown too much on her companionship. He wishes me tofind some one who will take the sole charge of the child through theday; in the evening she always comes down to her father and sits withhim until her bedtime. " And then she named what seemed to me asurprisingly large sum for services. What! all that for playing withFlurry, and giving her a few baby lessons; poor Carrie could not havemore for teaching the little Thornes. But when I hinted this to UncleGeoffrey, he said quietly that they were rich people and could wellafford it. 

"Don't rate yourself so low, little woman, " he added, good-humoredly;"you are giving plenty of time and interest, and surely that isworth something. " And then he went on to say that Jack must go toschool, he knew a very good one just by; some ladies who werepatients of his would take her at easy terms, he knew. He would callthat very afternoon and speak to Miss Martin. 

Poor mother shed a few tears when I told her our plans. It was sadfor her to see her girls reduced to work for themselves; but shecheered up after a little while, and begged me not to think herungrateful and foolish. "For we have so many blessings, Esther, " shewent on, in her patient way. "We are all together, except poor Fred, and but for your uncle's goodness we might have been separated. "

"And we shall have such nice cozy evenings, " I returned, "when theday's work is over. I shall feel like a day laborer, mother, bringinghome my wages in my pocket. I shall be thinking of you and Dot allday, and longing to get back to you. "

But though I spoke and felt so cheerfully, I knew that the eveningswould not be idle. There would be mending to do and linen to make, for we could not afford to buy our things ready-made; but, withmother's clever fingers and Carrie's help, I thought we should dovery well. I must utilize every spare minute, I thought. I must getup early and help Deborah, so that things might go on smoothly forthe rest of the day. There was Dot to dress, and mother was ailing, and had her breakfast in bed--there would be a hundred little thingsto set right before I started off for the Cedars, as Mr. Lucas' housewas called. 

"Never mind, it is better to wear out than to rust out, " I said tomyself. And then I picked up Jack's gloves from the floor, hung upher hat in its place, and tried to efface the marks of her muddyboots from the carpet (I cannot deny Jack was a thorn in my side justnow), and then there came a tap at my door, and Carrie came in. 

She looked so pretty and bright, that I could not help admiring herafresh. I am sure people must have called her beautiful. 

"How happy you look, Carrie, in spite of your three little Thornes, "I said rather mischievously. "Has mother told you about Miss Lucas?"

"Yes, I heard all about that, " she returned, absently. "You are veryfortunate, Esther, to find work in which you can take an interest. Iam glad--very glad about that. "

"I wish, for your sake, that we could exchange, " I returned, feelingmyself very generous in intention, but all the same delighted that myunselfishness should not be put to the proof. 

"Oh, no, I have no wish of that sort, " she replied, hastily; "Icould not quite bring myself to play with children in the nursery. " Isuppose mother had told her about the dolls. "Well, we both start onour separate treadmill on Monday--Black Monday, eh, Esther?"

"Not at all, " I retorted, for I was far too pleased and excited withmy prospects to be damped by Carrie's want of enthusiasm. I thought Iwould sit down and write to Jessie, and tell her all about it, buthere was Carrie preparing herself for one of her chats. 

"Did you see me talking to Mr. Smedley, Esther?" she began; and as Inodded she went on. "I had never spoken to him before since UncleGeoffrey introduced us to him. He is such a nice, practical sort ofman. He took me into the vicarage, and introduced me to his wife. Sheis very plain and homely, but so sensible. "

I held my peace. I had rather a terror of Mrs. Smedley. She was oneof those bustling workers whom one dreads by instinct. She had ahabit of pouncing upon people, especially young ones, and drivingthem to work. Before many days were over she had made poor motherpromise to do some cutting out for the clothing club, as thoughmother had not work enough for us all at home. I thought it veryinconsiderate of Mrs. Smedley. 

"I took to them at once, " went on Carrie, "and indeed they wereexceedingly kind. Mr. Smedley seemed to understand everything in amoment, how I wanted work, and----"

"But, Carrie, " I demanded, aghast at this, "you have work: you havethe little Thornes. "

"Oh, don't drag them in at every word, " she answered, pettishly--atleast pettishly for her; "of course, I have my brick-making, and sohave you. I am thinking of other things now, Esther; I have promisedMr. Smedley to be one of his district visitors. "

I almost jumped off my chair at that, I was so startled and soindignant. 

"Oh, Carrie! and when you know mother does not approve of girls ofour age undertaking such work--she has said so over and over again--how can you go against her wishes?"

Carrie looked at me mildly, but she was not in the least discomposedat my words. 

"Listen to me, you silly child, " she said, good-humoredly; "this isone of mother's fancies; you cannot expect me with my settled viewsto agree with her in this. "

I don't know what Carrie meant by her views, unless they consistedin a determination to make herself and every one else uncomfortableby an overstrained sense of duty. 

"Middle-aged people are timid sometimes. Mother has never visitedthe poor herself, so she does not see the necessity for my doing it;but I am of a different opinion, " continued Carrie, with a mildobstinacy that astonished me too much for any reply. 

"When mother cried about it just now, and begged me to let her speakto Mr. Smedley, I told her that I was old enough to judge for myself, and that I thought one's conscience ought not to be slavishly boundeven to one's parent. I was trying to do my duty to her and to everyone, but I must not neglect the higher part of my vocation. "

"Oh, Carrie, how could you? You will make her so unhappy. "

"No; she only cried a good deal, and begged me to be prudent and notovertax my strength; and then she talked about you, and hoped Ishould help you as much as possible, as though I meant to shirk anypart of my duty. I do not think she really disapproved, only sheseemed nervous and timid about it; but I ask you, Esther, how I couldhelp offering my services, when Mrs. Smedley told me about theneglected state of the parish, and how few ladies came forward tohelp?"

"But how will you find time?" I remonstrated; though what was thegood of remonstrating when Carrie had once made up her mind?

"I have the whole of Saturday afternoon, and an hour on Wednesday, and now the evenings are light I might utilize them a little. I am tohave Nightingale lane and the whole of Rowley street, so oneafternoon in the week will scarcely be sufficient. "

"Oh, Carrie, " I groaned; but, actually, though the mending lay on mymind like a waking nightmare, I could not expostulate with her. Ionly looked at her in a dim, hopeless way and shook my head; if thesewere her views I must differ from them entirely. Not that I did notwish good--heavenly good--to the poor, but that I felt home dutieswould have to be left undone; and after all that uncle had done forus!

"And then I promised Mrs. Smedley that I would help in the Sunday-school, " she continued, cheerfully. "She was so pleased, and kissedme quite gratefully. She says she and Mr. Smedley have had such up-hillwork since they came to Milnthorpe--and there is so much lukewarmnessand worldliness in the place. Even Miss Lucas, in spite of her goodness--and she owned she was very good, Esther--will not take their adviceabout things. "

"I told her, " she went on, hesitating, "that I would speak to you, and ask you to take a Sunday class in the infant school. You are sofond of children, I thought you would be sure to consent. "

"So I would, and gladly too, if you would take my place at home, " Ireturned, quickly; "but if you do so much yourself, you will preventme from doing anything. Why not let me take the Sunday school class, while you stop with mother and Dot?"

"What nonsense!" she replied, flushing a little, for my propositiondid not please her; "that is so like you, Esther, to raise obstaclesfor nothing. Why cannot we both teach; surely you can give oneafternoon a week to God's work?"

"I hope I am giving not one afternoon, but every afternoon to it, " Ireturned, and the tears rushed to my eyes, for her speech wounded me. "Oh, Carrie, why will you not understand that I think that all workthat is given us to do is God's work? It is just as right for me toplay with Flurry as it is to teach in the Sunday school. "

"You can do both if you choose, " she answered, coolly. 

"Not unless you take my place, " I returned, decidedly, for I had theCameron spirit, and would not yield my point; "for in that case Dotwould lose his Sunday lessons, and Jack would be listless and fretmother. "

"Very well, " was Carrie's response; but I could see she wasdispleased with my plain speaking; and I went downstairs very tiredand dispirited, to find mother had cried herself into a bad headache. 

"If I could only talk to your dear father about it, " she whispered, when she had opened her heart to me on the subject of Carrie. "I amold-fashioned, as Carrie says, and it is still my creed that parentsknow best for their children; but she thinks differently, and she isso good that, perhaps, one ought to leave her to judge for herself. If I could only know what your father would say, " she went on, plaintively. 

I could give her no comfort, for I was only a girl myself, and myopinions were still immature and unfledged, and then I never had beenas good as Carrie. But what I said seemed to console mother a little, for she drew down my face and kissed it. 

"Always my good, sensible Esther, " she said, and then Uncle Geoffreycame in and prescribed for the headache, and the subject dropped. 

CHAPTER IX. 

THE CEDARS. 

I was almost ashamed of myself for being so happy, and yet it was asober kind of happiness too. I did not forget my father, and I missedAllan with an intensity that surprised myself; but, in spite of hardwork and the few daily vexations that hamper every one's lot, Icontinued to extract a great deal of enjoyment out of my life. To sumit up with a word, it was life--not mere existence--a life brimmingover with duties and responsibilities and untried work, too busy forvacuum. Every corner and interstice of time filled up--heart, andhead, and hands always fully employed; and youth and health, thosetwo grand gifts of God, making all such work a delight. 

Now I am older, and the sap of life does not run so freely in myveins, I almost marvel at the remembrance of those days, at myyouthful exuberance and energy, and those words, "As thy day, soshall thy strength be, " come to me with a strange force andillumination, for truly I needed it all then, and it was given to me. Time was a treasure trove, and I husbanded every minute with amiser's zeal. I had always been an early riser, and now I reaped thebenefit of this habit. Jack used to murmur discontentedly in hersleep when I set the window open soon after six, and the fresh summerair fanned her hot face. But how cool and dewy the garden looked atthat hour!

It was so bright and still, with the thrushes and blackbirds hoppingover the wet lawn, and the leaves looking so fresh and green in themorning sun; such twitterings and chirpings came from the lilactrees, where the little brown sparrows twittered and plumedthemselves. The bird music used to chime in in a sort of refrain tomy morning prayers--a diminutive chorus of praise--the choral beforethe day's service commenced. 

I always gave Jack a word of warning before I left the room (thereprimand used to find her in the middle of a dream), and then I wentto Dot. I used to help him to dress and hear him repeat his prayers, and talk cheerfully to him when he was languid and fretful, and thesmall duties of life were too heavy for his feeble energies. Dotalways took a large portion of my time; his movements were slow andfull of tiny perversities; he liked to stand and philosophize in aninfantile way when I wanted to be downstairs helping Deborah. Dot'sfidgets, as I called them, were part of the day's work. 

When he was ready to hobble downstairs with his crutch, I used tofly back to Jack, and put a few finishing touches to her toilet, forI knew by experience that she would make her appearance downstairswith a crooked parting and a collar awry, and be grievously plaintivewhen Carrie found fault with her. Talking never mended matters; Jackwas at the hoiden age, and had to grow into tidiness and womanhoodby-and-by. 

After that I helped Deborah, and took up mother's breakfast. Ialways found her lying with her face to the window, and her openBible beside her. Carrie had always been in before me and arrangedthe room. Mother slept badly, and at that early hour her face had awhite, pining look, as though she had lost her way in the night, orwaked to miss something. She used to turn with a sweet troubled smileto me as I entered. 

"Here comes my busy little woman, " she would say, with a pretense atcheerfulness, and then she would ask after Dot. She never spoke muchof her sadness to us; with an unselfishness that was most rare sherefused to dim our young cheerfulness by holding an unhealed grieftoo plainly before our eyes. Dear mother, I realize now what thatsilence must have cost her!

When breakfast was over, and Uncle Geoffrey busily engrossed withhis paper, I used to steal into the kitchen and have a long confabwith Deborah, and then Jack and I made our bed and dusted our room tosave Martha, and by that time I was ready to start to the Cedars; butnot until I had convoyed Jack to Miss Martin's, and left her and herbooks safely at the door. 

Dot used to kiss me rather wistfully when I left him with hislesson-books and paint-box, waiting for mother to come down andkeep him company. Poor little fellow, he had rather a dull life ofit, for even Jumbles refused to stay with him, and Smudge was out inthe garden, lazily watching the sparrows. Poor little lonely boy, deprived of the usual pleasures of boyhood, and looking out on ourbusy lives from a sort of sad twilight of pain and weakness, butkeeping such a brave heart and silent tongue over it all. 

How I enjoyed my little walk up High street and across the wide, sunshiny square! When I reached the Cedars, and the butler admittedme, I used to run up the old oak staircase and tap at the nurserydoor. 

Nurse used to courtesy and withdraw; Flurry and I had it all toourselves. I never saw Miss Lucas until luncheon-time; she was moreof an invalid than I knew at that time, and rarely left her roombefore noon. Flurry and I soon grew intimate; after a few days wereover we were the best of friends. She was a clever child and fond ofher lessons, but she was full of droll fancies. She always insistedon her dolls joining our studies. It used to be a little embarrassingto me at first to see myself surrounded by the vacant waxen facesstaring at us, with every variety of smirk and bland fatuousexpression: the flaxen heads nid-nodded over open lesson-books, propped up in limp, leathery arms. When Flossy grew impatient for agame of play, he would drag two or three of them down with a vicioussnap and a stroke of his feathery paws. Flurry would shake her headat him disapprovingly, as she picked them up and shook out theirsmart frocks. The best behaved of the dolls always accompanied us inour walk before luncheon. 

I used to think of Carrie's words, sometimes, as I played withFlurry in the afternoon; she would not hear of lessons then. Sometimes I would coax her to sew a little, or draw; and she alwayshad her half hour at the piano, but during the rest of the afternoonI am afraid there was nothing but play. 

How I wish Dot could have joined us sometimes as we built our famousbrick castles, or worked in Flurry's little garden, where she grewall sorts of wonderful things. When I was tired or lazy I used tobring out my needle-work to the seat under the cedar, and tell Flurrystories, or talk to her as she dressed her dolls; she was very goodand tractable, and never teased me to play when I was disinclined. 

I told her about Dot very soon, and she gave me no peace after thatuntil I took her to see him; there was quite a childish friendshipbetween them soon. Flurry used to send him little gifts, which shepurchased with her pocket-money--pictures, and knives, and pencils. Ioften begged Miss Lucas to put a stop to it, but she only laughed andpraised Flurry, and put by choice little portions of fruit and otherdainties for Flurry's boy friend. 

Flurry prattled a great deal about her father, but I never saw him. He had his luncheon at the bank. Once when we were playing battledoreand shuttle-cock in the hall--for Miss Lucas liked to hear us allover the house; she said it made her feel cheerful--I heard a dooropen overhead, and caught a glimpse of a dark face watching us; but Ithought it was Morgan the butler, until Flurry called out joyfully, "Father! Father!" and then it disappeared. Now and then I met him inthe square, and he always knew me and took off his hat; but I did notexchange a word with him for months. 

Flurry loved him, and seemed deep in his confidence. She always puton her best frock and little pearl necklace to go down and sit withher father, while he ate his dinner. She generally followed him intohis study, and chatted to him, until nurse fetched her at bed-time. When she had asked me some puzzling question that it was impossibleto answer, she would refer it to her father with implicit faith. Shewould make me rather uncomfortable at times respecting littlespeeches of his. 

"Father can't understand why you are so fond of play, " she said onceto me; "he says so few grown-up girls deign to amuse themselves witha game: but you do like it, don't you, Miss Cameron?" making up avery coaxing face. Of course I confessed to a great fondness forgames, but all the same I wished Mr. Lucas had not said that. Perhapshe thought me too hoidenish for his child's governess, and for awhole week after that I refused to play with Flurry, until she beganto mope, and my heart misgave me. We played at hide and seek that dayall over the house--Flurry and Flossy and I. 

Then another time, covering me with dire confusion, "Father thinksthat such a pretty story, Miss Cameron, the one about Gretchen. Hesaid I ought to try and remember it, and write it down; and then heasked if you had really made it up in your head. "

"Oh, Flurry, that silly little story?"

"Not silly at all, " retorted Flurry, with a little heat; "father hada headache, and he could not talk to me, so I told him stories tosend him to sleep, and I thought he would like dear little Gretchen. He never went to sleep after all, but his eyes were wide open, staring at the fire; and then he told me he had been thinking of dearmamma, and he thought I should be very like her some day. And then hethanked me for my pretty stories, and then tiresome old nursiefetched me to bed. "

That stupid little tale! To think of Mr. Lucas listening to that. Iwas not a very inventive storyteller, though I could warm intoeloquence on occasions, but Flurry's demand was so excessive that Ihit on a capital plan at last. 

I created a wonderful child heroine, and called her Juliet and tolda little fresh piece of her history every day. Never was there such achild for impossible adventures and hairbreadth escapes; what thatunfortunate little creature went through was known only to Flurry andme. 

She grew to love Juliet like a make-believe sister of her own, andtalked of her at last as a living child. What long moralconversations took place between Juliet and her mother, whatadmirable remarks did that excellent mother make, referring to sundrysmall sins of omission and commission on Juliet's part! When I sawFlurry wince and turn red I knew the remarks had struck home. 

It was astonishing how Juliet's behavior varied with Flurry's. IfFlurry were inattentive, Juliet was listless; if her history lessonswere ill-learned, Juliet's mamma had always a great deal to say aboutthe battle of Agincourt or any other event that it was necessary toimpress on her memory. I am afraid Flurry at last took a greatdislike to that well-meaning lady, and begged to hear more aboutJuliet's little brother and sister. When I came to a veryuninteresting part she would propose a game of ball or a scamper withFlossy; but all the same next day we would be back at it again. 

The luncheon hour was very pleasant to me. I grew to like Miss Lucasexcessively; she talked so pleasantly and seemed so interested in allI had to tell her about myself and Flurry; a quiet atmosphere ofrefinement surrounded her--a certain fitness and harmony of thought. Sometimes she would invite us into the drawing-room after luncheon, saying she felt lonely and would be glad of our society for a little. I used to enjoy those half-hours, though I am afraid Flurry foundthem a little wearisome. Our talk went over her head, and she wouldlisten to it with a droll, half-bored expression, and take refuge atlast with Flossy. 

Sometimes, but not often, Miss Lucas would take us to drive withher. I think, until she knew me well, that she liked better to bealone with her own thoughts. As our knowledge of each other grew, Iwas struck with the flower-like unfolding of her ideas; they wouldbud and break forth into all manner of quaint fancies--theirfreshness and originality used to charm me. 

I think there is no interest in life compared to knowing people--finding them out, their tastes, character, and so forth. I had aninquisitive delight, I called it thirst, for human knowledge, indrawing out a stranger; no traveler exploring unknown tracts ofcountry ever pursued his researches with greater zeal and interest. Reserve only attracts me. 

Impulsive people, who let out their feelings the first moment, donot interest me half so much as silent folk. I like to sit downbefore an enclosed citadel and besiege it; with such ramparts ofdefense there must be precious store in the heart of the city, somehidden jewels, perhaps; at least, so I argue with myself. 

But, happy as I was with Miss Lucas and Flurry, five o'clock nosooner struck than I was flying down the oak staircase, with Flurrypeeping at me between the balustrades, and waving a mite of a hand intoken of adieu; for was I not going home to mother and Dot? Oh, thedear, bright home scene that always awaited me! I wonder if Carrieloved it as I did! The homely, sunny little parlors; the cozy teatable, over which old Martha would be hovering with careful face andhands; mother in her low chair by the garden window; Uncle Geoffreywith his books and papers at the little round table; Dot and Jackhidden in some corner, out of which Dot would come stumping on hispoor little crutches to kiss me, and ask after his little friendFlurry. 

"Here comes our Dame Bustle, " Uncle Geoffrey would say. It was hisfavorite name for me, and mother would look up and greet me with thesame loving smile that was never wanting on her dear face. 

On the stairs I generally came upon Carrie, coming down from herlittle room. 

"How are the little Thornes?" I would ask her, cheerfully; butby-and-by I left off asking her about them. At first she used to shrugher shoulders and shake her head in a sort of disconsolate fashion, or answered indifferently: "Oh, much as usual, thank you. " But onceshe returned, quite pettishly:

"Why do you ask after those odious children, Esther? Why cannot youlet me forget them for a few hours? If we are brickmakers, we neednot always be telling the tales of our bricks. " She finished with asort of weary tone in her tired voice, and after that I let thelittle Thornes alone. 

What happy evenings those were! Not that we were idle, though--"thesaints forbid, " as old Biddy used to say. When tea was over, motherand I betook ourselves to the huge mending basket; sometimes Carriejoined us, when she was not engaged in district work, and then herclever fingers made the work light for us. 

Then there were Jack's lessons to superintend, and sometimes I hadto help Dot with his drawing, or copy out papers for Uncle Geoffrey:then by-and-by Dot had to be taken upstairs, and there were littlethings to do for mother when Carrie was too tired or busy to do them. Mother was Carrie's charge. As Dot and Jack were mine, it was a fairdivision of labor, only somehow Carrie had always so much to do. 

Mother used to fret sometimes about it, and complain that Carrie satup too late burning the midnight oil in her little room; but I nevercould find out what kept her up. I was much happier about Carrie now--she seemed brighter and in better spirits. If she loathed her dailydrudgery, she said little about it, and complained less. All herinterests were reserved for Nightingale lane and Rowley street. Thehours spent in those unsavory neighborhoods were literally her timesof refreshment. Her poor people were very close to her heart, andoften she told us about them as we sat working together in theevening, until mother grew quite interested, and used to ask afterthem by name, which pleased Carrie, and made a bond of sympathybetween them. At such times I somehow felt a little sad, though Iwould not have owned it for worlds, for it seemed to me as though mywork were so trivial compared to Carrie's--as though I were a poorlittle Martha, "careful and troubled about many things" about, Deborah's crossness and Jack's reckless ways, occupied with smallminor duties--dressing Dot, and tidying Jack's and Uncle Geoffrey'sdrawers; while Carrie was doing angel's work; reclaiming drunkenwomen, and teaching miserable degraded children, and then coming homeand playing sweet sacred fragments of Handel to soothe mother's wornspirits, or singing her the hymns she loved. Alas! I could not singexcept in church, and my playing was a poor affair compared toCarrie's. 

I felt it most on Sundays, when Carrie used to go off to the Sundayschool morning and afternoon, and left me to the somewhat monotonoustask of hearing Jack her catechism and giving Dot his Scripturelesson. Sunday was always a trial to Dot. He was not strong enough togo to church--the service would have wearied him too much--his fewlessons were soon done, and then time used to hang heavily on hishands. 

At last the grand idea came to me to set him to copy Scripture maps, and draw small illustrations of any Biblical scene that occurred inthe lesson of the day. I have a book full of his childish fanciesnow, all elaborately colored on week-days--"Joseph and his Brethren"in gaudy turbans, and wonderfully inexpressive countenances, reminding me of Flurry's dolls; the queen of Sheba, coming beforeSolomon, in a marvelous green tiara and yellow garments; a headlessGoliath, expressed with a painful degree of detail, more fit for theWirtz Gallery than a child's scrap-book. 

Dot used frequently to write letters to Allan, to which I oftenadded copious postscripts. I never could coax Dot to write to Fred, though Fred sent him plenty of kind messages, and many a choicelittle parcel of scraps and odds and ends, such as Dot liked. 

Fred was getting on tolerably, he always told us. He had rooms inSt. John's Wood, which he shared with two other artists; he wasworking hard, and had some copying orders. Allan saw little of him;they had no friends in common, and no community of taste. Never werebrothers less alike or with less sympathy. 

CHAPTER X. 

"I WISH I HAD A DOT OF MY OWN. "

Months passed over, and found us the same busy, tranquil littlehousehold. I used to wonder how my letters could interest Allan somuch as he said they did; I could find so little to narrate. And, talking of that, it strikes me that we are not sufficiently thankfulfor the monotony of life. I speak advisedly; I mean for the quietuniformity and routine of our daily existence. In our youth wequarrel a little with its sameness and regularity; it is only whenthe storms of sudden crises and unlooked-for troubles break over ourthankful heads that we look back with regret to those still days ofold. 

Nothing seemed to happen, nothing looked different. Mother grew alittle stronger as the summer passed, and took a few more householdduties on herself. Dot pined and pinched as the cold weather came on, as he always did, and looked a shivering, shabby Dot sometimes. Jack's legs grew longer, and her frocks shorter, and we had to tieher hair to keep it out of her eyes, and she stooped more, and grewround-shouldered, which added to her list of beauties; but no oneexpected grace from Jack. 

At the Cedars things went on as usual, that Flurry left off callingme Miss Cameron, and took to Esther instead, somewhat scandalizingMiss Lucas, until she began taking to it herself. "For you are soyoung, and you are more Flurry's playfellow than her governess, " shesaid apologetically; "it is no good being stiff when we are such oldfriends. " And after that I always called her Miss Ruth. 

"Don't you want see to Roseberry, Esther?" asked Flurry, one day--that was the name of the little seaside place where Mr. Lucas had acottage. "Aunt Ruth says you must come down with us next summer; shedeclares she has quite set her heart on it. "

"Oh, Flurry, that would be delightful!--but how could I leave motherand Dot?" I added in a regretful parenthesis. That was always theburden of my song--Mother and Dot. 

"Dot must come, too, " pronounced Flurry, decidedly; and she actuallyproposed to Miss Ruth at luncheon that "Esther's little brothershould be invited to Roseberry. " Miss Ruth looked at me with kindlyamused eyes, as I grew crimson and tried to hush Flurry. 

"We shall see, " she returned, in her gentle voice; "if Esther willnot go without Dot, Dot must come too. " But though the bare idea wastoo delightful, I begged Miss Ruth not to entertain such an idea fora moment. 

I think Flurry's little speech put a kind thought into Miss Ruth'shead, for when she next invited us to drive with her, the gray horsesstopped for an instant at Uncle Geoffrey's door, and the footmanlifted Dot in his little fur-lined coat, and placed him at MissRuth's side. And seeing the little lad's rapture, and Flurry'schildish delight, she often called for him, sometimes when she wasalone, for she said Dot never troubled her; he could be as quiet as alittle mouse when her head ached and she was disinclined to talk. 

I said nothing happened; but one day I had a pleasant surprise, justwhen I did not deserve it; for it was one of my fractious days--daysof moods and tenses I used to called them--when nothing seemed quiteright, when I was beset by that sort of grown-up fractiousness thatwants to be petted and put to bed, and bidden to lie still like atired child. 

Winter had set in in downright earnest, and in those cold darkmornings early rising seemed an affront to the understanding, and asnare to be avoided by all right-minded persons; yet notwithstandingall that, a perverse, fidgety notion of duty drove me with a scourgeof mental thorns from my warm bed. For I was young and healthy, andwhy should I lie there while Deborah and Martha broke the ice intheir pitchers, and came downstairs with rasped red faces andacidulated tempers? I was thankful not to do likewise, to know Ishould hear in a few minutes a surly tap at the door, with the littlehot-water can put down with protesting evidence. Even then it washard work to flesh and blood, with no dewy lawn, no bird music now toswell my morning's devotion with tiny chorus of praise; only a hardfrozen up world, with a trickle of meager sunshine running through it. 

But my hardest work was with Dot; he used to argue drowsily with mewhile I stood shivering and awaiting his pleasure. Why did I not godown to the fire if I were cold? He was not going to get up in themiddle of the night to please any one; never mind the robins--ofwhich I reminded him gently--he wished he were a robin too, and couldget up and go to bed with a neat little feather bed tacked to hisskin--nice, cosy little fellows; and then he would draw thebedclothes round his thin little shoulders, and try to maintain hisposition. 

He quite whimpered on the morning in question, when I lifted him outbodily--such a miserable Dot, looking like a starved dove in hiswhite plumage; but he cheered up at the sight of the fire and hotcoffee in the snug parlor, and whispered a little entreaty forforgiveness as I stooped over him to make him comfortable. 

"You are tired, Esther, " said my mother tenderly, when she saw myface that morning; "you must not get up so early this cold weather, mydear. " But I held my peace, for who would dress Dot, and what wouldbecome of Jack? And then came a little lump in my throat, for I wastired and fractious. 

When I got to the Cedars a solemn stillness reigned in the nursery, and instead of an orderly room a perfect chaos of doll revelryprevailed. All the chairs were turned into extempore beds, and thetwelve dolls, with bandaged heads and arms, were tucked up with thegreatest care. 

Flurry met me with an air of great importance and her finger on herlip. 

"Hush, Esther, you must not make a noise. I am Florence Nightingale, and these are all the poor sick and wounded soldiers; look at thisone, this is Corporal Trim, and he has had his two legs shot off. "

I recognized Corporal Trim under his bandages; he was the very dollFlossy had so grievously maltreated and had robbed of an eye; thewaxen tip of his nose was gone, and a great deal of his flaxen wigbesides--quite a caricature of a mutilated veteran. 

I called Flurry to account a little sternly, and insisted on herrestoring order to the room. Flurry pouted and sulked; her heart wasat Scutari, and her wits went wool-gathering, and refused dates andthe multiplication table. To make matters worse, it commencedsnowing, and there was no prospect of a walk before luncheon. MissRuth did not come down to that meal, and afterward I sat and knittedin grim silence. Discipline must be maintained, and as Flurry wouldnot work, neither would I play with her; but I do not know which ofus was punished the most. 

"Oh, how cross you are, Esther, and it is Christmas eve!" criedFlurry at last, on the verge of crying. It was growing dusk, andalready shadows lurked in the corner of the room, Flurry looked at meso wistfully that I am afraid I should have relented and gone on alittle with Juliet, only at that moment she sprang up joyfully at thesound of her aunt's voice calling her, and ran out to the top of thedark staircase. 

"We are to go down, you and I; Aunt Ruth wants us, " she exclaimed, laying violent hands on my work. I felt rather surprised at thesummons, for Miss Ruth never called us at this hour, and it wouldsoon be time for me to go home. 

The drawing-room looked the picture of warm comfort as we enteredit; some glorious pine logs were crackling and spluttering in thegrate, sending out showers of colored sparks. 

Miss Ruth was half-buried in her easy-chair, with her feet on thewhite fleecy rug, and the little square tea-table stood near her, with its silver kettle and the tiny blue teacups. 

"You have sent for us, Miss Ruth, " I said, as I crossed the room toher; but at that instant another figure I had not seen started upfrom a dark corner, and caught hold of me in rough, boyish fashion. 

"Allan! oh Allan! Allan!" my voice rising into a perfect crescendoof ecstasy at the sight of his dear dark face. Could anything be moredeliciously unexpected? And there was Miss Ruth laughing very softlyto herself at my pleasure. 

"Oh, Allan, what does this mean, " I demanded, "when you told usthere was no chance of your spending Christmas with us? Have you beenhome? Have you seen mother and Dot? Have you come here to fetch mehome?"

Allan held up his hands as he took a seat near me. 

"One question at a time, Esther. I had unexpected leave of absencefor a week, and that is why you see me; and as I wanted to surpriseyou all, I said nothing about it. I arrived about three hours ago, and as mother thought I might come and fetch you, why I thought Iwould, and that you would be pleased to see me; that is all mystory, " finished Allan, exchanging an amused glance with Miss Ruth. They had never met before, and yet they seemed already on excellentterms. All an made no sort of demur when Miss Ruth insisted that weshould both have some tea to warm us before we went. I think he feltat home with her at once. 

Flurry seemed astonished at our proceeding. She regarded Allan for along time very solemnly, until he won her heart by admiring Flossy;then she condescended to converse with him. 

"Are you Esther's brother, really?"

"Yes, Miss Florence--I believe that is your name. "

"Florence Emmeline Lucas, " she repeated glibly. "I'm Flurry forshort; nobody calls me Florence except father sometimes. It was dearmamma's name, and he always sighs when he says it. "

"Indeed, " returned Allan in an embarrassed tone; and then he tookFlossy on his knee and began to play with him. 

"Esther is rich, " went on Flurry, rather sadly. "She has threebrothers; there's Fred, and you, and Dot. I think she likes Dot best, and so do I. What a pity I haven't a Dot of my own! No brothers; onlyfather and Aunt Ruth. "

"Poor little dear, " observed Allan compassionately--he was alwaysfond of children. His hearty tone made Flurry look up in his face. "He is a nice man, " she said to me afterward; "he likes Flossy andme, and he was pleased when I kissed him. "

I did not tell Flurry that Allan had been very much astonished ather friendship. 

"That is a droll little creature, " he said, as we left the housetogether; "but there is something very attractive about her. You havea nice berth there, Esther. Miss Lucas seems a delightful person, " anopinion in which I heartily agreed. Then he asked me about Mr. Lucas;but I had only Flurry's opinion to offer him on that subject, and hequestioned me in his old way about my daily duties. "Mother thinksyou are overworked, and you are certainly looking a little thin, Esther. Does not Carrie help you enough? And what is this I have justheard about the night school?"

Our last grievance, which I had hitherto kept from Allan; but ofcourse mother had told him. It was so nice to be walking there by hisside, with the crisp white snow beneath our feet, and the dark skyover our heads; no more fractiousness now, when I could pour out allmy worries to Allan. 

Such a long story I told him; but the gist of it was this; Carriehad been very imprudent; she would not let well alone, or be contentwith a sufficient round of duties. She worked hard with her pupilsall day, and besides that she had a district and Sunday school; andnow Mrs. Smedley had persuaded her to devote two evenings of herscanty leisure to the night school. 

"I think it is very hard and unjust to us, " I continued ratherexcitedly. "We have so little of Carrie--only just the odds and endsof time she can spare us. Mrs. Smedley has no right to dictate to usall, and to work Carrie in the way she does. She has got an influenceover her, and she uses it for her own purposes, and Carrie is weak toyield so entirely to her judgment; she coaxes her and flatters her, and talks about her high standard and unselfish zeal for the work;but I can't understand it, and I don't think it right for Carrie tobe Mrs. Smedley's parochial drudge. "

"I will talk to Carrie, " returned Allan, grimly; and he would notsay another word on the subject. But I forgot all my grievancesduring the happy evening that followed. 

Allan was in such spirits! As frolicsome as a boy, he would not letus be dull, and so his talk never flagged for a moment. Dot laughedtill the tears ran down his cheeks when Allan kicked over the mendingbasket, and finally ordered Martha to take it away. When Carriereturned from the night school, she found us all gathered round thefire in peaceful idleness, listening to Allan's stories, with Dot onthe rug, basking in the heat like a youthful salamander. 

I think Allan must have followed her up to her room, for just as Iwas laying my head on the pillow there was a knock at the door, andCarrie entered with her candle, fully dressed, and with a dark circleround her eyes. 

She put down the light, so as not to wake Jack, and sat down by myside with a weary sigh. 

"Why did you all set Allan to talk to me?" she began reproachfully. "Why should I listen to him more than to you or mother? I begin tosee that a man's foes are indeed of his own household. "

I bit my lips to keep in a torrent of angry words. I was out ofpatience with Carrie, even a saint ought to have common sense, Ithought, and I was so tired and sleepy, and to-morrow was ChristmasDay. 

"I could not sleep until I came and told you what I thought aboutit, " she went on in her serious monotone. I don't think she evennoticed my exasperated silence. "It is of no use for Allan to comeand preach his wordly wisdom to me; we do not measure things by thesame standard, he and I. You are better, Esther, but your hardmatter-of-fact reasoning shocks me sometimes. "

"Oh, Carrie! why don't you create a world of your own, " I demanded, scornfully, "if we none of us please you--not even Allan?"

"Now you are angry without cause, " she returned, gently, for Carrierarely lost her temper in an argument; she was so meekly obstinatethat we could do nothing with her. "We cannot create our own world, Esther; we can only do the best we can with this. When I am workingso hard to do a little good in Milnthorpe, why do you all try tohinder and drag me back?"

"Because you are _over_doing it, and wearing yourself out, " Ireturned, determined to have my say; but she stopped me with quietperemptoriness. 

"No more of that, Esther; I have heard it all from Allan. I am notafraid of wearing out; I hope to die in harness. Why, child, how canyou be so faint-hearted? We cannot die until our time comes. "

"But when we court death it is suicide, " I answered, stubbornly; butCarrie only gave one of her sweet little laughs. 

"You foolish Esther! who means to die, I should like to know? Why, the child is actually crying. Listen to me, you dear goosie. I wasnever so happy or well in my life. " I shook my head sorrowfully, butshe persisted in her statement. "Mrs. Smedley has given me new life. How I do love that woman! She is a perfect example to us--ofunselfishness and energy. She says I am her right hand, and I dobelieve she means it, Esther. " But I only groaned in answer. "She isdoing a magnificent work in Milnthrope, " she continued, "and I feelso proud that I am allowed to assist her. Do you know, I had twentyboys in my class this evening; they would come to me, though MissMiles' class was nearly empty. " And so she went on, until I felt allover prickles of suppressed nervousness. "Well, good-night, " shesaid, at last, when I could not he roused into any semblance ofinterest; "we shall see which of us be right by-and-by. "

"Yes, we shall see, " I answered, drowsily; but long after she left Imuttered the words over and over to myself, "We shall see. "

Yes, by-and-by the light of Divine truth would flash over ouractions, and in that pure radiance every unworthy work would witherup to naught--every unblessed deed retreat into outer darkness. Whichwould be right, she or I?

I know only too well that, taking the world as a whole, we ought to_encourage_ Christian parochial work, because too many girls whopossess the golden opportunity of leisure allow it to be wasted, andso commit the "sin of omission;" but there would have been quite asmuch good done had Carrie dutifully helped in our invalid home andcheered us all to health by her bright presence. And besides, Imyself could then perhaps have taken a class at me night school ifthe stocking-mending and the other multitudinous domestic matterscould have allowed it. 

The chimes of St. Barnabas were pealing through the midnight airbefore I slept. Above was the soft light of countless stars, sownbroadcast over the dark skies. Christmas was come, and the angel'ssong sounding over the sleeping earth. 

"Peace and goodwill to men"--peace from weary arguments andfruitless regret, peace on mourning hearts, on divided homes, onmariners tossing afar on wintry seas, and peace surely on onetroubled girlish heart that waited for the breaking of a more perfectday. 

CHAPTER XI. 

MISS RUTH'S NURSE. 

Miss Ruth insisted on giving me a week's holiday, that I might availmyself of Allan's society; and as dear mother still persisted that Ilooked pale and in need of change, Allan gave me a course of bracingexercise in the shape of long country walks with him and Jack, whenwe plowed our way over half-frozen fields and down deep, muddy lanes, scrambling over gates and through hedges, and returning home ladenwith holly berries and bright red hips and haws. 

On Allan's last evening we were invited to dine at the Cedars--justUncle Geoffrey, Allan, and I. Miss Ruth wrote such a pretty letter. She said that her brother thought it was a long time since he hadseen his old friend Dr. Cameron, and that he was anxious to makeacquaintance with his nephew and Flurry's playfellow--this was MissRuth's name for me, for we had quite dropped the governess between us. 

Allan looked quite pleased, and scouted my dubious looks; he hadtaken a fancy to Miss Ruth, and wanted to see her again. He laughedwhen I said regretfully that it was his last evening, and that Iwould rather have spent it quietly at home with him. I was shy at thenotion of my first dinner-party; Mr. Lucas' presence would make it aformal affair. 

And then mother fretted a little that I had no evening-dress ready. I could not wear white, so all my pretty gowns were useless; but Icheered her up by my assuring her that such things did not matter inour deep mourning. And when I had dressed myself in my blackcashmere, with soft white ruffles and a little knot of Christmasroses and ferns which Carrie had arranged in my dress, mother gave arelieved sigh, and thought I should do nicely, and Allan twisted meround, and declared I was not half so bad after all, and that, thoughI was no beauty, I should pass, with which dubious compliment I wasobliged to content myself. 

"I wish you were going in my stead, Carrie, " I whispered, as shewrapped me in mother's warm fleecy shawl, for the night waspiercingly cold. 

"I would rather stay with mother, " she answered quietly. And thenshe kissed me, and told me to be a good child, and not to befrightened of any one, in her gentle, elder sisterly way. It neveroccurred to her to envy me my party or my pleasant position at theCedars, or to compare her own uncongenial work with mine. These sortsof petty jealousies and small oppositions were impossible to her; hernature was large and slightly raised, and took in wider vistas oflife than ours. 

My heart sank a little when I heard the sharp vibrating sound ofMrs. Smedley's voice as we were announced. I had no idea that thevicar and his wife were to be invited, but they were the only guestsbeside ourselves. I never could like Mrs. Smedley and to the verylast I never changed my girlish opinion of her. I have a curiousinstinctive repugnance to people who rustle through life; whoseentrances and exits are environed with noise; who announce theirintentions with the blast of the trumpet. Mrs. Smedley was a wordywoman. She talked much and well, but her voice was loud and jarring. She was not a bad-looking woman. I daresay in her younger days shehad been handsome, for her features were very regular and hercomplexion good; but I always said that she had worn herself thinwith talking. She was terribly straight and angular (I am afraid Icalled it bony); she had sharp high cheek bones, and her hands werelong and lean. On this evening she wore a rich brown brocade, thatcreaked and rustled with every movement, and some Indian bangles thatjingled every time she raised her arm. I could not help comparing herto Miss Ruth, who sat beside her, looking lovely in a black velvetgown, and as soft and noiseless as a little mouse. I am afraid Mrs. Smedley's clacking voice made her head ache terribly for she grewpaler and paler before the long dinner was over. As Miss Ruth greetedme, I saw Mr. Lucas cross the room with Flurry holding his hand. 

"Flurry must introduce me to her playfellow, " he said, with a kindglance at us both, as the child ran up to me and clasped me close. 

"Oh, Esther, how I have wanted you and Juliet, " she whispered; buther father heard her. 

"I am afraid Flurry has had a dull week of it, " he said, taking aseat beside us, and lifting the little creature to his knee. Howpretty Flurry looked in her dainty white frock, all embroidery andlace, with knots of black ribbons against her dimpled shoulders, andher hair flowing round her like a golden veil! Such a little fairyqueen she looked!

"Father has been telling me stories, " she observed, confidently;"they were very pretty ones, but I think I like Juliet best. And, oh!Esther, Flossy has broken Clementina's arm--that is your favoritedoll, you know. "

"Has Miss Cameron a doll, too?" asked Mr. Lucas, and I thought helooked a little quizzical. 

"I always call it Esther's, " returned Flurry, seriously. "She isquite fond of it, and nurses it sometimes at lessons. "

But I could bear no more. Mrs. Smedley was listening, I was sure, and it did sound so silly and babyish, and yet I only did it toplease Flurry. 

"I am afraid you think me very childish, " I stammered, for Iremembered that game of battledore and shuttlecock, and how excited Ihad been when I had achieved two hundred. But as I commenced mylittle speech, with burning cheeks and a lip that would quiver withnervousness, he quietly stopped me. 

"I think nothing to your discredit, Miss Cameron. I am too gratefulto you for making my little girl's life less lonely. I feel muchhappier about her now, and so does my sister. " And then, as dinnerwas announced, he turned away and offered his arm to Mrs. Smedley. 

Mr. Smedley took me in and sat by me, but after a few cursoryobservations he left me to my own devices and talked to Miss Ruth. Iwas a little disappointed at this, for I preferred him infinitely tohis wife, and I had always found his sermons very helpful; but Iheard afterward that he never liked talking to young ladies, and didnot know what to say to them. Carrie was an exception. She was toogreat a favorite with them both ever to be neglected. Mr. Lucas'attention was fully occupied by his voluble neighbor. Now and then headdressed a word to me, that I might not feel myself slighted, butMrs. Smedley never seconded his efforts. 

Ever since I had refused to teach in the Sunday school she hadregarded me with much head-shaking and severity. To her I was simplya frivolous, uninteresting young person, too headstrong to be guided. She always spoke pityingly of "your poor sister Esther" to Carrie, asthough I were in a lamentable condition. I know she had heard ofFlurry's doll, her look was so utterly contemptuous. 

To my dismay she commenced talking to Mr. Lucas about Carrie. It wasvery bad taste, I thought, with her sister sitting opposite to her;but Carrie was Mrs. Smedley's present hobby, and she always rode herhobby to death. No one else heard her, for they were all engaged withMiss Ruth. 

"Such an admirable creature, " she was saying, when my attention wasattracted to the conversation; "a most lovely person and mind, andyet so truly humble. I confess I love her as though she were adaughter of my own. " Fancy being Mrs. Smedley's daughter! Happily, for their own sakes, she had no children. "Augustus feels just thesame; he thinks so highly of her. Would you believe it, Mr. Lucas, that though she is a daily governess like her sister, " with a sharpglance at poor little miserable me, "that that dear devoted girltakes house to house visitation in that dreadful Nightingale lane andRowley street?" Was it my fancy, or did Mr. Lucas shrug his shouldersdubiously at this? As Mrs. Smedley paused here a moment, as thoughshe expected an answer, he muttered, "Very praiseworthy, I am sure, "in a slightly bored tone. 

"She has a class in the Sunday-school besides, and now she gives twoevenings a week to Mr. Smedley's night school. She is a pattern toall the young ladies of the place, as I do not fail to tell them. "

Why Mr. Lucas looked at me at that moment I do not know, butsomething in my face seemed to strike him, for he said, in a curioussort of tone, that meant a great deal, if I had only understood it:

"You do not follow in your sister's footsteps, then, Miss Cameron?"

"No, I do not, " I answered abruptly, far too abruptly, I am afraid;"human beings cannot be like sheep jumping through a hedge--if onejumps, they all jump, you know. "

"And you do not like that, " with a little laugh, as though he wereamused. 

"No, I must be sure it is a safe gap first, and not a short cut tonowhere, " was my inexplicable response. I do not know if Mr. Lucasunderstood me, for just then Miss Ruth gave the signal for the ladiesto rise. The rest of the evening was rather a tedious affair. Iplayed a little, but no one seemed specially impressed, and I couldhear Mrs. Smedley's voice talking loudly all the time. 

Mr. Lucas did not address me again; he and Uncle Geoffrey talkedpolitics on the rug. The Smedleys went early, and just as we wereabout to follow their example a strange thing happened; poor MissRuth was taken with one of her bad attacks. 

I was very frightened, for she looked to me as though she weredying; but Uncle Geoffrey was her doctor, and understood all aboutit, and Allan quietly stood by and helped him. 

Mr. Lucas rang for nurse, who always waited on Miss Ruth as well asFlurry, but she had gone to bed with a sick headache. The housemaidwas young and awkward, and lost her head entirely, so Uncle Geoffreysent her away to get her mistress' room ready, and he and Allancarried Miss Ruth up between them; and a few minutes afterward Iheard Allan's whistle, and ran out into the hall. 

"Good-night, Esther, " he said, hurriedly; I am just going to thesurgery for some medicine. Uncle Geoffrey thinks you ought to offeryour services for the night, as that girl is no manner of use; youhad better go up now. "

"But, Allan, I do not understand nursing in the least, " for thissuggestion terrified me, and I wanted the walk home with Allan, and acozy chat when every one had gone to bed; but, to my confusion, hemerely looked at me and turned on his heel. Allan never wasted wordson these occasions; if people would not do their duty he washed hishands of them. I could not bear him to be disappointed in me, orthink me cowardly and selfish, so I went sorrowfully up to MissRuth's room, and found Uncle Geoffrey coming in search of me. 

"Oh, there you are, Esther, " he said, in his most business-liketone, taking it for granted, as a matter of course, that I was goingto stay. "I want you to help Miss Lucas to get comfortably to bed;she is in great pain, and cannot speak to you just yet; but you musttry to assist her as well as you can. When the medicine comes, I willtake a final look at her, and give you your orders. " And then henodded to me and went downstairs. There was no help for it; I must domy little best, and say nothing about it. 

Strange to say, I had never been in Miss Ruth's room before. I knewwhere it was situated, and that its windows looked out on the garden, but I had no idea what sort of a place it was. 

It was not large, but so prettily fitted up, and bore the stamp ofrefined taste, in every minute detail. I always think a room showsthe character of its owner; one can judge in an instant, by lookinground and noticing the little ornaments and small treasuredpossessions. 

I once questioned Carrie rather curiously about Mrs. Smedley's room, and she answered, reluctantly, that it was a large, bare-lookingapartment, with an ugly paper, and full of medicine chests andwork-baskets; nothing very comfortable or tasteful in its arrangements. I knew it; I could have told her so without seeing it. 

Miss Ruth's was very different; it was perfectly crowded with prettythings, and yet not too many of them. And such beautiful pictureshung on the walls, most of them sacred: but evidently chosen with aview to cheerfulness. Just opposite the bed was "The Flight intoEgypt;" a portrait of Flurry; and some sunny little landscapes, mostof them English scenes, finished the collection. There were somevelvet lined shelves, filled with old china, and some dear littleDresden shepherdesses on the mantelpiece. A stand of Miss Ruth'sfavorite books stood beside her lounge chair, and her inlaid Indiandesk was beside it. 

I was glad Miss Ruth liked pretty things; it showed such charmingharmony in her character. Poor Miss Ruth, she was evidently sufferingseverely, as she lay on her couch in front of the fire; her hair wasunbound, and fell in thick short lengths over her pillow, remindingme of Flurry's soft fluff, but not quite so bright a gold. 

I was sadly frightened when I found she did not open her eyes orspeak to me. I am afraid I bungled sadly over my task, though she wasquite patient and let me do what I liked with her. It seemed terriblylong before I had her safely in her bed. When her head touched thepillows, she raised her eyelids with difficulty. 

"Thank you, " she whispered; "you have done it so nicely, dear, andhave not hurt me more than you could help, " and then she motioned meto kiss her. Dear patient Miss Ruth!

I had got the room all straight before Uncle Geoffrey came back, andthen Mr. Lucas was with him. Miss Ruth spoke to them both, and tookhold of her brother's hand as he leaned over her. 

"Good-night, Giles; don't worry about me; Esther is going to takecare of me. " She took it for granted, too. "Dr. Cameron's medicinewill soon take away the pain. "

Uncle Geoffrey's orders were very simple; I must watch her and keepup the fire, and give her another dose if she were to awake in twohours' time; and if the attack came on again, I must wake nurse, inspite of her headache, as she knew what to do; and then he left me. 

"You are very good to do this, " Mr. Lucas said, as he shook handswith me. "Have you been used to nursing?"

I told him, briefly, no; but I was wise enough not to add that Ifeared I should never keep awake, in Spite of some very strong coffeeUncle Geoffrey had ordered me; but I was so young, and with such anappetite for sleep. 

I took out my faded flowers when they left me, said my prayers, anddrank my coffee, and then tried to read one of Miss Ruth's books, butthe letters seemed to dance before my eyes. I am afraid I had a shortdoze over Hiawatha, for I had a confused idea that I was Minnehahalaughing-water; and I thought the forest leaves were rustling roundme, when a coal dropped out of the fire and startled me. 

It woke Miss Ruth from her refreshing sleep; but the pain had lefther, and she looked quite bright and like herself. 

"I am a bad sleeper, and often lie awake until morning, " she said, as I shook up her pillows and begged her to lie down again. "No, itis no good trying again just now, I am so dreadfully wide awake. PoorEsther! how tired you look, being kept out of your bed in this way. "And she wanted me to curl myself up on the couch and go to sleep, butI stoutly refused; Uncle Geoffrey had said I was to watch her untilmorning. When she found I was inexorable in my resolution to keepawake, she began to talk. 

"I wonder if you know what pain is, Esther--real positive agony?"and when I assured her that a slight headache was the only form ofsuffering I had ever known, she gave a heavy sigh. 

"How strange, how fortunate, singular too, it seems to me. No pain!that must be a foretaste of heaven;" and she repeated, dreamily, "nomore pain there. Oh, Esther, if you knew how I long sometimes forheaven. "

The words frightened me, somehow; they spoke such volumes ofrepressed longing. "Dear Miss Ruth, why?" I asked, almost timidly. 

"Can you ask why, and see me as I am to-night?" she asked, withscarcely restrained surprise. "If I could only bear it more patientlyand learn the lesson it is meant to teach me, 'perfect throughsuffering, ' the works of His chisel!" And then she softly repeatedthe words, "Shedding soft drops of pity Where the sharp edges of the tool have been. "

"I always loved that stanza so; it gave me the first idea I everquite grasped how sorry He is when He is obliged to hurt us. " And asI did not know how to answer her, she begged me to fetch the book, and she would show me the passage for myself. 

CHAPTER XII. 

I WAS NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS. 

I had no idea Miss Ruth could talk as she did that night. She seemedto open her heart to me with the simplicity of a child, giving me adeeper insight into a very lovely nature. Carrie had hitherto been myideal, but on this night I caught myself wondering once or twicewhether Carrie would ever exercise such patience and uncomplainingendurance under so many crossed purposes, such broken work. 

"I was never quite like other people, " she said to me when I hadclosed the book; "you know I was a mere infant in my nurse's arms, when that accident happened. " I nodded, for I had heard the saddetails from Uncle Geoffrey; how an unbroken pair of young horses hadshied across the road just as the nurse who was carrying Miss Ruthwas attempting to cross it; the nurse had been knocked down anddreadfully injured, and her little charge had been violently thrownagainst the curb, and it had been thought by the doctor that one ofthe horses must have kicked her. For a long time she lay in a stateof great suffering, and it was soon known that her health hadsustained permanent injury. 

"I was always a crooked, stunted little thing, " she went on, with alovely smile. "My childhood was a sad ordeal; it was just battlingwith pain, and making believe that I did not mind. I used to try andbear it as cheerfully as I could, because mother fretted so over me;but in secret I was terribly rebellious, often I cried myself tosleep with angry passionate tears, because I was not like other girls. 

"Do you care to hear all this?" interrupting herself to look at myattentive face. It must have been a sufficient answer, for she wenton talking without waiting for me to speak. 

"Giles was very good to me, but it was hard on him for his onlysister to be such a useless invalid. He was active and strong, and Icould not expect to keep him chained to my couch--I was always on acouch then--he had his friends and his cricket and football, and Icould not expect to see much of him, I had to let him go with the rest. 

"Things went on like this--outward submission and inward revolt--muchaffection, but little of the grace of patience, until the eve ofmy confirmation, when a stranger came to preach at the parish church. I never heard his name before, and I never have heard it since. People said he came from a distance; but I shall never forget thatsermon to my dying day, or the silvery penetrating voice thatdelivered it. 

"It was as though a message from heaven was brought straight to me, to the poor discontented child who sat so heart weary and despondingin the corner of the pew. I cannot oven remember the text; it wassomething about the suffering of Christ, but I knew that it wasaddressed to the suffering members of His church, and that he touchedupon all physical and mental pain. And what struck me most was thathe spoke of pain as a privilege, a high privilege and specialtraining; something that called us into a fuller and inner fellowshipwith our suffering head. 

"He told us the heathen might dread pain, but not the Christian;that one really worthy of the name must be content to be the crossbearer, to tread really and literally in the steps of the Master. 

"What if He unfolded to us the mystery of pain? Would He not unfoldthe mystery of love too? What generous souls need fear that dreadordeal, that was to remove them from the outer to the inner court?Ought they not to rejoice that they were found worthy to share Hisreproach? He said much more than this, Esther, but memory is so weakand betrays one. But he had flung a torch into the darkest recessesof my soul, and the sudden light seemed to scorch and shrivel up allthe discontent and bitterness; and, oh, the peace that succeeded; itwas as though a drowning mariner left off struggling and buffetingwith the waves that were carrying him to the shore, but just laystill and let himself be floated in. "

"And you were happier, " I faltered, as she suddenly broke off, asthough exhausted. 

"Yes, indeed, " she returned softly. "Pain was not any more my enemy, but the stern life companion He had sent to accompany me--the crossthat I must carry out of love to Him; oh, how different, how far moreendurable! I took myself in hand by-and-by when I grew older and hada better judgment of things. I knew mine was a life apart, aseparated life; by that I mean that I should never know the joy ofwifehood or motherhood, that I must create my own little world, myown joys and interests. "

"And you have done so. "

"Yes, I have done so; I am a believer in happiness; I am quite surein my mind that our beneficent Creator meant all His creatures to behappy, that whatever He gives them to bear, that He intends them toabide in the sunshine of His peace, and I determined to be happy. Isurrounded my-self with pretty things, with pictures that werepleasant to the eye and recalled bright thoughts. I made my books myfriends, and held sweet satisfying communion with minds of all ages. I cultivated music, and found intense enjoyment in the study ofHandel and Beethoven. 

"When I got a little stronger I determined to be a worker too, andglean a little sheaf or two after the reapers, if it were only adropped ear now and then. 

"I took up the Senana Mission. You have no idea how important I havegrown, or what a vast correspondence I have kept up--the societybegin to find me quite useful to them--and I have dear unknowncorrespondents whom I love as old friends, and whose faces I shallonly see, perhaps, when we meet in heaven. 

"When dear Florence died--that was my sister-in-law, you know--Icame to live with Giles, and to look after Flurry. I am quite aresponsible woman, having charge of the household, and trying to be acompanion to Giles; confess now, Esther, it is not such a uselesslife after all?"

I do not know what I answered her. I have a dim recollection that Iburst into some extravagant eulogium or other, for she colored to hertemples and called me a foolish child, and begged me seriously neverto say such things to her again. 

"I do not deserve all that, Esther, but you are too young to judgedispassionately; you must recollect that I have fewer temptationsthan other people. If I were strong and well I might be worldly too. "

"No, never, " I answered indignantly; "you would always be betterthan other people, Miss Ruth--you and Carrie--oh, why are you both sogood?" with a despairing inflection in my voice. "How you must bothlook down on me. "

"I know some one who is good, too, " returned Miss Ruth, stroking myhair. "I know a brave girl who works hard and wears herself out inloving service, who is often tired and never complains, who thinkslittle of herself, and yet who does much to brighten other lives, andI think you know her too, Esther?" But I would not let her go on; itwas scant goodness to love her, and Allan, and Dot. How could any onedo otherwise? And what merit could there be in that?

But though I disclaimed her praise, I was inwardly rejoiced that sheshould think such things of me, and should judge me worthy of herconfidence. She was treating me as though I were her equal andfriend, and, to do her justice the idea of my being a governess neverseemed to enter into hers or Mr. Lucas' head. 

They always treated me from this time as a young friend, whoconferred a favor on them by coming. My salary seemed to pass into myhand with the freedom of a gift. Perhaps it was that Uncle Geoffreywas such an old and valued friend, and that Miss Ruth knew that inpoint of birth the Camerons were far above the Lucases, for we werean old family whom misfortune had robbed of our honors. 

However this may be, my privileges were many, and the yoke ofservice lay lightly on my shoulders. Poor Carrie, indeed, had to eatthe bitter bread of dependence, and to take many a severe rebuke fromher employer. Mrs. Thorne was essentially a vulgar-minded woman. Shewas affected by the adventitious adjuncts of life; dress, merestation and wealth weighed largely in her view of things. Because wewere poor, she denied our claim to equality; because Carrie taughther children, she snubbed and repressed her, to keep her in herplace, as though Carrie were a sort of Jack-in-the-box to be jerkedback with every movement. 

When Miss Ruth called on mother, Mrs. Thorne shrugged her shoulders, and wondered at the liberality of some people's views. When we wereasked to dinner at the Cedars (I suppose Mrs. Smedley told her, forCarrie never gossiped), Mrs. Thorne's eye brows were uplifted in asurprised way. Her scorn knew no bounds when she called oneafternoon, and saw Carrie seated at Miss Ruth's little tea-table; shecompletely ignored her through the visit, except to ask once afterher children's lessons. Carrie took her snubbing meekly, and seemedperfectly indifferent. Her quiet lady-like bearing seemed to impressMiss Ruth most favorably, for when Carrie took her leave she kissedher, a thing she had never done before. I looked across at Mrs. Thorne, and saw her tea-cup poised half-way to her lips. She wastransfixed with astonishment. 

"I envy you your sister, Esther, " said Miss Ruth, busying herselfwith the silver kettle. "She is a dear girl--a very dear girl. "

"Humph!" ejaculated Mrs. Thorne. She was past words, and soon aftershe took her departure in a high state of indignation and dudgeon. 

I did not go home the next day. Allan came to say good-by to me, Uncle Geoffrey followed him, and he and Mr. Lucas both decided that Icould not be spared. Nurse was somewhat ailing, and Uncle Geoffreyhad to prescribe for her too; and as Miss Ruth recovered slowly fromthese attacks, she would be very lonely, shut up in her room. 

Miss Ruth was overjoyed when I promised to stay with her as long asthey wanted me. Allan had satisfied my scruples about Jack and Dot. 

"They all think you ought to stay, " he said. "Mother was the firstto decide that. Martha has promised to attend to Dot in your absence. She grumbled a little, and so did he; but that will not matter. Jackmust look after herself, " finished this very decided young man, whowas apt to settle feminine details in rather a summary fashion. 

If mother said it was my duty to remain, I need not trouble my headabout minor worries; the duty in hand, they all thought, was withMiss Ruth, and with Miss Ruth I would stay. 

"It will be such a luxury to have you, Esther, " she said, in her oldbright way. "My head is generally bad after these attacks, and Icannot read much to myself, and with all my boasted resolution thehours do seem very long. Flurry must spare you to me after themorning, and we will have nice quiet times together. "

So I took possession of the little room next hers, and put away thefew necessaries that mother had sent me, with a little picture ofDot, that he had drawn for me; but I little thought that afternoonthat it would be a whole month before I left it. 

I am afraid that long visit spoiled me a little; it was so pleasantresuming some of the old luxuries. Instead of the cold bare roomwhere Jack and I slept, for, in spite of all our efforts, it did lookbare in the winter, I found a bright fire burning in my cozy littlechamber, and casting warm ruddy gleams over the white china tiles;the wax candles stood ready for lighting on the toilet table; mydressing gown was aging in company with my slippers; everything sosnug and essential to comfort, to the very eider-down quilt thatlooked so tempting. 

Then in the morning, just to dress myself and go down to thepleasant dining-room, with the great logs spluttering out a brightwelcome, and the breakfast table loaded with many a dainty. Noshivering Dot to coerce into good humor; no feckless Jack to frowninto order; no grim Deborah to coax and help. Was it very wicked thatI felt all this a relief? Then how deliciously the days passed; thefew lessons with Flurry, more play than work; the inspiriting rambleending generally with a peep at mother and Dot!

The cozy luncheons, at which Flurry and I made our dinners, whereFlurry sat in state at the bottom of the table and carved thepudding, and gave herself small airs of consequence, and then thelong quiet afternoons with Miss Ruth. 

I used to write letters at her dictation, and read to her, notaltogether dry reading, for she dearly loved an amusing book. It wasthe "Chronicles of Carlingford" we read, I remember; and how shepraised the whole series, calling them pleasant wholesome pictures oflife. We used to be quite sorry when Rhoda, the rosy-cheekedhousemaid, brought up the little brass kettle, and I had to leave offto make Miss Ruth's tea. Mr. Lucas always came up when that was over, to sit with his sister a little and tell her all the news of the day, while I went down to Flurry, whom I always found seated on thelibrary sofa, with her white frock spreading out like wings, waitingto sit with father while he ate his dinner. 

I always had supper in Miss Ruth's room, and never left her againtill nurse came in to put her comfortable for the night. Flurry usedto run in on her way to bed to hug us both and tell us what fatherhad said. 

"You are father's treasure, his one ewe lamb, are you not?" saidMiss Ruth once, as she drew the child fondly toward her; and when shehad gone, running off with her merry laugh, she spoke almost with asigh of her brother's love for the child. 

"Giles's love for her almost resembles idolatry. The child is likehim, but she has poor Florence's eyes and her bright happy nature. Itremble sometimes to think what would become of him if he lost her. Ihave lived long enough to know that God sometimes takes away 'thedesire of a man's eyes, all that he holds most dear. '"

"But not often, " I whispered, kissing her troubled brow, for a lookof great sadness came over her face at the idea; but her wordsrecurred to me by-and-by when I heard a short conversation betweenFlurry and her father. 

After the first fortnight Miss Ruth regained strength a little, andthough still an invalid was enabled to spend some hours downstairs. Before I left the Cedars she had resumed all her old habits, and wasable to preside at her brother's dinner-table. 

I joined them on these occasions, both by hers and Mr. Lucas'request, and so became better acquainted with Flurry's father. 

One Sunday afternoon I was reading in the drawing-room window, andtrying to finish my book by the failing wintry light, when Flurry'svoice caught my attention; she was sitting on a stool at her father'sfeet turning over the pages of her large picture Bible. Mr. Lucas hadbeen dozing, I think, for there had been no conversation. Miss Ruthhad gone upstairs. 

"Father, " said the little one, suddenly, in her eager voice, "I dolove that story of Isaac. Abraham was such a good man to offer up hisonly son, only God stopped him, you know. I wonder what his motherwould have done if he had come home, and told her he had killed herboy. Would she have believed him, do you think? Would she have everliked him again?"

"My little Florence, what a strange idea to come into your smallhead. " I could tell from Mr. Lucas' tone that such an idea had neveroccurred to him. What would Sarah have said as she looked upon herson's destroyer? Would she have acquiesced in that dread obedience, that sacrificial rite?

"But, father dear, " still persisted Flurry, "I can't help thinkingabout it; it would have been so dreadful for poor Sarah. Do you thinkyou would have been like Abraham, father; would you have taken theknife to slay your only child?"

"Hush, Florence, " cried her father, hoarsely, and he suddenly caughther to him and kissed her, and bade her run away to her Aunt Ruthwith some trifling message or other. I could see her childishquestion tortured him, by the strained look of his face, as heapproached the window. He had not known I was there, but when he sawme he said almost irritably, only it was the irritability ofsuppressed pain:

"What can put such thoughts in the child's head? I hope you do notlet her think too much, Miss Cameron?"

"Most children have strange fancies, " I returned, quietly. "Flurryhas a vivid imagination; she thinks more deeply than you could creditat her age; she often surprises me by the questions she asks. Theyshow an amount of reasoning power that is very remarkable. "

"Let her play more, " he replied, in a still more annoyed voice. "Ihate prodigies; I would not have Flurry an infant phenomenon for theworld. She has too much brain-power; she is too excitable; you mustkeep her back Miss Cameron. "

"I will do what I can, " I returned humbly; and then, as he stilllooked anxious and ill at ease, I went on, "I do not think you needtrouble about Flurry's precocity; children often say these things. Dot, my little brother--Frankie, I mean--would astonish you with someof his remarks. And then there was Jack, " warming up with my subject;"Jack used to talk about harps and angels in the most heavenly way, till mother cried and thought she would die young; and look at Jacknow--a strong healthy girl, without an ounce of imagination. " I couldsee Mr. Lucas smile quietly to himself in the dusk, for he knew Jack, and had made more than one quizzical remark on her; but I think myobservation comforted him a little, for he said no more, only whenFlurry returned he took her on his knees and told her about awonderful performing poodle he had seen, as a sort of pleasantinterlude after her severe Biblical studies. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

"WE HAVE MISSED DAME BUSTLE. "

One other conversation lingered long in my memory, and it took placeon my last evening at the Cedars. On the next day I was going home tomother and Dot, and yet I sighed! Oh, Esther, for shame!

It was just before dinner. Miss Ruth had been summoned away to seean old servant of the family, and Flurry had run after her. Mr. Lucaswas standing before the fire, warming himself after the manner ofEnglishmen, and I sat at Miss Ruth's little table working at a fleecywhite shawl, that I was finishing to surprise mother. 

There was a short silence between us, for though I was less afraidof Mr. Lucas than formerly, I never spoke to him unless he addressedme; but, looking up from my work a moment, I saw him contemplating mein a quiet, thoughtful way, but he smiled pleasantly when our eyes met. 

"This is your last evening, I think, Miss Cameron?"

"Indeed it is, " I returned, with a short sigh. 

"You are sorry to leave us?" he questioned, very kindly; for I thinkhe had heard the sigh. 

"I ought not to be sorry, " I returned, stoutly; "for I am going home. "

"Oh! and home means everything with you!"

"It means a great deal, " knitting furiously, for I was angry atmyself for being so sorry to leave; "but Miss Ruth has been so goodto me that she has quite spoiled me. I shall not be half so fit forall the hard work I have at home. 

"That is a pity, " he returned, slowly, as though he were revolvingnot my words, but some thoughts in his own mind. "Do you know I wasthinking of something when you looked up just now. I was wonderingwhy you should not remain with us altogether. " I put down my knittingat that, and looked him full in the face; I was so intenselysurprised at his words. "You and my sister are such friends; it wouldbe pleasant for her to have you for a constant companion, for I amoften busy and tired, and----" He paused as though he would haveadded something, but thought better of it. "And she is much alone. Ayoung lively girl would rouse her and do her good, and Flurry wouldbe glad of you. "

"I should like it very much, " I returned, hesitatingly, "if it werenot for mother and Dot. " Just for the moment the offer dazzled me andblinded my common sense. Always to occupy my snug little pinkchamber; to sit with Miss Ruth in this warm, luxurious drawing-room;to be waited on, petted, spoiled, as Miss Ruth always spoiled people. No wonder such a prospect allured a girl of seventeen. 

"Oh, they will do without you, " he returned, with a man'sindifference to female argument. He and Allan were alike in thefacility with which they would knock over one's pet theories. "Youare like other young people, Miss Cameron; you think the world cannotget on without you. When you are older you will get rid of thisidea, " he continued, turning amused eyes on my youthful perplexity. "It is only the young who think one cannot do without them, " finishedthis worldly-wise observer of human nature. 

Somehow that stung me and put me on my mettle, and in a moment I hadarrayed the whole of my feeble forces against so arbitrary anarrangement of my destiny. 

"I cannot help what other young people think, " I said, in rather aperverse manner; "they may be wise or foolish as they like, but I amsure of one thing, that mother and Dot cannot do without me. "

I am afraid my speech was rather rude and abrupt, but Mr. Lucas didnot seem to mind it. His eyes still retained their amused twinkle, but he condescended to argue the point more seriously with me, andsat down in Miss Ruth's low chair, as though to bring himself more ona level with me. 

"Let me give you a piece of advice, Miss Cameron; never be too sureof anything. Granted that your mother will miss you very badly atfirst (I can grant you that, if you like), but there is your sisterto console her; and that irresistible Jack--how can your mother, asensible woman in her way, let a girl go through life with such aname?"

"She will not answer to any other, "' I returned, half offended atthis piece of plain speaking; but it was true we had triedJacqueline, and Lina, and Jack had always remained obstinately deaf. 

"Well, well, she will get wiser some day, when she grows into awoman; she will take more kindly to a sensible name then; but as Iwas saying, your mother may miss you, but all the same she may bethankful to have you so well established and in so comfortable aposition. You will be a member of the family, and be treated as wellas my sister herself; and the additional salary may be welcome justnow, when there are school-bills to pay. "

It seemed clear common sense, put in that way, but not for oneinstant would I entertain such a proposition seriously. The moretempting it looked, the more I distrusted it. Mr. Lucas might beworldly-wise, but here I knew better than he. Would a few pounds morereconcile mother to my vacant place, or cheer Dot's blank face whenhe knew Esther had deserted him?

"You are very good, " I said, trying to keep myself well in hand, andto speak quietly--but now my cheeks burned with the effort; "and Ithank you very much for your kind thought, but----"

"Give me no buts, " he interrupted, smiling; "and don't thank me fora piece of selfishness, for I was thinking most of my sister andFlurry. "

"But all the same I must thank you, " I returned, firmly; "and Iwould like you to believe how happy I should have been if I couldhave done this conscientiously. "

"It is really so impossible?" still incredulously. 

"Really and truly, Mr. Lucas. I am worth little to other people, Iknow, but in their estimation I am worth much. Dot would fret badly;and though mother would make the best of it--she always does--shewould never get over the missing, for Carrie is always busy, and Jackis so young, and----"

"There is the dinner bell, and Ruth still chattering with old nurse. That is the climax of our argument. I dare say no more, you are soterribly in earnest, Miss Cameron, and so evidently believe all yousay; but all the same, mothers part with their daughters sometimes, very gladly, too, under other circumstances; but there, we will letthe subject drop for the present. " And then he looked again at mewith kindly amused eyes, refusing to take umbrage at my obstinacy;and then, to my relief, Miss Ruth interrupted us. 

I felt rather extinguished for the rest of the evening. I did notdare tell Miss Ruth, for fear she would upbraid me for my refusal. Iknew she would side with her brother, and would think I could easilybe spared from home. And if Carrie would only give up her parishwork, and fit into the niche of the daughter of the house, she couldeasily fulfill all my duties. If--a great big "if" it was--an "if"that would spoil Carrie's life, and destroy all those sweet solemnhopes of hers. No, no; I must not entertain such a thought for amoment. 

Mr. Lucas had spoiled my last evening for me, and I think he knewit, for he came to my side as I was putting away my work, and spoke afew contrite words. 

"Don't let our talk worry you, " he said, in so low a voice that MissRuth could not hear his words. "I am sure you were quite right todecide as you did--judging from your point of view, I mean, for ofcourse I hold a different opinion. If you ever see fit to change yourdecision, you must promise to come and tell me. " And of course Ipromised unhesitatingly. 

Miss Ruth followed me to my room, and stood by the fire a few minutes. 

"You look grave to-night, Esther, and I flatter myself that it isbecause you are sorry that your visit has come to an end. "

"And you are right, " I returned, throwing my arms round her lightlittle figure. Oh, how dearly I had grown to love her! "I would liketo be always with you, Miss Ruth; to wait upon you and be yourservant. Nothing would be beneath me--nothing. You are fond of me alittle, are you not?" for somehow I craved for some expression ofaffection on this last night. Miss Ruth was very affectionate, but alittle undemonstrative sometimes in manner. 

"I am very fond of you, Esther, " she replied, turning her sweet eyesto me, "and I shall miss my kind, attentive nurse more than I cansay. Poor Nurse Gill is getting quite jealous of you. She says Flurryis always wild to get to her playfellow, and will not stay with herif she can help it, and that now I can easily dispense with herservices for myself. I had to smooth her down, Esther; the poor oldcreature quite cried about it, but I managed to console her at last. "

"I was always afraid that Mrs. Gill did not like me, " I returned, ina pained voice, for somehow I always disliked hurting people'sfeelings. 

"Oh, she likes you very much; you must not think that. She says MissCameron is a very superior young lady, high in manner, and quite thegentlewoman. I think nurse's expression was 'quite the lady, MissRuth. '"

"I have never been high in manner to her, " I laughed. "We have afine gossip sometimes over the nursery fire. I like Mrs. Gill, andwould not injure her feelings for the world. She is so kind to Dot, too, when he comes to play with Flurry. "

"Poor little man, he will be glad to get his dear Esther back, " shereturned, in a sympathizing voice; and then she bade me good-night, and begged me to hasten to bed, as St. Barnabas had just chimed eleven. 

I woke the next morning with a weight upon me, as though I wereexpecting some ordeal; and though I scolded myself vigorously for mymoral cowardice, and called myself a selfish, lazy girl, I could notshake off the feeling. 

Never had Miss Ruth seemed so dear to me as she had that day. As thehour approached for my departure I felt quite unhappy at the thoughtof even leaving her for those few hours. 

"We shall see you in the morning, " she said, quite cheerfully, as Iknelt on the rug, drawing on my warm gloves. I fancied she noticed myfoolish, unaccountable depression, and would not add to it by anyexpression of regret. 

"Oh, yes, " I returned, with a sort of sigh, as I glanced round theroom where I had passed the evenings so pleasantly of late, andthought of the mending basket at home. I was naughty, I confess it;there were absolutely tears in my eyes, as I ran out into the colddusk of a February evening. 

The streets were wet and gleaming, the shop lights glimmered onpools of rain-water; icy drops pattered down on my face; the brewers'horses steamed as they passed with the empty dray; the few footpassengers in High street shuffled along as hastily as they could;even Polly Pattison's rosy face looked puckered up with cold as sheput up the shutters of the Dairy. 

Uncle Geoffrey's voice hailed me on the doorstep. 

"Here you are, little woman. Welcome home! We have missed DameBustle dreadfully;" and as he kissed me heartily I could not helpstroking his rough, wet coat sleeve in a sort of penitent way. 

"Have you really missed me? It is good of you to say so, Uncle Geoff. "

"The house has not felt the same, " he returned, pushing me in beforehim, and bidding me shake my cloak as I took it off in the passage. 

And then the door opened, and dear mother came out to help me. As Ifelt her gentle touch, and heard Dot's feeble "Hurrah! here isEsther!" the uncomfortable, discontented feelings vanished, and mybetter self regained the mastery. Yes, it was homely and shabby; butoh! so sunny and warm! I forgot Miss Ruth when Dot's beautiful littleface raised itself from the cushions of the sofa, on which I hadplaced him, and he put his arms round me as I knelt down beside him, and whispered that his back was bad, and his legs felt funny, and hewas so glad I was home again, for Martha was cross, and had hardscrubby hands, and hurt him often, though she did not mean it. Thisand much more did Dot whisper in his childish confidence. 

Then Jack came flying in, with Smudge, as usual, in her arms, and amost tumultuous welcome followed. And then came Carrie, with her softkiss and few quiet words. I thought she looked paler and thinner thanwhen I left home, but prettier than ever; and she, too, seemedpleased to see me. I took off my things as quickly as I could--notstopping to look round the somewhat disorderly room, where Jack hadworked her sweet will for the last month--and joined the family atthe tea-table. And afterward I sat close to mother, and talked to heras I mended one of Dot's shirts. 

Now and then my thoughts strayed to a far different scene--to a roomlighted up with wax candles in silver sconces, and the white chinalamp that always stood on Miss Ruth's little table. 

I could see in my mind's eye the trim little figure in black silkand lace ruffles, the diamonds gleaming on the small white hands. Flurry would be on the rug in her white frock, playing with thePersian kittens; most likely her father would be watching her fromhis armchair. 

I am afraid I answered mother absently, for, looking up, I caughther wistful glance at me. Carrie was at her night school, and UncleGeoffrey had been called out. Jack was learning her lessons in thefront parlor, and only Dot kept us company. 

"You must find it very different from the Cedars, " she said, regretfully; "all that luxury must have spoiled you for home, Esther. Don't think I am complaining, my love, if I say you seem a littledull to-night. "

"Oh, mother!" flushing up to my temples with shame and irritation ather words; and then another look at the worn face under the widow'scap restrained my momentary impatience. Dot, who was watching us, struck in in his childish way. 

"Do you like the Cedars best, Essie? Would you rather be with Flurrythan me?"

My own darling! The bare idea was heresy, and acted on me like amoral _douche_. 

"Oh! mother and Dot, " I said, "how can you both talk so? I am notspoiled--I refuse to be spoiled. I love the Cedars, but I love my owndear little home best. " And at this moment I believed my own words. "Dot, how can you be so faithless--how could I love Flurry best? Andwhat would Allan say? You are our own little boy, you know; he saidso, and you belong to us both. " And Dot's childish jealousy vanished. As for dear mother, she smiled at me in a sweet, satisfied way. 

"That is like our own old Esther. You were so quiet all tea-time, mydear, that I fancied something was amiss. It is so nice having youworking beside me again, " she went on, with a little gentle artifice. "I have missed your bright talk so much in the evenings. "

"Has Carrie been out much?" I asked; but I knew what the answerwould be. 

"Generally three evenings in the week, " returned mother, with asigh, "and her home evenings have been so engrossed of late. Mrs. Smedley gives her all sorts of things to do--mending and coveringbooks; I hardly knew what. "

"Carrie never sings to us now, " put in Dot. 

"She is too tired, that is what she always says; but I cannot helpthinking a little music would be a healthy relaxation for her; butshe will have it that with her it is waste of time, " said mother. 

Waste of time to sing to mother! I broke my thread in two withindignation at the thought. Yes, I was wanted at home, I could seethat; Deborah told me so in her taciturn way, when I went to thekitchen to speak to her and Martha. 

I had sad work with my room before I slept that night, when Jack wasfast asleep; and I was tired out when I crept shivering into my coldbed. I hardly seemed to have slept an hour before I saw Martha'sunlovely face bending over me with the flaming candle, so differentfrom Miss Ruth's trim maid. 

"Time to get up, Miss Esther, if you are going to dress Master Dotbefore breakfast. It is mortal cold, to be sure, and raw as raw; butI have brought you a cup of hot tea, as you seemed a bit down lastnight. "

The good creature! I could have hugged her in my girlish gratitude. The tea was a delicious treat, and put new heart into me. I was quitefresh and rested when I went into Dot's little room. He opened hiseyes widely when he saw me. 

"Oh, Esther! is it really you, and not that ugly old Martha?" hecried out, joyfully. "I do hate her, to be sure. I will be a goodboy, and you shall not have any trouble. " And thereupon he fell toembracing me as though he would never leave off. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

PLAYING IN TOM TIDLER'S GROUND. 

We had had an old-fashioned winter--weeks of frost to delight thehearts of the young skaters of Milnthorpe; clear, cold bracing days, that made the young blood in our veins tingle with the sense of newlife and buoyancy; long, dark winter evenings, when we sat round theclear, red fire, and the footsteps of the few passengers under ourwindow rang with a sort of metallic sound on the frozen pavements. 

What a rush of cold air when the door opened, what snow-powderedgarments we used to bring into Deborah's spotless kitchen! Dot usedto shiver away from my kisses, and put up a little mittened hand toward me off. "You are like a snow-woman, Essie, " he would say. "Yourface is as hard and cold and red as one of the haws Flurry brought me. "

"She looks as blooming as a rose in June, " Uncle Geoffrey answeredonce, when he heard Dot's unflattering comparison. "Be off, lassie, and take off those wet boots;" but as I closed the door he added tomother, "Esther is improving, I think; she is less angular, and withthat clear fresh color she looks quite bonnie. "

"Quite bonnie. " Oh, Uncle Geoffrey, you little knew how that speechpleased me. 

Winter lasted long that year, and then came March, rough andboisterous and dull as usual, with its cruel east wind and the dust, "a peck of which was worth a king's ransom, " as father used to say. 

Then came April, variable and bright, with coy smiles foreverdissolving in tears; and then May in full blossom and beauty givingpromise of summer days. 

We used to go out in the lanes, Flurry and I, to gather the springflowers that Miss Ruth so dearly loved. We made a primrose basketonce for her room, and many a cowslip ball for Dot, and then therewere dainty little bunches of violets for mother and Carrie, onlyCarrie took hers to a dying girl in Nightingale lane. 

The roads round Milnthorpe were so full of lovely things hidden awayamong the mosses, that I proposed to Flurry that we should collectbasketsful for Carrie's sick people. Miss Ruth was delighted with theidea, and asked Jack and Dot to join us, and we all drove down to alarge wood some miles from the town, and spent the whole of thespring afternoon playing in a new Tom Tidler's ground, picking upgold and silver. The gold lay scattered broadcast on the land, inyellow patches round the trunks of trees, or beyond in the gleamingmeadows; and we worked until the primroses lay heaped up in thebaskets in wild confusion, and until our eyes ached with the yellowgleam. I could hear Dot singing softly to himself as he pickedindustriously. When he and Flurry got tired they seated themselveslike a pair of happy little birds on the low bough of a tree. I couldhear them twittering softly to each other, as they swung, with theirarms interlaced, backward and forward in the sunlight; now and then Icaught fragments of their talk. 

"We shall have plenty of flowers to pick in heaven, " Dot was sayingas I worked near them. 

"Oh, lots, " returned Flurry, in an eager voice, "red and whiteroses, and lilies of the valley, miles of them--millions andmillions, for all the little children, you know. What a lot ofchildren there will be, Dot, and how nice to do nothing but play withthem, always and forever. "

"We must sing hymns, you know, " returned Dot, with a slighthesitation in his voice. Being a well brought up little boy, he wassomewhat scandalized by Flurry's views; they sounded somewhat earthlyand imperfect. 

"Oh, we can sing as we play, " observed Flurry, irreverently; she wasnot at all in a heavenly mood this afternoon. "We can hang up ourharps, as they do in the Psalms, you know, and just gather flowers aslong as we like. "

"It is nice to think one's back won't ache so much over it, there, "replied poor Dot, who was quite weak and limp from his exertions. "One of the best things about heaven is, though it all seems niceenough, that we shan't be tired. Think of that, Flurry--never to betired!"

"I am never tired, though I am sleepy sometimes, " responded Flurry, with refreshing candor, "You forget the nicest part, you silly boy, that it will never be dark. How I do hate the dark, to be sure. "

Dot opened his eyes widely at this. "Do you?" he returned, in anastonished voice; "that is because you are a girl, I suppose. I neverthought much about it. I think it is nice and cozy when one is tuckedup in bed. I always imagine the day is as tired as I am, and that shehas been put to bed too, in a nice, warm, dark blanket. "

"Oh, you funny Dot, " crowed Flurry. But she would not talk any moreabout heaven; she was in wild spirits, and when she had swung enoughshe commenced pelting Dot with primroses. Dot bore it stoutly forawhile, until he could resist no longer, and there was a flowerybattle going on under the trees. 

It was quite late in the day when the tired children arrived home. 

Carrie fairly hugged Dot when the overflowing baskets were placed ather feet. 

"These are for all the sick women and little children, " answeredDot, solemnly; "we worked so hard, Flurry and I. "

"You are a darling, " returned Carrie, dimpling with pleasure. 

I believe this was the sweetest gift we could have made her. Nothingfor herself would have pleased her half so much. She made Jack and mepromise to help her carry them the next day, and we agreed, nothingloth. We had quite a festive afternoon in Nightingale lane. 

I had never been with Carrie before in her rounds, and I waswonderfully struck with her manner to the poor folk; there was somuch tact, such delicate sympathy in all she said and did. I couldsee surly faces soften and rough voices grow silent as she addressedthem in her simple way. Knots of boys and men dispersed to let herpass. 

"Bless her sweet face!" I heard one old road-sweeper say; and allthe children seemed to crowd round her involuntarily, and yet, withthe exception of Dot, she had never seemed to care for children. 

I watched her as she moved about the squalid rooms, arranging theprimroses in broken bowls, and even teacups, with a sort ofministering grace I had never noticed in her before. Mother hadalways praised her nursing. She said her touch was so soft and firm, and her movement so noiseless; and she had once advised me to imitateher in this; and as I saw the weary eyes brighten and the languidhead raise itself on the pillow at her approach, I could not but ownthat Carrie was in her natural sphere. 

As we returned home with our empty baskets, she told us a great dealabout her district, and seemed grateful to us for sharing herpleasure. Indeed, I never enjoyed a talk with Carrie more; I never sothoroughly entered into the interest of her work. 

One June afternoon, when I returned home a little earlier thanusual, for Flurry had been called down to go out with her father, Ifound Miss Ruth sitting with mother. 

I had evidently disturbed a most engrossing conversation, for motherlooked flushed and a little excited, as she always did when anythinghappened out of the common, and Miss Ruth had the amused expression Iknew so well. 

"You are earlier than usual, my dear, " said mother, with an oddlittle twitch of the lip, as though something pleased her. But hereDot, who never could keep a secret for five minutes, burst out in hisshrill voice:

"Oh, Essie, what do you think? You will never believe it--you and Iand Flurry are going to Roseberry for six whole weeks. "

"You have forgotten me, you ungrateful child, " returned Miss Ruth ina funny tone; "I am nobody, I suppose, so long as you get your dearEsther and Flurry. "

Dot was instinctively a little gentleman. He felt he had made amistake; so he hobbled up to Miss Ruth, and laid his hand on hers:"We couldn't do without you--could we, Essie?" he said in a coaxingvoice. "Esther does not like ordering dinners; she often says so, andshe looks ready to cry when Deb brings her the bills. It will be everso much nicer to have Miss Ruth, won't it, Esther?" But I was toobewildered to answer him. 

"Oh, mother, is it really true? Can you really spare us, and for sixwhole weeks? Oh, it is too delightful! But Carrie, does she not wantthe change more than I?"

I don't know why mother and Miss Ruth exchanged glances at this; butmother said rather sadly:

"Miss Lucas has been good enough to ask your sister, Esther; shethought you might perhaps take turns; but I am sorry to say Carriewill not hear of it. She says it will spoil your visit, and that shecannot be spared. "

"Our parochial slave-driver is going out of town, " put in Miss Ruthdryly. She could be a little sarcastic sometimes when Mrs. Smedley'sname was implied. In her inmost heart she had no more love than I forthe bustling lady. 

"She is going to stay with her niece at Newport, and so her poorlittle subaltern, Carrie, cannot be absent from her post. One day Imean to give a piece of my mind to that good lady, " finished MissRuth, with a malicious sparkle in her eyes. 

"Oh, it's no use talking, " sighed mother, and there was quite ahopeless inflection in her voice. "Carrie is a little weak, in spiteof her goodness. She is like her mother in that--the strongest mindgoverns her. I have no chance against Mrs. Smedley. "

"It is a shame, " I burst out; but Miss Ruth rose from her chair, still smiling. 

"You must restrain your indignation till I have gone, Esther, " shesaid, in mock reproof. "Your mother and I have done all we could, andhave coaxed and scolded for the last half-hour. The Smedley influenceis too strong for us. Never mind, I have captured you and Dot;remember, you must be ready for us on Monday week;" and with that shetook her departure. 

Mother followed me up to my room, on pretense of looking over Jack'sthings, but in reality she wanted a chat with me. 

The dear soul was quite overjoyed at the prospect of my holiday; shemingled lamentations over Carrie's obstinacy with expressions ofpleasure at the treat in store for Dot and me. 

"And you will not be lonely without us, mother?"

"My dear, how could I be so selfish! Think of the benefit the seaair will be to Dot! And then, I can trust him so entirely to you. "And thereupon she began an anxious inquiry as to the state of mywardrobe, which lasted until the bell rang. 

But, in spite of the delicious anticipations that filled me, I wasnot wholly satisfied, and when mother had said good-night to us Idetained Carrie. 

She came back a little reluctantly, and asked me what I wanted withher. She looked tired, almost worn out, and the blue veins were fartoo perceptible on the smooth, white forehead. I noticed for thefirst time a hollowness about the temples; the marked restlessness ofan over-conscientious mind was wearing out the body; the delicacy ofher look filled me with apprehension. 

"Oh, Carrie!" I said, vehemently, "you are not well; this hotweather is trying you. Do listen to me, darling. I don't want to vexyou, but you must promise me to come to Roseberry. "

To my surprise she drew back with almost a frightened look on herface; well, not that exactly, but a sort of scared, bewilderedexpression. 

"Don't, Esther. Why will none of you give me any peace? Is it notenough that mother and Miss Lucas have been talking to me, and nowyou must begin! Do you know how much it costs me to stand firmagainst you all? You distress me, you wear me out with your talk. "

"Why cannot we convince you?" I returned, with a sort of despair. "You are mother's daughter, not Mrs. Smedley's: you owe no right ofobedience to that woman. "

"How you all hate her!" she sighed. "I must look for no sympathyfrom any of you--your one thought is to thwart me in every way. "

"Carrie!" I almost gasped, for she looked and spoke so unlike herself. 

"I don't mean to be unkind, " she replied in a softening tone; "Isuppose you all mean it for the best. Once for all, Esther, I cannotcome to Roseberry. I have promised Mrs. Smedley to look after thingsin her absence, and nothing would induce me to forfeit my trust. "

"You could write to her and say you were not well, " I began; but shechecked me almost angrily. 

"I am well, I am quite well; if I long for rest, if the prospect ofa little change would be delightful, I suppose I could resist eventhese temptations. I am not worse than many other girls; I have workto do, and must do it. No fears of possible breakdowns shall frightenme from my duty. Go and enjoy your holiday, and do not worry aboutme, Esther. " And then she kissed me, and took up her candle. 

I was sadly crestfallen, but no arguments could avail, I thought;and so I let her go from me. And yet if I had known the cause of hersudden irritability, I should not so soon have given up all hope. Ilittle knew how sorely she was tempted; how necessary some brief restand change of scene was to her overwrought nerves. If I had only beenpatient and pleaded with her, I think I must have persuaded her; but, alas! I never knew how nearly she had yielded. 

There was no sleep for Dot that night. I found him in a fever ofexcitement, thumping his hot pillows and flinging himself about invain efforts to get cool. It was no good scolding him; he had thesesleepless fits sometimes; so I bathed his face and hands, and satdown beside him, and laid my head against the pillow, hoping that hewould quiet down by-and-by. But nothing would prevent his talking. 

"I wish I were out with the flowers in the garden, " he said; "Ithink it is stupid being tucked up in bed in the summer. Allan is notin bed, is he? He says he is often called up, and has to cross thequadrangle to go to a great bare room where they bind up brokenheads. Should you like to be a doctor, Essie?"

"If I were a man, " I returned, confidently, "I should be either aclergyman or a doctor; they are the grandest and noblest ofprofessions. One is a cure of bodies, and the other is a cure ofsouls. "

"Oh, but they hurt people, " observed Dot, shrinking a little; "theyhave horrid instruments they carry about with them. "

"They only hurt people for their own good, you silly little boy. Think of all the dark sick rooms they visit, and the poor, helplesspeople they comfort. They spend their lives doing good, healingdreadful diseases, and relieving pain. "

"I think Allan's life will be more useful than Fred's, " observedDot. Poor little boy! Constant intercourse with grown-up people wasmaking him precocious. He used to say such sharp, shrewd thingssometimes. 

I sighed a little when he spoke of Fred. I could imagine himloitering through life in his velveteen coat, doing little spurts ofwork, but never settling down into thorough hard work. 

Allan's descriptions of his life were not very encouraging. His lastletter to me spoke a little dubiously about Fred's prospects. 

"He is just a drawing-master, and nothing else, " wrote Allan. "UncleGeoffrey's recommendations have obtained admittance for him into oneor two good houses, and I hear he has hopes of Miss Hemming's schoolin Bayswater. Not a very enlivening prospect for our elegant Fred!Fancy that very superior young man sinking into a drawing-master! Somuch for the hanging committee and the picture that is to representthe Cameron genius. 

"I went down to Acacia road on Thursday evening, and dimly perceivedFred across an opaque cloud of tobacco smoke. He and some kindredspirits were talking art jargon in this thick atmosphere. 

"Fred looked a Bohemian of Bohemians in his gaudy dressing-gown andvelvet smoking-cap. His hair is longer than ever, and he has becomeaesthetic in his tastes. There was broken china enough to stock asmall shop. I am afraid I am rather too much a Philistine for theirnotions. I got some good downright stares and shrugs over my toughJohn Bull tendencies. 

"Tell mother Fred is all right, and keeping out of debt, and so onemust not mind a few harmless vagaries. "

"Broken china, indeed!" muttered Uncle Geoff when I had finishedreading this clause. "Broken fiddlesticks! Why, the lad must be weakin his head to spend his money on such rubbish. " Uncle Geoffrey wasnever very civil to Fred. 

Dot did not say any more, and I began a long story, to keep histongue quiet. As it was purposely uninteresting, and told in amonotonous voice, it soon had the effect of making him drowsy. When Ireached this point, I stole softly from the room. It was brightmoonlight when I lay down in bed, and all night long I dreamed of arippling sea and broad sands, over which Dot and I were walking, handin hand. 

CHAPTER XV. 

LIFE AT THE BRAMBLES. 

It was a lovely evening when we arrived at Roseberry. 

"We lead regular hermit lives at the Brambles, away from the hauntsof men, " observed Miss Ruth; but I was too much occupied to answerher. Dot and I were peeping through the windows of the little omnibusthat was conveying us and our luggage to the cottage. Miss Ruth had apretty little pony carriage for country use; but she would not haveit sent to the station to meet us--the omnibus would hold us all, shesaid. Nurse could go outside; the other two servants who made up themodest establishment at the Brambles had arrived the previous day. 

Roseberry was a straggling little place, without much pretension togentility. A row of white lodging-houses, with green verandas, lookedover the little parade; there was a railed-in green enclosure beforethe houses, where a few children played. 

Half a dozen bathing-machines were drawn up on the beach; beyond wasthe Preventive station, and the little white cottages where thePreventive men lived, with neat little gardens in front. 

The town was rather like Milnthorpe, for it boasted only one longstreet. A few modest shops, the Blue Boar Inn, and a bow-windowedhouse, with "Library" painted on it in large characters, were mixedup with pleasant-looking dwelling houses. The little gray church wasdown a country road, and did not look as though it belonged to thetown, but the schools were in High street. Beyond Roseberry were thegreat rolling downs. 

We had left the tiny parade and the lodging houses behind us, andour little omnibus seemed jolting over the beach--I believe theycalled it a road but it was rough and stony, and seemed to lead tothe shore. It was quite a surprise when we drove sharply round a lowrocky point, and came upon a low gray cottage, with a little gardenrunning down to the beach. 

Truly a hermit's abode, the Brambles; not another house in sight;low, white chalky cliffs, with the green downs above them, and, faras we could see, a steep beach, with long fringes of yellow sands, with the grey sea breaking softly in the distance, for it was lowtide, and the sun had set. 

"Is this too lonely for you, Esther?" asked Miss Ruth, as we walkedup the pebbly path to the porch. It was a deep stone porch, withseats on either side, and its depth gave darkness to the littlesquare hall, with its stone fireplace and oak settles. 

"What a delicious place!" was my answer, as I followed her from oneroom into another. The cottage was a perfect nest of cozy littlerooms, all very tiny, and leading into each other. 

There was a snug dining-room that led into Mr. Lucas' study, andbeyond that two little drawing-rooms, very small, and simply thoughprettily furnished. They were perfect summer rooms, with their Indianmatting and muslin curtains, with wicker chairs and lounges, andbrackets with Miss Ruth's favorite china. 

Upstairs the arrangements were just as simple; not a carpet was tobe seen, only dark polishes floors and strips of Indian matting, coolchintz coverings, and furniture of the simplest maple and pine wood--a charming summer retreat, fitted up with unostentatious taste. Therewas a tiny garden at the back, shut in by a low chalk cliff, a roughzigzag path that goats might have climbed led to the downs, and therewas a breach where we could enjoy the sweet air and wide prospect. 

It was quite a cottage garden. All the old-fashioned flowers bloomedthere; little pink cabbage roses, Turks-caps, lilies, lupins, andmonkshood and columbines. Everlasting peas and scarlet-runners ranalong the wall, and wide-lipped convolvuli, scarlet weeds of poppiesflaunted beside the delicate white harebells, sweet-william andgillyflowers, and humble southernwood, and homely pinks and fragrantclove carnations, and pansies of every shade in purple and goldenpatches. 

"Oh, Essie, it reminds me of our cottage; why, there are the liliesand the beehives, and there is the porch where you said you shouldsit on summer evenings and mend Allan's socks. " And Dot leaned on hiscrutches and looked round with bright wide-open eyes. 

Our little dream cottage; well, it was not unlike it, only the seaand the downs and the low chalk cliffs were added. How Dot and I grewto love that garden! There was an old medlar tree, very gnarled andcrooked, under which Miss Ruth used to place her little tea-table;the wicker chairs were brought out and there we often used to spendour afternoons, with little blue butterflies hovering round us, andthe bees humming among the sweet thyme and marjoram, and sometimes anadventurous sheep looking down on us from the cliff. 

We led a perfect gypsy life at the Brambles; no one called on us, the vicar of Roseberry was away, and a stranger had taken his duty;no interloper from the outer world broke the peaceful monotony of ourdays, and the sea kept up its plaintive music night and day, and thelarks sang to us, and the busy humming of insect life made anundertone of melody, and in early mornings the little garden seemedsteeped in dew and fragrance. We used to rise early, and afterbreakfast Flurry and I bathed. There was a little bathing-room beyondthe cottage with a sort of wooden bridge running over the beach, andthere Flurry and I would disport ourselves like mermaids. 

After a brisk run on the sands or over the downs, we joined MissRuth on the beach, where we worked and talked, or helped the childrenbuild sand-castles, and deck them with stone and sea-weeds. Whattreasures we collected for Carrie's Sunday scholars; what stores ofbright-colored seaweed--or sea flowers, as Dot persisted in callingthem--and heaps of faintly-tinged shells!

Flurry's doll family had accompanied us to the Brambles. "The poordear things wanted change of air!" Flurry had decided; and in spiteof my dissuasion, all the fair waxen creatures and theirheterogeneous wardrobe had been consigned to a vast trunk. 

Flurry's large family had given her infinite trouble when we settledfor our mornings on the beach. She traveled up and down the longstony hillocks to the cottage until her little legs ached, to fetchthe twelve dolls. When they were all deposited in their whitesun-bonnets under a big umbrella, to save their complexions, which, notwithstanding, suffered severely, then, and then only, would Flurryjoin Dot on the narrow sands. 

Sometimes the tide rose, or a sudden shower came on, and then greatwas the confusion. Once a receding wave carried out Corporal Trim, the most unlucky of dolls, to sea. Flurry wrung her hands and wept sobitterly over this disaster that Miss Ruth was quite frightened, andFlossy jumped up and licked his little mistress' face and the facesof the dolls by turns. 

"Oh, the dear thing is drownded, " sobbed Flurry, as Corporal Trimfloundered hopelessly in the surge. Dot's soft heart was so moved byher distress that he hobbled into the water, crutches and all, to myinfinite terror. 

"Don't cry. Flurry; I've got him by the hair of his head, " shoutedDot, valiantly shouldering the dripping doll. Flurry ran down thebeach with the tears still on her cheeks, and took the wretchedcorporal and hugged him to her bosom. 

"Oh, my poor drownded Trim, " cried Flurry tenderly, and a strangeprocession formed to the cottage. Flurry with the poor victim in herarms and Flossy jumping and barking delightedly round her, andsnatching at the wet rags; Dot, also, wet and miserable, toiling upthe beach on his crutches; Miss Ruth and I following with the elevendolls. 

The poor corporal spent the rest of the day watching his own clothesdrying by the kitchen fire, where Dot kept him company; Flurrytrotted in and out, and petted them both. I am afraid Dot, being aboy, often found the dolls a nuisance, and could have dispensed withtheir company. There was a grand quarrel once when he flatly refusedto carry one. "I can't make believe to be a girl, " said Dot, curlinghis lip with infinite contempt. 

"We used to spend our afternoons in the garden. It was cooler thanthe beach, and the shade of the old medlar was refreshing. Wesometimes read aloud to the children, but oftener they were workingin their little gardens, or playing with some tame rabbits thatbelonged to Flurry. Dot always hobbled after Flurry wherever shewent; he was her devoted slave. Flurry sometimes treated him like oneof her dolls, or put on little motherly airs, in imitation of MissRuth. 

"You are tired, my dear boy; pray lean on me, " we heard her oncesay, propping him with her childish arm. "Sit down in the shade, youmust not heat yourself;" but Dot rather resented her care of him, after the fashion of boys, but on the whole they suited each otherperfectly. 

In the evenings we always walked over the downs or drove with MissRuth in her pony carriage through the leafy lanes, or beside theyellow cornfields. The children used to gather large nosegays ofpoppies and cornflowers, and little pinky convolvuli. Sometimes wevisited a farmhouse where some people lived whom Miss Ruth knew. 

Once we stopped and had supper there, a homely meal of milk, andbrown bread, and cream cheese, with a golden honeycomb to follow, which we ate in the farmyard kitchen. What an exquisite time we hadthere, sitting in the low window seat, looking over a bright cloverfield. A brood of little yellow chickens ran over the red-brickfloor, a black retriever and her puppies lay before the fire--fatblack puppies with blunt noses and foolish faces, turning over ontheir backs, and blundering under every one's feet. 

Dot and Flurry went out to see the cows milked, and came back withlong stories of the dear little white, curly-tailed pigs. Flurrywrote to her father the next day, and begged that he would buy herone for a pet. Both she and Dot were indignant when he told them thelittle pig they admired so much would become a great ugly sow likeits mother. 

Mrs. Blake, the farmer's wife, took a great fancy to Dot, and beggedhim to come again, which both the children promised her mostearnestly to do. They both carried off spoils of bright red apples toeat on the way. 

It was almost dark when we drove home through the narrow lanes; thehedgerows glimmered strangely in the dusk; a fresh sea-ladened windblew in our faces across the downs, the lights shone from thePreventive station, and across the vague mist glimmered a star ortwo. How fragrant and still it was, only the soft washing of thewaves on the beach to break the silence!

Miss Ruth shivered a little as we rattled down the road leading tothe Brambles. Dorcas, mindful of her mistress' delicacy, had lighteda little fire in the inner drawing-room, and had hot coffee waitingfor us. 

It looked so snug and inviting that the children left it reluctantlyto go to bed; but Miss Ruth was inexorable. This was our cozy hour;all through the day we had to devote ourselves to the children--weused to enjoy this quiet time to ourselves. Sometimes I wrote tomother or Carrie, or we mutually took up our books; but oftener wesat and talked as we did on this evening, until Nurse came to remindus of the lateness of the hour. 

Mr. Lucas paid us brief visits; he generally came down on Saturdayevening and remained until Monday. Miss Ruth could never coax him tostay longer; I think his business distracted him, and kept histrouble at bay. In this quiet place he would have grown restless. Hehad bought the Brambles to please his wife, and she, and not MissRuth, had furnished it. They had spent happy summers there whenFlurry was a baby. The little garden had been a wilderness untilthen; every flower had been planted by his wife, every room borewitness to her charming taste. No wonder he regarded it with suchmingled feelings of pain and pleasure. 

Mr. Lucas made no difference to our simple routine. Miss Ruth andFlurry used to drive to the little station to meet him, and bring himback in triumph to the seven o'clock nondescript meal, that wasneither dinner nor tea, nor supper, but a compound of all. I used togo up with the children after that meal, that he and Miss Ruth mightenjoy their chat undisturbed. When I returned to the drawing-roomMiss Ruth was invariably alone. 

"Giles has gone out for a solitary prowl, " she would say; and herarely returned before we went upstairs. Miss Ruth knew his habits, and seldom waited up to say good-night to him. 

"He likes better to be alone when he is in this mood, " she would saysometimes. Her tact and cleverness in managing him were wonderful;she never seemed to watch him, she never let him feel that his morbidfits were noticed and humored, but all the same she knew when toleave him alone, and when to talk to him; she could be his brightcompanion, or sit silently beside him for hours. On Sunday morningsMr. Lucas always accompanied us to church, and in the afternoon hesat with the children on the beach. Dot soon got very fond of him, and would talk to him in his fearless way, about anything that cameinto his head; Miss Ruth sometimes joined them, but I always wentapart with my book. 

Mr. Lucas was so good to me that I could not bear to hamper him inthe least by my presence; with grown-up people he was a little stiffand reserved, but with children he was his true self. 

Flurry doted on her father, and Dot told me in confidence that "hewas the nicest man he had ever known except Uncle Geoffrey. "

I could not hear their talk from my nest in the cliff, but I amafraid Dot's chief occupation was to hunt the little scurrying crabsinto a certain pool he had already fringed with seaweed. I could seehim and Flurry carrying the big jelly-fishes, and floating themcarefully. They had left their spades and buckets at home, out ofrespect for the sacredness of the day; but neither Flurry's cleanwhite frock nor Dot's new suit hindered them from scooping out thesand with their hands, and making rough and ready ramparts to keep intheir prey. 

Mr. Lucas used to lie on the beach with his straw hat over his eyes, and watch their play, and pet Flossy. When he was tired of inactionhe used to call to the children, and walk slowly and thought fullyon. Flurry used to run after him. 

"Oh, do wait for Dot, father, " she would plead; nothing would induceher to leave her infirm and halting little playfellow. One day, whenMr. Lucas was impatient of his slow progress, I saw him shoulder him, crutches and all, and march off with him, Dot clapping his hands andshouting with delight. That was the only time I followed them; but Iwas so afraid Dot was a hindrance, and wanted to capture him, Iwalked quite a mile before I met them coming back. 

Mr. Lucas was still carrying Dot; Flurry was trotting beside him, and pretending to use Dot's crutches. 

"We have been ever so far, Essie, " screamed Dot when he caught sightof me. "We have seen lots of seagulls, and a great cave where thesmugglers used to hide. "

"Oh, Dot, you must not let Mr. Lucas carry you, " I said, holding outmy arms to relieve him of his burden. "You must stay with me, and Iwill tell you a story. "

"He is happier up here, aren't you, Frankie boy?" returned Mr. Lucas, cheerfully. 

"Oh, but he will tire you, " I faltered. 

"Tire me, this little bundle of bones!" peeping at Dot over hisshoulder; "why, I could walk miles with him. Don't trouble yourselfabout him, Miss Esther. We understand each other perfectly. "

And then he left me, walking with long, easy strides over the unevenground, with Flurry running to keep up with him. 

They used to go on the downs after tea, and sit on the little greenbeach, while Miss Ruth and I went to church. 

Miss Ruth never would use her pony carriage on Sunday. A boy used todraw her in a wheel-chair. She never stayed at home unless she wascompelled to do so. I never knew any one enjoy the service more, orenter more fully into it. 

No matter how out of tune the singing might be, she always joined init with a fervor that quite surprised me. "Depend upon it, Esther, "she used to say, "it is not the quality of our singing that mattersbut how much our heart joins with the choir. Perfect praise andperfect music cannot be expected here; but I like to think oldBetty's cracked voice, when she joins in the hymns, is as sweet toangels' ears as our younger notes. "

The children always waited up for us on Sunday evening, andafterward Miss Ruth would sing with them; sometimes Mr. Lucas wouldwalk up and down the gravel paths listening to them, but oftener Icould catch the red light of his cigar from the cliff seat. 

I wonder what sad thoughts came to him as the voices floated out tohim, mixed up with the low ripple of waves on the sand. 

"Where loyal hearts and true"--they were singing that, I remember;Flurry in her childish treble. And Flurry's mother, lying in herquiet grave--did the mother in paradise, I wonder, look down from herstarry place on her little daughter singing her baby hymn, and onthat lonely man, listening from the cliff seat in the darkness?

CHAPTER XVI. 

THE SMUGGLERS' CAVE. 

The six weeks passed only too rapidly, but Dot and I were equallydelighted when Miss Ruth petitioned for a longer extension ofabsence, to which dear mother returned a willing consent. 

A little note was enclosed for me in Miss Ruth's letter. 

"Make your mind quite easy, my dear child, " she wrote, "we aregetting on very well, and really Jack is improving, and does allsorts of little things to help me; she keeps her room tidier, and Ihave not had to find fault with her for a week. 

"We do not see much of Carrie; she comes home looking very pale andfagged; your uncle grumbles sometimes, but I tell him words arewasted, the Smedley influence is stronger than ever. 

"But you need not think I am dull, though I do miss my bright, cheery Esther, and my darling Frankie. Jack and I have nice walks, and Uncle Geoffrey takes me sometimes on his rounds, and two or threetimes Mr. Lucas has sent the carriage to take us into the country; hesays the horses need exercise, now his sister is away, but I know itis all his kindness and thought for us. I will willingly spare you alittle longer, and am only thankful that the darling boy is derivingso much benefit from the sea air. "

Dear, unselfish mother, always thinking first of her children'sinterest, and never of her own wishes; and yet I could read betweenthe lines, and knew how she missed us, especially Dot, who was herconstant companion. 

But it was really the truth that the sea air was doing Dot good. Hecomplained less of his back, and went faster and faster on his littlecrutches; the cruel abscesses had not tried him for months, and nowit seemed to me that the thin cheeks were rounding out a little. Helooked so sunburned and rosy, that I wished mother could have seenhim. It was only the color of a faintly-tinged rose, but all the sameit was wonderful for Dot. We had had lovely weather for our holiday;but at the beginning of September came a change. About a week aftermother's letter had arrived, heavy storms of wind and rain ragedround the coast. 

Miss Ruth and Dot were weather-bound, neither of them had strengthto brave the boisterous wind; but Flurry and I would tie down ourhats with our veils and run down the parade for a blow. It used to bequite empty and deserted; only in the distance we could see the shinyhat of the Preventive man, as he walked up and down with his telescope. 

I used to hold Flurry tightly by the hand, for I feared she would beblown off her feet. Sometimes we were nearly drenched and blindedwith the salt spray. 

The sea looked so gray and sullen, with white curling waves leapingup against the sea wall; heaps of froth lay on the parade, and evenon the green enclosure in the front of the houses. People said it wasthe highest tide they had known for years. 

Once I was afraid to take Flurry out, and ran down to the beachalone. I had to plant my feet firmly in the shingles, for I couldhardly stand against the wind. What a wild, magnificent scene it was, a study in browns and grays, a strange colorless blending of fainttints and uncertain shading. 

As the waves receded there was a dark margin of heaped-up seaweedalong the beach, the tide swept in masses of tangled things, thesurge broke along the shore with a voice like thunder, great foamywaves leaped up in curling splendor and then broke to pieces in thegray abyss. The sky was as gray as the sea; not a living thing was insight except a lonely seagull. I could see the gleam of the firelightthrough one of the windows of the cottage. It looked so warm andsnug. The beach was high and dry round me, but a little beyond theBrambles the tide flowed up to the low cliffs. Most people would haveshivered in such a scene of desolation, for the seagull and I had itall to ourselves, but the tumult of the wind and waves only excitedme. I felt wild with spirits, and could have shouted in theexuberance of my enjoyment. 

I could have danced in my glee, as the foamy snowflakes fell roundme, and my face grew stiff and wet with the briny air. The whitemanes of the sea-horses arched themselves as they swept to theirdestruction. How the wind whistled and raved, like a hunted thing!"They that go down to the sea in ships, and do their business in thedeep waters, " those words seemed to flash to me across the wildtumult, and I thought of all the wonders seen by the mariners of old. 

"Oh, Esther, how can you be so adventurous?" exclaimed Miss Ruth, asI thrust a laughing face and wet waterproof into the room; she andthe children were sitting round the fire. 

"Oh, it was delicious, " I returned. "It intoxicated me like newwine; you cannot imagine the mighty duet of the sea and wind, therolling sullen bass, and the shrill crescendo. "

"It must have been horrible, " she replied, with a little shiver. Thewild tempestuous weather depressed her; the loud discordance of thejarring elements seemed to fret the quiet of her spirit. 

"You are quite right, " she said to me as we sat alone that evening, "this sort of weather disturbs my tranquillity; it makes me restlessand agitates my nerves. Last night I could not sleep; images ofterror blended with my waking thoughts. I seemed to see great shipsdriving before the wind, and to hear the roaring of breakers andcrashing of timbers against cruel rocks; and when I closed my eyes, it was only to see the whitened bones of mariners lying fathoms deepamong green tangled seaweed. "

"Dear Miss Ruth, no wonder you look pale and depressed after such anight. Would you like me to sleep with you? the wind seems to act onme like a lullaby. I felt cradled in comfort last night. "

"You are so strong, " she said, with a little sadness in her voice. "You have no nerves, no diseased sensibilities; you do not dread theevils you cannot see, the universe does not picture itself to you indim terrors. "

"Why, no, " I returned, wonderingly, for such suggestions were new tome. 

"Sleep your happy sleep, my dear, " she said, tenderly, "and thankGod for your perfect health, Esther. I dozed a little myself towardmorning, before the day woke in its rage, and then I had a horriblesort of dream, a half-waking scare, bred of my night-terrors. 

"I thought I was tossing like a dead leaf in the gale; the wind hadbroken bounds, and carried me away bodily. Now I was lying along themargin of waves, and now swept in wide circles in the air. 

"The noise was maddening. The air seemed full of shrieks and cries, as though the universe were lost and bewailing itself, 'Lamentationand mourning and woe, ' seemed written upon the lurid sky and sea. Ithought of those poor lovers in Dante's 'Inferno, ' blown likespectral leaves before the infernal winds of hell; but I was alone inthis tumultuous torrent. 

"I felt myself sinking at last into the dim, choking surge--it washorribly real, Esther--and then some one caught me by the hair anddrew me out, and the words came to me, 'for so He bringeth them tothe haven where they would be. '"

"How strange!" I exclaimed in an awed tone, for Miss Ruth's face waspale, and there was a touch of sadness in her voice. 

"It was almost a vision of one's life, " she returned, slowly; "wedrift hither and thither, blown by many a gust of passion over manyan unseen danger. If we be not engulfed, it is because the Angel ofHis Providence watches over us; 'drawn out of many waters, ' how manya life history can testify of that!"

"We have our smooth days as well, " I returned, cheerfully, "when thesun shines, and there are only ripples on the waters. "

"That is in youth, " she replied; "later on the storms must come, andthe wise mariner will prepare himself to meet them. We must notalways be expecting fair weather. Do you not remember the lines of myfavorite hymn:

 "'And oh, the joy upon that shore To tell our shipwrecked voyage o'er. '

"Really, I think one of the great pleasures in heaven will be tellingthe perils we have been through, and how He has brought us home atlast. "

Miss Ruth would not let me sleep with her that night; but to mygreat relief, for her pale, weary looks made me anxious, the windabated, and toward morning only the breaking surge was heard dashingalong the shore. 

"I have rested better, " were the first words when we met, "but thatone night's hurly-burly has wrecked me a little, " which meant thatshe was only fit for bed. 

But she would not hear of giving up entirely, so I drew her couch tothe fire, and wrapped her up in shawls and left Dot to keep hercompany, while Flurry and I went out. In spite of the lull the seawas still very unquiet, and the receding tide gave us plenty ofamusement, and we spent a very happy morning. In the afternoon, MissRuth had some errands for me to do in the town--wools to match, andbooks to change at the library, after which I had to replenish ourexhausted store of note-paper. 

It was Saturday, and we had decided the pony carriage must go aloneto the station to meet Mr. Lucas. He generally arrived a littlebefore six, but once he had surprised us walking in with hisportmanteau, just as we were starting for our afternoon's walk. Flurry begged hard to accompany me; but Miss Ruth thought she haddone enough, and wished her to play with Dot in the dining-room atsome nice game. I was rather sorry at Miss Ruth's decision, for I sawFlurry was in one of her perverse moods. They occurred very seldom, but gave me a great deal of trouble to overcome them. She could bevery naughty on such occasions, and do a vast amount of mischief. Flurry's break-outs, as I called them, were extremely tiresome, asNurse Gill and I knew well. I was very disinclined to trust Dot inher company, for her naughtiness would infect him, and even the bestof children can be troublesome sometimes. Flurry looked very sulkywhen I asked her what game they meant to play, and I augured badlyfrom her toss of the head and brief replies. She was hugging Flossieon the window-seat, and would not give me her attention, so I turnedto Dot and begged him to be a good boy and not to disturb Miss Ruth, but take care of Flurry. 

Dot answered amiably, and I ran off, determining to be back as soonas I could. I wished Nurse Gill could sit with the children and keepthem in good temper, but she was at work in Miss Ruth's room andcould not come down. 

My errands took longer than I thought; wool matching is always atroublesome business, and the books Miss Ruth wanted were out, and Ihad to select others; it was more than an hour before I set off forhome, and then I met Nurse Gill, who wanted some brass rings for thecurtains she was making, and had forgotten to ask me to get them. 

The wind was rising again, and I was surprised to find Miss Ruth inthe porch with her handkerchief tied over her head, and Dorcasrunning down the garden path. 

"Have you seen them, Miss Esther?" asked the girl, anxiously. 

"Who--what do you mean?" I inquired. 

"Miss Florence and Master Dot; we have been looking for themeverywhere. I was taking a cup of tea just now to mistress, and sheasked me to go into the dining-room, as the children seemed so quiet;but they were not there, and Betty and I have searched the house andgarden over, and we cannot find them. "

"Oh, Esther, come here, " exclaimed Miss Ruth in agony, for I wasstanding still straining my eyes over the beach to catch a glimpse ofthem. "I am afraid I was very wrong to send you out, and Giles willbe here presently, and Dorcas says Dot's hat is missing from the peg, and Flurry's sealskin hat and jacket. "

Dot out in this wind! I stood aghast at the idea, but the nextmoment I took Miss Ruth's cold little hands in mine. 

"You must not stand here, " I said firmly; "come into the drawing-room, I will talk to you there, and you too, Dorcas. No, I have notseen them, " as Miss Ruth yielded to my strong grasp, and stoodshivering and miserable on the rug. "I came past the Preventivestation and down the parade, and they were not there. "

"Could they have followed Nurse Gill?" struck in Dorcas. 

"No, for I met her just now, and she was alone. I hardly think theywould go to the town. Dot never cared for the shops, or Flurryeither. Perhaps they might be hidden in one of the bathing machines. Oh, Miss Ruth, " with an access of anxiety in my voice, "Dot is soweakly, and this strong wind will blow him down; it must be allFlurry's naughtiness, for nothing would have induced him to go outunless she made him. "

"What are we to do?" she replied, helplessly. This sudden terror hadtaken away her strength, she looked so ill. I thought a moment beforeI replied. 

"Let Dorcas go down to the bathing machines, " I said, at last, "andshe can speak to the Preventive man; and if you do not mind beingalone, Miss Ruth, and you must promise to lie down and keep quiet, Betty might go into the town and find Nurse Gill. I will just runalong the beach and take a look all around. "

"Yes, do, " she returned. "Oh, my naughty, naughty Flurry!" almostwringing her hands. 

"Don't frighten yourself beforehand, " I said, kissing her andspeaking cheerfully, though I did feel in a state about Dot; and whatwould mother and Mr. Lucas say? "I daresay Dorcas or I will bringthem back in a few minutes, and then won't they get a scolding!"

"Oh, no; I shall be too happy to scold them, " she returned, with afaint smile, for my words put fresh heart in her, and she wouldfollow us into the porch and stand looking after us. 

I scrambled over the shingles as fast as I could, for the wind wasrising, and I was afraid it would soon grow dusk. Nothing was insight; the whole shore was empty and desolate--fearfully desolate, even to my eyes. 

It was no use going on, I thought; they must be hiding in thebathing machines after all. And I was actually turning round whensomething gray on the beach attracted my attention, and I picked itup. To my horror, it was one of Dot's woolen mittens that mother hadknitted for him, and which he had worn that very afternoon. 

I was on their track, after all. I was sure of it now; but when Ilifted my eyes and saw the dreary expanse of shore before me, a blankfeeling of terror took possession of me. They were not in sight!Nothing but cloudy skies and low chalky cliffs, and the surgebreaking on the shingles. 

All at once a thought that was almost an inspiration flashed acrossme--the smugglers' cave! Flurry was always talking about it; it hadtaken a strong hold of her imagination, and both she and Dot had beenwild to explore it, only Miss Ruth had never encouraged the idea. Shethought caves were damp, dreary places, and not fit for delicatechildren. Flurry must have tempted Dot to accompany her on thisexploring expedition. I was as convinced of the fact as though I hadoverheard the children's conversation. She would coax and cajole himuntil his conscience was undermined. How could he have draggedhimself so far on his crutches? for the cave was nearly half a mileaway from where I stood, and the wind was rising fearfully. And nowan icy chill of terror came over me from head to foot--the tide wasadvancing! It had already covered the narrow strip of sand; in lessthan an hour it would reach the cliffs, for the shore curved a littlebeyond the cottage, and with the exception of the beach before theBrambles, the sea covered the whole of the shingles. 

I shall never, to my dying day, forget that moment's agony when mymind first grasped the truth of the deadly peril those thoughtlessbabes had incurred. Without instant help, those little children mustbe drowned, for the water flowed into the cave. Even now it might betoo late. All these thoughts whirled through my brain in an instant. 

Only for a moment I paused and cast one despairing glance round me. The cottage was out of sight. Nurse Gill, and Dorcas, and Betty werescouring the town; no time to run back for help, no hope of makingone's voice heard with the wind whistling round me. 

"Oh, my God! help me to save these children!" I cried, with a sobthat almost choked me. And then I dashed like a mad thing toward theshore. 

My despair gave me courage, but my progress was difficult and slow. It was impossible to keep up that pace over the heavy shingles withthe wind tearing round me and taking away my breath. 

Several times I had to stand and collect my energies, and each timeI paused I called the children's names loudly. But, alas! the windand the sea swallowed up the sound. 

How fast the tide seemed coming up! The booming of the breakerssounded close behind me. I dared not look--I dared not think. Ifought and buffeted the wind, and folded my cloak round me. 

"Out of the depth I have cried unto Thee. " Those were the words Isaid over and over to myself. 

I had reached the cave at last, and leaned gasping and nearly faintwith terror before I began searching in its dim recesses. 

Great masses of slimy seaweed lay heaped up at the entrance; a faintdamp odor pervaded it. The sudden roar of wind and sea echoed in dullhollowness, but here at least my voice could be heard. 

"Flurry-Dot!" I screamed. I could hear my own wild shriek dying awaythrough the cave. To my delight, two little voices answered:

"Here we are Esther! Come along, we are having such a game! Flurryis the smuggler, and I am the Preventive man, and Flossy is my dog, and--oh, dear! what is the matter?" And Dot, who had hobbled out of asnug, dry little corner near the entrance, looked up with frightenedeyes as I caught him and Flurry in my arms. I suppose my facebetrayed my fears, for I could not at that moment gasp out anotherword. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

A LONG NIGHT. 

"What is the matter, Essie?" cried Dot, piteously, as I held him inthat tight embrace without speaking. "We were naughty to come, yes, Iknow, but you said I was to take care of Flurry, and she would come. I did not like it, for the wind was so cold and rough, and I felltwice on the shingles; but it is nice here, and we were having such afamous game. "

"Esther is going to be cross and horrid because we ran away, butfather will only laugh, " exclaimed Flurry, with the remains of afrown on her face. She knew she was in the wrong and meant to braveit out. 

Oh, the poor babes, playing their innocent games with Death waitingfor them outside!

"Come, there is not an instant to lose, " I exclaimed, catching upDot in my arms; he was very little and light, and I thought we couldget on faster so, and perhaps if the sea overtook us they would seeus and put out a boat from the Preventive station. "Come, come, " Irepeated, snatching Flurry's hand, for she resisted a little: butwhen I reached the mouth of the cave she uttered a loud cry, andtugged fiercely at my hand to get free. 

"Oh, the sea, the dreadful sea!" she exclaimed, hiding her face; "itis coming up! Look at the waves--we shall be drownded!"

I could feel Dot shiver in my arms, but he did not speak, only hislittle hands clung round my neck convulsively. Poor children! theirpunishment had already begun. 

"We shall be drowned if you don't make haste, " I returned, trying tospeak carefully, but my teeth chattered in spite of myself. "Come, Flurry, let us run a race with the waves; take hold of my cloak, forI want my hands free for Dot. " I had dropped his crutches in thecave; they were no use to him--he could not have moved a step in theteeth of this wind. 

Poor Flurry began to cry bitterly, but she had confidence in myjudgment, and an instinct of obedience made her grasp my cloak, andso we commenced our dangerous pilgrimage. I could only move slowlywith Dot; the wind was behind us, but it was terribly fierce. Flurryfell twice, and picked herself up sobbing; the horrors of the sceneutterly broke down her courage, and she threw her arms round mefrantically and prayed me to go back. 

"The waves are nearly touching us!" she shrieked; and then Dot, infected by her terrors, began to cry loudly too. "We shall bedrownded, all of us, and it is getting dark, and I won't go, I won'tgo!" screamed the poor child trying to push me back with her feebleforce. 

Then despair took possession of me; we might have done it if Flurryhad not lost all courage; the water would not have been high enoughto drown us; we could have waded through it, and they would have seenus from the cottage and come to our help. I would have saved them; Iknew I could; but in Flurry's frantic state it was impossible. Hereyes dilated with terror, a convulsive trembling seized her. Must wego back to the cave, and be drowned like rats in a hole? The idea washorrible, and yet it went far back. Perhaps there was some corner orledge of rock where we might be safe; but to spend the night in sucha place! the idea made me almost as frantic as Flurry. Still, it wasour only chance, and we retraced our steps but still so slowly andpainfully that the spray of the advancing waves wetted our faces, andbeyond--ah!--I shut my eyes and struggled on, while Flurry hid herhead in the folds of my cloak. 

We gained the smugglers' cave, and then I put down Dot, and bade himpick up his crutchers and follow me close, while I explored the cave. It was very dark, and Flurry began to cry afresh, and would not letgo of my hand; but Dot shouldered his crutches, and walked behind usas well as he could. 

At each instant my terror grew. It was a large winding cave, but theheaps of seaweed everywhere, up to the very walls, proved that thewater filled the cavern. I became hysterical too. I would not stay tobe drowned there, I muttered between my chattering teeth; drowned inthe dark, and choked with all that rotten garbage! Better take thechildren in either hand, and go out and meet our fate boldly. I feltmy brain turning with the horror, when all at once I caught sight ofa rough broken ledge of rock, rising gradually from the back of thecave. Seaweed hung in parts high up, but it seemed to me in the dimtwilight there was a portion of the rock bare; if so, the sea did notcover it--we might find a dry foothold. 

"Let go my hand a moment, Flurry, " I implored; "I think I see alittle place where we may be safe. I will be back in a moment, dear. "But nothing could induce her to relax her agonized grasp of my cloak. I had to argue the point. "The water comes all up here wherever theseaweed, is, " I explained. "You think we are safe, Flurry, but we canbe drowned where we stand; the sea fills the cave. " But at thisstatement Flurry only screamed the louder and clung closer. Poorchild! she was beside herself with fright. 

So I said to Dot:

"My darling is a boy, and boys are not so frightened as girls; soyou will stay here quietly while Flurry and I climb up there, andFlossy shall keep you company. "

"Don't be long, " he implored, but he did not say another word. Dear, brave little heart, Dot behaved like a hero that day. He then stoopeddown and held Flossy, who whined to follow us. I I think the pooranimal knew our danger, for he shivered and cowered down in evidentalarm, and I could hear Dot coaxing him. 

It was very slippery and steep, and I crawled up with difficulty, with Flurry clambering after me, and holding tightly to my dress. Dotwatched us wistfully as we went higher and higher, leaving him andFlossy behind. The seaweed impeded us, but after a little while wecame to a bare piece of rock jutting out over the cave, with ascooped-out corner where all of us could huddle, and it seemed to meas though the shelf went on for a yard or two beyond it. We wereabove water-mark there; we should be quite safe, and a deliciousglimmer of hope came over me. 

I had great difficulty in inducing Flurry to stay behind while Icrawled down for Dot. She was afraid to be alone in that dark place, with the hollow booming of wind and waves echoing round her; but Itold her sternly that Dot and Flossy would be drowned and then shelet me go. 

Dot was overjoyed to welcome me back, and then I lifted him up andbade him crawl slowly on his hands and knees, while I followed withhis crutches, and Flossy crept after us, shivering and whining for usto take him up. As we toiled up the broken ledge it seemed to growdarker, and we could hardly see each other's faces if we tried, onlythe splash of the first entering wave warned me that the sea wouldsoon have been upon us. 

I was giddy and breathless by the time we reached the nook whereFlurry was, and then we crept into the corner, the children claspingeach other across me, and Flossy on my lap licking our facesalternately. Saved from a horrible death! For a little while I coulddo nothing but weep helplessly over the children and thank God for amerciful deliverance. 

As soon as the first hysterical outburst of emotion was over, I didmy best to make the children as comfortable as I could under suchforlorn circumstances. I knew Flurry's terror of darkness, and Icould well imagine how horribly the water would foam and splashbeneath us, and I must try and prevent them from seeing it. 

I made Dot climb into my lap, for I thought the hard rock would makehis poor back ache, and I could keep him from being chilled; and thenI induced Flurry to creep under my heavy waterproof cloak--howthankful I was I put it on!--and told her to hold Flossy in her arms, for the little creature's soft fur would be warm and comfortable; andthen I fastened the cloak together, buttoning it until it formed alittle tent above them. Flurry curled her feet into my dress and puther head on my shoulder, and she and Dot held each other fast acrossme, and Flossy rolled himself up into a warm ball and went to sleep. Poor little creatures! They began to forget their sorrows a little, until Flurry suddenly recollected that it was tea-time, and herfather had arrived; and then she began crying again softly. 

"I'm so hungry, " she sobbed; "aren't you Dot?"

"Yes, but I don't mean to mind it, " returned Dot, manfully. "Essieis hungry too. " And he put up his hand and stroked my neck softly. The darling, he knew how I suffered, and would not add to my pain bycomplaining. 

I heard him say to Flurry in a whisper, "It is all our fault; weought to be punished for running away; but Essie has done nothingwrong. I thought God meant to drown us, as He did the disobedientpeople. " But this awful reminder of her small sins was too much forFlurry. 

"I did not mean to be wicked, " she wailed. "I thought it would besuch fun to play at smugglers in the cave, and Aunt Ruth and Esthernever would let me. "

"Yes, and I begged you not to run away, and you would, " retorted Dotin an admonishing tone. "I did not want come, too, because it was socold, and the wind blew so; but I promised Essie to take care of you, so I went. I think you were quite as bad as the people whom Goddrowned, because they would not be good and mind Noah. "

"But I don't want to be drowned, " responded Flurry, tearfully. "Oh, dear, Dot, don't say such dreadful things! I am good now, and I willnever, never disobey auntie again. Shall we say our prayers, Dot, andask God not to be so very angry, and then perhaps He will send someone to take us out of this dark, dreadful place?"

Dot approved of this idea, and they began repeating their childishpetitions together, but my mind strayed away when I tried to join them. 

Oh, how dark and desolate it was! I shivered and clasped thechildren closer to me as the hollow moaning of the waves reverberatedthrough the cavern. Every minute the water was rising; by-and-by thespray must wet us even in our sheltered corner. Would the childrenbelieve me when I told them we were safe? Would not Flurry's terrorsreturn at the first touch of the cold spray? The darkness and thenoise and the horror were almost enough to turn her childish brain;they were too much for my endurance. 

"Oh, heavens!" I cried to myself, "must we really spend a long, hideous night in this place? We are safe! safe!" I repeated; butstill it was too horrible to think of wearing out the long, slowhours in such misery. 

It was six now; the tide would not turn until three in the morning;it had been rising for three hours now; it would not be possible toleave the cave and make our way by the cliff for an hour after that. Ten hours--ten long, crawling hours to pass in this cramped position!I thought of dear mother's horror if she knew of our peril, and thenI thought of Allan, and a lump came in my throat. 

Mr. Lucas would be scouring the coast in search of us. What a nightfor the agonized father to pass! And poor, fragile Miss Ruth, howwould she endure such hours of anxiety? I could have wrung my handsand moaned aloud at the thought of their anguish, but for thechildren--the poor children who were whispering their baby prayerstogether; that kept me still. Perhaps they might be even now at themouth of the cave, seeking and calling to us. A dozen times Iimagined I could hear the splash of oars and the hoarse cries of thesailors; but how could our feeble voices reach them in the face ofthe shrieking wind? No one would think of the smugler's cave, for itwas but one of many hollowed out of the cliff. They would search forus, but very soon they would abandon it in despair; they knew I hadgone to seek the children; most likely I had been too late, and therising tide had engulfed us, and swept us far out to sea. Miss Ruthwould think of her dreams and tremble, and the wretched father wouldsit by her, stunned and helpless, waiting for the morning to breakand bring him proof of his despair. 

The tears ran down my cheeks as these sad thoughts passed through mymind, and a strong inward cry for deliverance, for endurance, forsome present comfort in this awful misery, shook my frame withconvulsive shudders. Dot felt them, and clasped me tighter, andFlurry trembled in sympathy; my paroxysm disturbed them, but myprayer was heard, and the brief agony passed. 

I thought of Jeremiah in his dungeon, of Daniel in the lions' den, of the three children in the fiery furnace, and the Form that waslike the Son of God walking with them in the midst of the flames; andI knew and felt that we were as safe on that rocky shelf, with thedark, raging waters below us, as though we were by our own brighthearth fire at home; then my trembling ceased, and I recovered voiceto talk to the children. 

I wanted them to go to sleep; but Flurry said, in a lamentablevoice, that she was too hungry, and the sea made such a noise; so Itold them about Shadrach, Meshech, and Abednego; and after I hadfinished that, all the Bible stories I could remember of wonderfuldeliverance; and by-and-by we came to the storm on the Galilean lake. 

Flurry leaned heavily against me. "Oh, it is getting colder, " shegasped; "Flossy keeps my hands warm, and the cloak is thick, and yetI can't help shivering. " And I could feel Dot shiver, too. "The waterseems very near us, I wish I did not feel afraid of it Esther, " shewhispered, after another minute; but I pretended not to hear her. 

"Yes, it is cold, but not so cold as those disciples must havefelt, " I returned; "they were in a little open boat, Flurry, and thewater dashed right over them, and the vessel rocked dreadfully"--hereI paused--"and it was dark, for Jesus was not yet come to them. "

"I wish He would come now, " whispered Dot. 

"That is what the disciples wished, and all the time they littleknew that He was on His way to them, and watching them toilingagainst the wind, and that very soon the wind would cease, and theywould be safe on the shore. We do not like being in this dark cave, do we, Flurry darling? And the sea keeps us awake; but He knows that, and He is watching us; and by-and-by, when the morning comes, weshall have light and go home. "

Flurry said "Yes, " sleepily, for in spite of the cold and hunger shewas getting drowsy; it must have been long past her bedtime. We hadsat on our dreary perch three hours, and there were six more to wait. I noticed that the sound of my voice tranquillized the children; so Irepeated hymns slowly and monotonously until they nodded against meand fell into weary slumbers. "Thank God!" I murmured when Iperceived this, and I leaned back against the rock, and tried toclose my eyes; but they would keep opening and staring into thedarkness. It was not black darkness--I do not think I could haveborne that; a sort of murky half-light seemed reflected from thewater, or from somewhere, and glimmered strangely from a backgroundof inky blackness. 

It was bitterly cold now; my feet felt numbed, and the spray wettedand chilled my face. I dared not move my arm from Dot, he leaned soheavily against it, and Flurry's head was against him. She had curledherself up like Flossy, and I had one hand free, only I could notdisentangle it from the cloak. I dared not change my crampedposition, for fear of waking them. I was too thankful for their briefoblivion. If I could only doze for a few moments; if I could onlyshut out the black waters for a minute! The tumults of my thoughtswere indescribable. My whole life seemed to pass before me; everychildish folly, every girlish error and sin, seemed to rise up beforeme; conversations I had forgotten, little incidents of family life, dull or otherwise; speeches I had made and repented, till my headseemed whirling. It must be midnight now, I thought. If I could onlydare; but a new terror kept me wide awake. In spite of my protectingarms, would not Dot suffer from the damp chilliness? He shivered inhis sleep, and Flurry moaned and half woke, and then slept again. Iwas growing so numbed and cramped that I doubted my endurance formuch longer. Dot seemed growing heavier, and there was the weight ofFlurry and Flossy. If I could only stretch myself! And then I nearlycried out, for a sudden flash seemed to light the cavern. Oneinstant, and it was gone; but that second showed a grewsome scene--damp, black walls, with a frothing turbulous water beneath them, and hanging arches exuding moisture. Darkness again. From whence hadthat light flashed? As I asked myself the question it came again, startling me with its sudden brilliancy; and this time it wascertainly from some aperture overhead, and a little beyond where wesat. 

Gone again, and this time utterly; but not before I caught a glimpseof the broad rocky shelf beyond us. The light had flashed down not adozen yards from where we stood; it must have been a lantern; if so, they were still seeking us, this time on the cliffs. It was onlymidnight, and there were still four weary hours to wait, and everymoment I was growing more chilled and numbed. I began to dread theconsequences to myself as well as to the children. If I could onlycrawl along the shelf and explore, perhaps there might be someopening to the cliff. I had not thought of this before, until thelight brought the idea to my mind. 

I perceived, too, that the glimmering half-light came from above, and not from the mouth of the cave. For a moment the fear of losingmy balance and falling back into the water daunted me, and kept mefrom moving; but the next minute I felt I must attempt it. Iunfastened my cloak and woke Dot softly, and then whispered to himthat I was cramped and in pain, and must move up and down theplatform; and he understood me, and crawled sleepily off my lap; thenI lifted Flurry with difficulty, for she moaned and whimpered at mytouch. 

My numbness was so great I could hardly move my limbs; but I crawledacross Flurry somehow, and saw Dot creep into my place, and coveredthem with my cloak; and then I commenced to move slowly and carefullyon my hands and knees up the rocky path. 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

"YOU BRAVE GIRL!"

They told me afterward that this was a daring feat, and fraught withawful peril, for in that painful groping in the darkness I might havelost my balance and fallen back into the water. 

I was conscious of this at the time; but we cannot die until ourhour is come, and in youth one's faith is more simple and trusting;to pray is to be heard, to grasp more tightly by the mantle of HisProvidence, so I committed myself to Heaven, and crept slowly alongthe face of the rock. In two or three minutes I felt cold air blowingdown upon my face, and, raising myself cautiously, I found I wasstanding under an aperture, large enough for me to crawl through, which led to the downs. For one moment I breathed the fresh night airand caught the glimmer of starlight, and then I crept back to thechildren. 

Flurry was awake and weeping piteously, and Dot was trying tocomfort her in a sleepy voice; but she was quiet the moment I toldthem about the hole. 

"I must leave you behind, Dot, " I said, sorrowfully, "and takeFlurry first;" and the brave little fellow said:

"All right, Essie, " and held back the dog, who was whining to follow. 

I put my arm round Flurry, and made her promise not to lose hold ofthe rock. The poor child was dreadfully frightened, and stopped everynow and then, crying out in horror that she was falling into thewater, but I held her fast and coaxed her to go on again; and all thetime the clammy dews of terror stood on my forehead. Never to mydying day shall I forget those terrible moments. 

But we were mercifully preserved, and to my joy I felt the winds ofheaven blowing round us, and in another moment Flurry had crawledthrough the hole in the rock, and was sitting shivering on the grass. 

"Now I must go back for Dot and Flossy, " I exclaimed; but as I spokeand tried to disengage myself from Flurry's nervous grasp, I heard alittle voice below. 

"I am here, Essie, and I have got Flossy all safe. Just stoop downand take him, and then I shall clamber up all right. "

"Oh, my darling, how could you?" The courageous child had actuallydragged himself with the dog under one arm all along the dangerouspath, to spare me another journey. 

I could scarcely speak, but I covered his cold little face withkisses as he tottered painfully into my arms--my precious boy, mybrave, unselfish Dot!

"I could not bring the crutches or the cloak, Essie, " he whispered. 

"Never mind them, " I replied, with a catch in my voice. "You aresafe; we are all safe--that is all I can take in. I must carry you, Dot, and Flurry shall hold my dress, and we shall soon be home. "

"Where is your hat, Essie?" he asked, putting up his hand to myhair. It was true I was bareheaded, and yet I had never missed it. Mycloak lay below in the cavern. What a strange sight I must havepresented if any one could have seen us! My hair was blowing looselyabout my face; my dress seemed to cling round my feet. 

How awfully dark and desolate the downs looked under that dim, starry light. Only the uncertain glimmer enabled me to keep from thecliffs or discern the right path. The heavy booming of the sea andthe wind together drowned our voices. When it lulled I could hearFlurry sobbing to herself in the darkness, and Flossy, whining forcompany, as he followed us closely. Poor Dot was spent and weary, andlay heavily against my shoulder. Every now and then I had to stop andgather strength, for I felt strangely weak, and there was an oddbeating at my heart. Dot must have heard my panting breath, for hebegged me more than once to put him down and leave him, but I wouldnot. 

My strength was nearly gone when we reached the shelving pathleading down to the cottage, but I still dragged on. A stream oflight came full upon us as we turned the corner; it came from thecottage. 

The door was wide open and the parlor blinds were raised, and theruddy gleam of lamplight and firelight streamed full on our faces. 

No one saw us as we toiled up the pebbled path; no one waited for usin the porch. I have a faint recollection that I stood in the hall, looking round me for a moment in a dazed fashion; that Flossy barked, and a door burst open; there was a wave of light, and a man's voicesaying something. I felt myself swaying with Dot in my arms; but someone must have caught us, for when I came to myself I was lying on thecouch by the drawing-room fire, and Miss Ruth was kneeling beside meraining tears over my face. 

"And Dot!" I tried to move and could not, and fell back on mypillow. "The children!" I gasped, and there was a sudden movement inthe room, and Mr. Lucas stood over me with his child in his arms. Wasit my fancy, or were there tears in his eyes, too?

"They are here, Esther, " he said, in a soothing voice. "Nurse istaking care of your boy. " And then he burst out, "Oh, you brave girl!you noble girl!" in a voice of strong emotion, and turned away. 

"Hush, Giles, we must keep her quiet, " admonished his sister. "We donot know what the poor thing has been through, but she is as cold asice. And feel how soaking her hair is!"

Had it rained? I suppose it had, but then the children must be wettoo!

Miss Ruth must have noticed my anxious look, for she kissed me andwhispered:

"Don't worry, Esther; we have fires and hot baths ready. Nurse andthe others will attend to the children; they will soon be warmed andin bed. Let me dry your hair and rub your cold hands; and drink this, and you will soon be able to move. "

The cordial and food they gave me revived my numb faculties, and ina little while I was able, with assistance, to go to my room. MissRuth followed me, and tenderly helped me to remove my damp things;but I would not lie down in my warm bed until I had seen with my owneyes that Flurry was already soundly asleep and Dot ready to followher example. 

"Isn't it delicious?" he whispered, drowsily, as I kissed him; andthen Miss Ruth led me back to my room, and tucked me up and sat downbeside me. 

"Now tell me all about it, " she said, "and then you will be able tosleep. " For a strong excitement had succeeded the faintness, and inspite of my aching limbs and weariness I had a sensation as though Icould fly. 

But when I told her she only shuddered and wept, and before I hadhalf narrated the history of those dismal hours she was down on herknees beside the bed, kissing my hands. 

"Do let me, " she sobbed, as I remonstrated. "Oh, Esther, how I loveyou! How I must always love you for this!"

"No, I am not Miss Ruth any longer; I am Ruth. I am your own friendand sister, who would do anything to show her gratitude. You deargirl!--you brave girl!--as Giles called you. "

This brought to my lips the question, "How had Mr. Lucas borne thisdreadful suspense?"

"As badly as possible, " she answered, drying her eyes. "Oh, Esther!what we have all been through. Giles came in half an hour after youleft to search the shore. He was in a dreadful state, as you mayimagine. He sent down to the Preventive station at once, and therewas a boat got ready, and he went with the men. They pulled up anddown for an hour or two, but could find no trace of you. "

"We were in the cavern all the time, " I murmured. 

"That was the strangest part of all, " she returned. "Gilesremembered the cavern, and they went right into the mouth, and calledas loudly as they could. "

"We did not hear them; the wind was making such a noise, and it wasso dark. "

"The men gave up all hope at last, and Giles was obliged to comeback. He walked into the house looking as white as death. 'It is allover, ' he said; 'the tide has overtaken them, and that girl isdrowned with them. ' And then he gave a sort of sob, and buried hisface in his hands. I turned so faint that for a little time he wasobliged to attend to me, but when I was better he got up and left thehouse. It did not seem as though he could rest from the search, andyet he had not the faintest glimmer of hope. He would have thecottage illuminated and the door left open, and then he lighted hislantern and walked up and down the cliffs, and every time he cameback his poor face looked whiter and more drawn. I had got hold ofhis hand, and was trying to keep him from wandering out again, whenall at once we heard Flossy bark. Giles burst open the door, and thenhe gave a great cry, for there you were, my poor Esther, standingunder the hall lamp, with your hair streaming over your shoulders andDot in your arms, and Flurry holding your dress, and you looked at usand did not seem to see us, and Giles was just in time to catch youas you were reeling. He had you all in his arms at once, " finishedMiss Ruth, with another sob, "till I took our darling Flurry fromhim, and then he laid you down and carried Dot to the fire. "

"If I could not have saved them I would have died with them; youknew that, Miss Ruth. "

"Ruth, " she corrected. "Yes, I knew that, and so did Giles. He saidonce or twice, 'She is strong enough or sensible enough to save themif it were possible, but no one can fight against fate. ' Now I mustgo down to him, for he is waiting to hear all about it, and you mustgo to sleep, Esther, for your eyes are far too bright. "

But, greatly to her surprise and distress, I resisted this adviceand broke out into frightened sobs. The sea was in my ears, I said, when I tried to close my eyes, and my arms felt empty without Dot andI could not believe he was safe, though she told me so over and overagain. 

I was greatly amazed at my own want of control; but nothing couldlessen this nervous excitement until Mr. Lucas came up to the door, and Miss Ruth went out to him in sore perplexity. 

"What am I to do, Giles? I cannot soothe her in the least. "

"Let her have the child, " he returned, in his deep voice; "she willsleep then. " And he actually fetched little Dot and put him in MissRuth's arms. 

"Isn't it nice, Essie?" he muttered sleepily, as he nestled againstme. 

It was strange, but the moment my arm was round him, and I felt hissoft breathing against my shoulder, my eyelids closed of their ownaccord, and a sense of weariness and security came over me. 

Before many minutes were over I had fallen into a deep sleep, andMiss Ruth was free to seek her brother and give him the informationfor which he was longing. 

It was nearly five in the morning when I closed my eyes, and it wasexactly the same time on the following afternoon when I opened them. 

My first look was for Dot, but he was gone, the sun was streaming inat the window, a bright fire burned in the grate, and Nurse Gill wassitting knitting in the sunshine. 

She looked up with a pleasant smile on her homely face as I calledto her rather feebly. 

"How you have slept, to be sure, Miss Esther--a good twelve hours. But I always say Nature is a safe nurse, and to be trusted. There'sMaster Dot has been up and dressed these three hours and more, andMiss Flurry too. "

"Oh, Nurse Gill, are you sure they are all right?" I asked, for itwas almost too good news to be true. 

"Master Dot is as right as possible, though he is a little palish, and complains of his back and legs, which is only to be expected ifthey do ache a bit. Miss Flurry has a cold, but we could not induceher to lie in bed; she is sitting by the fire now on her father'sknee, and Master Dot is with them: but there, Miss Ruth said she wasto be called as soon as you woke, Miss Esther, though I did beg hernot to put herself about, and her head so terribly bad as it has beenall day. "

"Oh, nurse, don't disturb her, " I pleaded, eagerly, "I am quitewell, there is nothing the matter with me. I want to get up thismoment and dress myself;" for a great longing came over me to jointhe the little group downstairs. 

"Not so fast, Miss Esther, " she returned, good-humoredly. "You'vehad a fine sleep, to be sure, and young things will stand a mortalamount of fatigue; but there isn't a speck of color in your face, mypoor lamb. Well, well, " as I showed signs of impatience--"I won'tdisturb Miss Ruth, but I will fetch you some coffee and bread-and-butter, and we will see how you will feel then. "

Mrs. Gill was a dragon in her way, so I resigned myself to herperemptory kindness. When she trotted off on her charitable errand, Ileaned on my elbow and looked out of the window. It was Sundayevening, I remembered, and the quiet peacefulness of the scene was instrangest contrast to the horrors of yesterday; the wind had lulled, and the big curling waves ceased to look terrible in the sunlight;the white spray tossed lightly hither and thither, and the long lineof dark seaweed showed prettily along the yellow sands. The bitterwar of winds and waves was over, and the defeated enemy had retiredwith spent fury, and sunk into silence. Could it be a dream? had wereally lived through that dreadful nightmare? But at this momentNurse Gill interrupted the painful retrospect by placing the fragrantcoffee and brown bread-and-butter before me. 

I ate and drank eagerly, to please myself as well as her, and then Ireiterated my intention to get up. It cost me something, however, topersevere in my resolution. My limbs trembled under me, and seemed torefuse their support in the strangest way, and the sight of my paleface almost frightened me, and I was grateful to Nurse Gill when shetook the brush out of my shaking hand and proceeded to manipulate thelong tangled locks. 

"You are no more fit than a baby to dress yourself, Miss Esther, "said the good old creature, in a vexed voice. "And to think ofdrowning all this beautiful hair. Why, there is seaweed in it I dodeclare, like a mermaid. "

"The rocks were covered with it, " I returned, in a weary indifferentvoice; for Mrs. Gill's officiousness tired me, and I longed to freemyself from her kindly hands. 

When I was dressed, I crept very slowly downstairs. My courage wasoozing away fast, and I rather dreaded all the kind inquiries thatawaited me. But I need not have been afraid. 

Dot clapped his hands when he saw me, and Mr. Lucas put down Flurryand came to meet me. 

"You ought not to have exerted yourself, " he said, reproachfully, assoon as he looked at me; and then he took hold of me and placed me inthe armchair, and Flurry brought me a footstool and sat down on it, Dot climbed up on the arm of the chair and propped himself againstme, and Miss Ruth rose softly from her couch and came across the roomand kissed me. 

"Oh, Esther, how pale you look!" she said, anxiously. 

"She will soon have her color back again, " returned Mr. Lucas, looking at me kindly. I think he wanted to say something, but thesight of my weakness deterred him. I could not have borne a word. Thetears were very near the surface now, so near that I could only closemy eyes and lean my head against Dot; and, seeing this, they verywisely left me alone. I recovered myself by-and-by, and was able tolisten to the talk that went on around me. The children's tongueswere busy as usual; Flurry had gone back to her father, and she andDot were keeping up a brisk fire of conversation across the hearth-rug. I could not see Mr. Lucas' face, as he had moved to a dark corner, but Miss Ruth's couch was drawn full into the firelight, and I couldsee the tears glistening on her cheek. 

"Don't talk any more about it, my darlings, " she said at last. "Ifeel as though I should never sleep again, and I am sure it is badfor Esther. "

"It does not hurt me, " I returned, softly. "I suppose shipwreckedsailors like to talk over the dangers they escape; somehow everythingseems so far away and strange to-night, as though it had happenedmonths ago. " But though I said this I could not help the nervousthrill that seemed to pass over me now and then. 

"Shall I read to you a little?" interrupted Mr. Lucas, quietly. "Thechildren's talk tires your head;" and without waiting for an answer, he commenced reading some of my favorite hymns and a lovely poem, ina low mellow voice that was very pleasant and soothing. 

Nurse came to fetch Flurry, and then Dot went too, but Mr. Lucas didnot put down the book for a long time. I had ceased to follow thewords; the flicker of the firelight played fitfully before my eyes. The quiet room, the shaded lamplight, the measured cadence of thereader's voice, now rising, now falling, lulled me most pleasantly. Imust have fallen asleep at last, for Flossy woke me by pushing hisblack nose into my hand; for when I sat up and rubbed my eyes Mr. Lucas was gone, and only Miss Ruth was laughing softly as she watchedme. 

"Giles went away half an hour ago, " she said amused at my perplexedface. "He was so pleased when he looked up and found you were asleep. I believe your pale face frightened him, but I shall tell him youlook much better now. "

"My head feels less bewildered, " was my answer. 

"You are beginning to recover yourself, " she returned, decidedly;"now you must be a good child and go to bed;" and I rose at once. 

As I opened the drawing-room door, Mr. Lucas came out from his study. 

"Were you going to give me the slip?" he said, pleasantly. "I wantedto bid you good-by, as I shall be off in the morning before you areawake. "

"Good by, " I returned, rather shyly, holding out my hand; but hekept it a moment longer than usual. 

"Esther, you must let me thank you, " he said, abruptly. "I know butfor you I must have lost my child. A man's gratitude for such a mercyis a strong thing, and you may count me your friend as long as I live. "

"You are very good, " I stammered, "but I have done nothing; andthere was Dot, you know. " I am afraid I was very awkward, but Idreaded his speaking to me so, and the repressed emotion of his faceand voice almost frightened me. 

"There, I have made you quite pale again, " he said, regretfully. "Your nerves have not recovered from the shock. Well, we will speakof this again; good-night, my child, and sleep well, " and withanother kind smile he left me. 

CHAPTER XIX. 

A LETTER FROM HOME. 

I was so young and healthy that I soon recovered from the shock, andin a few days I had regained strength and color. Mr. Lucas had goneto see mother, and the day after his visit she wrote a fondincoherent letter, full of praises of my supposed heroism. Allan, towhom I had narrated everything fully, wrote more quietly, but theunderlying tenderness breathed in every word for Dot and me touchedme greatly. Dot had not suffered much; he was a little more lame, andhis back ached more constantly. But it was Flurry who came off worst;her cold was on her chest, and when she threw it off she had a badcough, and began to grow pale and thin; she was nervous, too, andwoke every night calling out to me or Dot, and before many days wereover Miss Ruth wrote to her brother and told him that Flurry would bebetter at home. 

We were waiting for his answer, when Miss Ruth brought a letter tomy bedside from mother, and sat down, as usual, to hear the contents, for I used to read her little bits from my home correspondence, andshe wanted to know what Uncle Geoffrey thought about Flurry. Mysudden exclamation frightened her. 

"What is wrong, Esther? It is nothing about Giles?"

"Oh, no!" I returned, the tears starting to my eyes, "but I must gohome at once; Carrie is very ill, they are afraid it is an attack ofrheumatic fever. Mother writes in such distress, and there is amessage from Uncle Geoffrey, asking me to pack up and come to themwithout delay. There is something about Flurry, too; perhaps you hadbetter read it. "

"I will take the letter away with me. Don't hurry too much, Esther;we will talk it over at breakfast, and there is no train now beforeeleven, and nurse will help you to pack. "

That was just like Miss Ruth--no fuss, no unnecessary words, noadding to my trouble by selfish regrets at my absence. She was like aman in that, she never troubled herself about petty details, as mostwomen do, but just looked straight at the point in question. 

Her calmness reassured me, and by breakfast-time I was able todiscuss matters quietly. 

"I have sent nurse to your room, Esther, " she said, as she pouredout the coffee; "the children have had their bread and milk, and havegone out to play; it is so warm and sunny, it will not hurt Flurry. The pony carriage will be round here at half-past ten, so you willhave plenty of time, and I mean to drive you to the station myself. "

"You think of everything, " I returned, gratefully. "Have you readthe letter? Does it strike you that Carrie is so very ill?"

"I am afraid so, " she admitted, reluctantly; "your mother says shehas been ailing some time, only she would not take care of herself, and then she got wet, and took her class in her damp things. I amafraid you have a long spell of nursing before you; rheumatic feversometimes lasts a long time. Your uncle says something about a touchof pleurisy as well. "

I pushed away my plate, for I could not eat. I am ashamed to say astrong feeling of indignation took possession of me. 

"She would not give up, " I burst out, angrily: "she would not comehere to recruit herself, although she owned she felt ill; she hasjust gone on until her strength was exhausted and she was not in astate for anything, and now all this trouble and anxiety must come onmother, and she is not fit for it. "

"Hush, Esther; you must not feel like this, " she returned, gently. "Poor Carrie will purchase wisdom dearly; depend upon it, theknowledge that she has brought on this illness through her own self-willwill be the sharpest pang of all. You must go home and be acomfort to them all, as you have been our comfort, " she added, sweetly; "and, Esther, I have been thinking over things, and you musttrust Dot to me. We shall all return to the Cedars, most likelyto-morrow, and I will promise not to let him out of my sight. "

And as I regarded her dubiously, she went on still more eagerly:

"You must let me keep him, Esther. Flurry is so poorly, and she willfret over the loss of her little companion; and with such a seriousillness in the house, he would only be an additional care to you. "And as she seemed so much in earnest, I consented reluctantly to waitfor mother's decision; for, after all, the child would be dull andneglected, with Jack at school, and mother and me shut up in Carrie'ssick room. So in that, as in all else, Miss Ruth was right. 

Dot cried a little when I said good-by to him; he did not likeseeing me go away, and the notion of Carrie's illness distressed him, and Flurry cried, too, because he did, and then Miss Ruth laughed atthem both. 

"You silly children, " she said, "when we are all going home to-morrow, and you can walk over and see Esther every day, and take her flowersand nice things for Carrie. " Which view of the case cheered themimmensely, and we left them with their heads very close together, evidently planning all sorts of surprises for Carrie and me. 

Miss Ruth talked very cheerfully up to the last moment, and then shegrew a little silent and tearful. 

"I shall miss you so, Esther, both here and at the Cedars, " she saidtenderly. "I feel it may be a long time before you come to us again;but there, I mean to see plenty of you, " she went on, recoveringherself. "I shall bring Dot every day, if it be only for a fewminutes!" And so she sent me away half comforted. 

It was a dreary journey, and I was thankful when it was over; therewas no one to meet me at the station, so I took one of the hugelumbering flies, and a sleepy old horse dragged me reluctantly up thesteep Milnthorpe streets. 

It was an odd coincidence, but as we passed the bank and I lookedout of the window half absently, Mr. Lucas came down the steps andsaw me, and motioned to the driver to stop. 

"I am very sorry to see you here, " he said, gravely. "I met Dr. Cameron just now, and he told me your mother had written to recallyou. "

"Did he say how Carrie was?" I interrupted anxiously. 

"She is no better, and in a state of great suffering; it seems shehas been imprudent, and taken a severe chill; but don't let me keepyou, if you are anxious to go on. " But I detained him a moment. 

"Flurry seems better this morning, " I observed; "her cough is lesshard. "

He looked relieved at that. 

"I have written for them to come home to-morrow, and to bring Dot, too; we will take care of him for you, and make him happy among us, and you will have enough on your hands. "

And then he drew back, and went slowly down High street, but theencounter had cheered me; I was beginning to look on Mr. Lucas as anold friend. 

Uncle Geoffrey was on the door-step as I drove up, and we enteredthe house together. 

"This is a bad business, I am afraid, " he said, in a subdued voice, as he closed the parlor door; "it goes to one's heart to see thatpretty creature suffer. I am glad, for all our sakes, that Allan willbe here next week. " And then I remembered all at once that the yearwas out, and that Allan was coming home to live; but he had said solittle about it in his last letters that I was afraid of somepostponement. 

"He is really coming, then?" I exclaimed, in joyful surprise; thiswas good news. 

"Yes, next Thursday; and I shall be glad of the boy's help, " hereplied, gruffly; and then he sat down and told me about Carrie. 

Foolish girl, her zeal had indeed bordered upon madness. It seemsUncle Geoffrey had taxed her with illness a fortnight ago, and shehad not denied it; she had even consented to take the remediesprescribed her in the way of medicine, but nothing would induce herto rest. The illness had culminated last Sunday; she had been caughtin a heavy rain, and her thin summer walking dress had been drenched, and yet she had spent the afternoon as usual at the schools. Ashivering fit that evening had been the result. 

"She has gradually got worse and worse, " continued Uncle Geoffrey;"it is not ordinary rheumatic fever; there is certainly sciatica, anda touch of pleurisy; the chill on her enfeebled, worn-out frame hasbeen deadly, and there is no knowing the mischief that may follow. Iwould not have you told before this, for after a nasty accident likeyours, a person is not fit for much. Let me look at you, child. Imust own you don't stem much amiss. Now listen to me, Esther. I haveelected Deborah head-nurse, and you must work under her orders. Blessme, " catching a glimpse of a crimson disappointed face, for Icertainly felt crestfallen at this, "a chit like you cannot beexpected to know everything. Deb is a splendid nurse; she has a headon her shoulders, that woman, " with a little chuckle; "she has justput your mother out of the room, because she says that she is no moreuse than a baby, so you will have to wheedle yourself into her goodgraces if you expect to nurse Carrie. "

"Why did you send for me, if you expect me to be of no use?" Ireturned, with decided temper, for this remark chafed me; but he onlychuckled again. 

"Deborah sent for you, not I, " he said, in an amused voice. "'Couldn'twe have Miss Esther home?' she asked; 'she has her wits about her, 'which I am afraid was a hit at somebody. "

This soothed me down a little, for my dignity was sadly affrontedthat Deborah should be mistress of the sick room. I am afraid afterall that I was not different from other girls, and had not yetoutgrown what mother called the "porcupine stage" of girlhood, whenone bristles all over at every supposed slight, armed at every pointwith minor prejudices, like "quills upon the fretful porcupine. "

Uncle Geoffrey bade me run along, for he was busy, so I wentupstairs swallowing discontent with every step, until I looked up andsaw mother's pale sad face watching me from a doorway, and then everyunworthy feeling vanished. 

"Oh, my darling, thank Heaven I have you again!" she murmured, folding me in her loving arms; "my dear child, who has never given mea moment's anxiety. " And then I knew how heavily Carrie's willfulnesshad weighed on that patient heart. 

She drew me half weeping into Carrie's little room, and we sat downtogether hand in hand. The invalid had been moved into mother's room, as it was large and sunny, and I could hear Deborah moving quietly asI passed the door. 

Mother would not speak about Carrie at first; she asked after Dot, and was full of gratitude to Miss Ruth for taking care of him; andthen the dear soul cried over me, and said she had nearly lost usboth, and that but for me her darling boy would have been drowned. Mr. Lucas had told her so. 

"He was full of your praises, Esther, " she went on, drying her eyes;"he says he and Miss Ruth will be your fast friends through life;that there is nothing he would not do to show his gratitude; it mademe so proud to hear it. "

"It makes me proud, too, mother; but I cannot have you talking aboutme, when I am longing to hear about Carrie. "

Mother sighed and shook her head, and then it was I noticed atremulous movement about her head, and, oh! how gray her hair was, almost white under her widow's cap. 

"There is not much to say, " she said, despondently; "your uncle willnot tell me if she be in actual danger, but he looks graver everyday. Her sufferings are terrible; just now Deborah would not let meremain, because I fretted so, as though a mother can help grievingover her child's agony. It is all her own fault, Esther, and thatmakes it all the harder to bear. "

I acquiesced silently, and then I told mother that I had come hometo spare her, and do all I could for Carrie--as much as Deborah wouldallow. 

"You must be very prudent, then, " she replied, "for Deborah is veryjealous, and yet so devoted, that one cannot find fault with her. Perhaps she is right, and I am too weak to be of much use, but Ishould like you to be with your sister as much as possible. "

I promised to be cautious, and after a little more talk with motherI laid aside my traveling things and stole gently into the sick room. 

Deborah met me on the threshold with uplifted finger and a resolute"Hush!" on her lips. She looked more erect and angular than ever, andthere was a stern forbidding expression on her face; but I would notbe daunted. 

I caught her by both her hands, and drew her, against her will, tothe door. 

"I want to speak to you, " I whispered; and when I had her outside, Ilooked straight into her eyes. "Oh, Deb, " I cried, "is it notdreadful for all of us? and I have been in such peril, too. Whatshould we do without you, when you know all about nursing, andunderstand a sick room so well? You are everything to us, Deborah, and we are so grateful, and now you must let me help you a little, and spare you fatigue. I daresay there are many little things youcould find for me to do. "

I do not know about the innocence of the dove, but certainly thewisdom of the serpent was in my speech; my humility made Deborahthrow down her arms at once. "Any little thing that I can do, " Ipleaded, and her face relaxed and her hard gray eyes softened. 

"You are always ready to help a body, Miss Esther, I will say that, and I don't deny that I am nearly ready to drop with fatigue throughnot having my clothes off these three nights. The mistress is no morehelp than a baby, not being able to lift, or to leave off crying. "

"And you will let me help you?" I returned, eagerly, a little tooeagerly, for she drew herself up. 

"I won't make any promises, Miss Esther, " she said, rather stiffly;"the master said I must have help, and I am willing to try what youcan do, though you are young and not used to the ways of a sickroom, " finished the provoking creature; but I restrained my impatience. 

"Any little thing that I can do, " I repeated, humbly; and myforbearance had its reward, for Deborah drew aside to let me passinto the room, only telling me, rather sharply, to say as littlepossible and keep my thoughts to myself. Deborah's robust treatmentwas certainly bracing, and it gave me a sort of desperate courage;but the first shock of seeing Carrie was dreadful. 

The poor girl lay swathed in bandages, and as I entered the room herpiteous moanings almost broke my heart. Burning with fever, andracked by pain, she could find no ease or rest. 

As I kissed her she shuddered, and her eyes looked at me with aterrible sadness in them. 

"Oh, my poor dear, how sorry I am!" I whispered. I dared not saymore with Deborah hovering jealously in the back-ground. 

"Don't be sorry, " she groaned; "I deserved it. I deserve it all. "And then she turned away her face, and her fair hair shaded it fromme. Did I hear it aright; and was it a whispered prayer for patiencethat caught my ear as she turned away. 

Deborah would not let me stay long. She sent me down to have tea andtalk to mother, but she promised that I should come up again by-and-by. I was surprised as I opened the parlor door to find Mr. Lucas talkingto Uncle Geoffrey and mother with Jack looking up at him with awe-struckeyes. He came forward with an amused smile, as he noticed my astonishedpause. 

"You did not expect to see me here, " he said, in his most friendlymanner; "but I wanted to inquire after your sister. Mrs. Cameron hasbeen so good as to promise me a cup of tea, so you must make it. "

That Mr. Lucas should be drinking tea at mother's table! somehow, Icould not get over my surprise. I had never seen him in our housebefore, and yet in the old times both he and his wife had beenfrequent visitors. Certainly he seemed quite at home. 

Mother had lighted her pretty china lamp, and Uncle Geoffrey hadthrown a log of wood on the fire, and the parlors looked bright andcozy, and even Jack's hair was brushed and her collar for once notawry. I suppose Mr. Lucas found it pleasant, for he stayed quitelate, and I wondered how he could keep his dinner waiting so long;but then Uncle Geoffrey was such a clever man, and could talk sowell. I thought I should have to leave them at last, for it wasnearly the time that Deborah wanted me; but just then Mr. Lucaslooked across at me and noticed something in my face. 

"You want to be with your sister, " he said, suddenly interpreting mythoughts, "and I am reducing my cook to despair. Good-by, Mrs. Cameron. Many thanks for a pleasant hour. " And then he shook handswith us all, and left the room with Uncle Geoffrey. 

"What an agreeable, well-bred man, " observed mother. "I like himexceedingly, and yet people call him proud and reserved. "

"He is not a bit, " I returned, indignantly; and then I kissedmother, and ran upstairs. 

CHAPTER XX. 

"YOU WERE RIGHT, ESTHER. "

For many, many long weeks, I might say months, my daily life waslived in Carrie's sick room. 

What a mercy it is that we are not permitted to see the course ofevents--that we take moment by moment from the Father's hand, notknowing what lies before us!

It was September when I had that little altercation with Deborah onthe threshold, and when she drew aside for me to pass into thatdimly-lighted sickroom; it was Christmas now, and I was there still. Could I have foreseen those months, with their record of suffering, their hours of changeless monotony, well might my courage have failed. As it was, I watched the slow progression of nights and days almostindifferently; the walls of the sickroom closed round me, shutting meout from the actual world, and concentrating my thoughts on thefrail girl who was fighting against disease and death. 

So terrible an illness I pray to Heaven I may never see again; sadcomplications producing unheard-of tortures, and bringing thesufferer again and again to the very brink of death. 

"If I could only die: if I were only good enough to be allowed todie!" that was the prayer she breathed; and there were times when Icould have echoed it, when I would rather have parted with her, dearly as I loved her, than have seen her so racked with agony; butit was not to be. The lesson was not completed. There are some whomust be taught to live, who have to take back "the turned lesson, " asone has beautifully said, and learn it more perfectly. 

If I had ever doubted her goodness in my secret soul, I could doubtno longer, when I daily witnessed her weakness and her exceedingpatience. She bore her suffering almost without complaint, and wouldoften hide from us how much she had to endure. 

"'It is good to be still. ' Do you remember that, Esther?" she saidonce; and I knew she was quoting the words of one who had suffered. 

After the first day I had no further difficulty with Deborah; shesoon recognized my usefulness, and gave me my share of nursingwithout grudging. I took my turn at the night-watching, and served myfirst painful apprenticeship in sick nursing. Mother could do littlefor us; she could only relieve me for a couple of hours in theafternoon, during which Uncle Geoffrey insisted that I should haverest and exercise. 

Allan did not come home when we expected him; he had to postpone hisintention for a couple of months. This was a sad disappointment, ashe would have helped us so much, and mother's constant anxiety thatmy health should not suffer by my close confinement was a littletrying at times. I was quite well, but it was no wonder that my freshcolor faded a little, and that I grew a little quiet and subdued. Theabsence of life and change must be pernicious to young people; theywant air, movement, a certain stirring of activity and bustle to keeptime with their warm natures. 

Every one was very kind to me. Uncle Geoffrey would take me on hisrounds, and often Miss Ruth and Flurry would call for me, and driveme into the country, and they brought me books and fruit and lovelyflowers for Carrie's room; and though I never saw Mr. Lucas duringhis few brief visits he never failed to send me a kind message or toask if there was anything he could do for us. 

Miss Ruth, or Ruth, as I always called her now, would sometimes comeup into the sickroom and sit for a few minutes. Carrie liked to seeher, and always greeted her with a smile; but when Mrs. Smedley heardof it, and rather peremptorily demanded admittance, she turned verypale, and calling me to her, charged me, in an agitated voice, neverto let her in. "I could not see her, I could not, " she went on, excitedly. "I like Miss Ruth; she is so gentle and quiet. But I wantno one but you and mother. "

Mother once--very injudiciously, as Uncle Geoffrey and I thought--tried to shake this resolution of Carrie's. 

"Poor Mrs. Smedley seems so very grieved and disappointed that youwill not see her, my dear. This is the third time she has called thisweek, and she has been so kind to you. "

"Oh, mother, don't make me see her!" pleaded Carrie, even her lipsturning white; and of course mother kissed her and promised that sheshould not be troubled. But when she had left the room Carrie becamevery much agitated. 

"She is the last I ought to see, for she helped to bring me to this;she taught me to disobey my mother--yes, Esther, she did indeed!" asI expostulated in a shocked manner. "She was always telling me thatmy standard was not high enough--that I ought to look above even thewisest earthly parents. She said my mother had old-fashioned notionsof duty; that things were different in her young days; that, in spiteof her goodness, she had narrow views; that it was impossible for hereven to comprehend me. "

"Dear Carrie, surely you could not have agreed with her?" I asked, gently; but her only answer was a sigh as she sank back upon herpillows. 

It was the evening Allan was expected, I remember. It was Decembernow, and for nine weeks I had been shut up in that room, with theexception of my daily walk or drive. 

Deborah had gone back to her usual work; it was impossible to spareher longer. But she still helped in the heaviest part of the nursing, and came from time to time to look after us both. 

Dot had remained for six weeks at the Cedars; but mother missed himso much that Uncle Geoffrey decided to bring him home; and how gladand thankful I was to get my darling back!

I saw very little of him, however, for, strange to say, Carrie didnot care for him and Jack to stay long in the room. I was notsurprised that Jack fidgeted her, for she was restless and noisy, andher loud voice and awkward manners would jar sadly on an invalid; butDot was different. 

In a sick room he was as quiet as a little mouse, and he had suchnice ways. It grieved me to see Carrie shade her eyes in that painedmanner when he hobbled in softly on his crutches. 

"Carrie always cries when she sees me!" Dot said once, with a littlequiver of his lips. Alas! we neither of us understood the strangemisery that even the sight of her afflicted little brother caused her. 

Mother had gone downstairs when she had made her little protestabout Mrs. Smedley, and we were left alone together. I was resting inthe low cushioned chair Ruth had sent me in the early days ofCarrie's illness, and was watching the fire in a quiet fashion thathad become habitual to me. The room looked snug and pleasant in thetwilight; the little bed on which I slept was in the farthest corner;a bouquet of hothouse flowers stood on the little round table, withsome books Mr. Lucas had sent up for me. It must have looked cheerfulto Carrie as she lay among the pillows; but to my dismay there weretears on her cheeks--I could see them glistening in the firelight. 

"Do you feel less well to-night, dear?" I asked, anxiously, as Itook a seat beside her; but she shook her head. 

"I am better, much better, " was her reply, "thanks to you andDeborah and Uncle Geoffrey, " but her smile was very sad as she spoke. "How good you have been to me, Esther--how kind and patient!Sometimes I have looked at you when you were asleep over there, and Ihave cried to see how thin and weary you looked in your sleep, andall through me. "

"Nonsense, " I returned, kissing her; but my voice was not quite clear. 

"Allan will say so to-night when he sees you--you are not the same, Esther. Your eyes are graver, and you seem to have forgotten how tolaugh, and it is all my fault. "

"Dear Carrie, I wish you would not talk so. "

"Let me talk a little to-night, " she pleaded. "I feel better andstronger, and it will be such a relief to tell you some of mythoughts. I have been silent for nine weeks, and sometimes thepent-up pain has been more than I could bear. "

"My poor Carrie, " stroking the thin white hand on the coverlid. 

"Yes, I am that, " she sighed. "Do you remember our old talkstogether? Oh, how wise you were, Esther, but I would not listen toyou; you were all for present duties. I can recollect some of yourwords now. You told me our work lay before us, close to us, at ourvery feet, and yet I would stretch out my arms for more, till my ownburdens crushed me, and I fell beneath them. "

"You attempted too much, " I returned; "your intention was good, butyou overstrained your powers. "

"You are putting it too mildly, " she returned, with a great sadnessin her voice. "Esther, I have had time to think since I have lainhere, and I have been reviewing your life and mine. I wanted to seewhere the fault lay, and how I had missed my path. God was takingaway my work from me; the sacrifice I offered was not acceptable. "

"Oh, my dear, hush!" But she lifted her hand feebly and laid on mylips. 

"It was weeks before I found it out, but I think I see it clearlynow. We were both in earnest about our duty, we both wanted to do thebest we could for others; but, Esther, after all it was you who wereright; you did not turn against the work that was brought to you--your teaching, and house, and mother, and Dot, and even Jack--allthat came first, and you knew it; you have worked in the corner ofthe vineyard that was appointed to you, and never murmured over itsbarrenness and narrow space, and so you are ripe and ready for anygreat work that may be waiting for you in the future. 'Faithful inlittle, faithful in much'--how often have I applied those words toyou!"

I tried to stem the torrent of retrospection, but nothing wouldsilence her; as she said herself, the pent up feelings must havetheir course. But why did she judge herself so bitterly? It pained meinexpressibly to hear her. 

"If I had only listened to you!" she went on; "but my spiritualself-will blinded me. I despised my work. Oh, Esther! you cannotcontradict me; you know how bitterly I spoke of the little Thornes;how I refused to take them into my heart; how scornfully I spoke ofmy ornamental brickmaking. "

I could not gainsay her words on that point; I knew her to be wrong. 

"I wanted to choose my work; that was the fatal error. I spurned thelittle duties at my feet, and looked out for some great work that Imust do. Teaching the little Thornes was hateful to me; yet I couldteach ragged children in the Sunday-school for hours. Mending Jack'sthings and talking to mother were wearisome details; yet I could toilthrough fog and rain in Nightingale lane, and feel no fatigue. Mywork was impure, my motives tainted by self-will. Could it beaccepted by Him who was subject to His parents for thirty years, whoworked at the carpenter's bench, when He could have preached tothousands?" And here she broke down, and wept bitterly. 

What could I answer? How could I apply comfort to one so sorelywounded? And yet through it all who could doubt her goodness?

"Dear Carrie, " I whispered, "if this be all true, if there be noexaggeration, no morbid conscientiousness in all you say, still youhave repented, and your punishment has been severe. "

"My punishment!" she returned, in a voice almost of despair. "Why doyou speak of it as past, when you know I shall bear the consequencesof my own imprudence all my life long? This is what is secretlyfretting me. I try to bow myself to His will; but, oh! it is so hardnot to be allowed to make amends, not to be allowed to have a chanceof doing better for the future, not to be allowed to make up for allmy deficiencies in the past; but just to suffer and be a burden. "

I looked at her with frightened eyes. What could she mean, when shewas getting better every day, and Uncle Geoffrey hoped she might bedownstairs by Christmas Day?

"Is it possible you do not know, Esther?" she said incredulously;but two red spots came into her thin cheeks. "Have not mother andUncle Geoffrey told you?"

"They have told me nothing, " I repeated. "Oh, Carrie, what do youmean? You are not going to die?"

"To die? Oh, no!" in a tone of unutterable regret. "Should I be sosorry for myself if I thought that? I am getting well--well, " with aslight catching of her breath--"but when I come downstairs I shall belike Dot. "

I do not know what I said in answer to this terrible revelation. Uncle Geoffrey had never told me; Carrie had only extorted the truthfrom him with difficulty. My darling girl a cripple! It was Carriewho tried to comfort me as I knelt sobbing beside her. 

"Oh, Esther, how you cry! Don't, my dear, don't. It makes me stillmore unhappy. Have I told you too suddenly? But you must know. Thatis why I could not bear to see Dot come into the room. But I mean toget over my foolishness. "

But I attempted no answer. "Cruel, cruel!" were the only words thatforced themselves through my teeth. 

"You shall not say that, " she returned, stroking my hair. "How canit be cruel if it be meant for my good? I have feared this all along, Esther; the mischief has set in in one hip. It is not the suffering, but the thought of my helplessness that frightens me. " And here hersweet eyes filled with tears. 

Oh, how selfish I was, when I ought to have been comforting her, ifonly the words would come! And then a sudden thought came to me. 

"They also serve who only stand and wait, " and I repeated the linesoftly, and a sort of inspiration came over me. 

"Carrie, " I said, embracing her, "this must be the work the lovingSaviour has now for you to do. This is the Cross He would have youtake up, and He who died to save the sinful and unthankful will giveyou grace sufficient to your need. "

"Yes, I begin to think it is!" she returned; and a light came intoher eyes, and she lay back in a satisfied manner. "I never thought ofit in that way; it seemed my punishment--just taking away my work andleaving me nothing but helplessness and emptiness. "

"And now you will look at it as still more difficult work. Oh, Carrie, what will mine be compared to that--to see you patient undersuffering, cheerfully enduring, not murmuring or repining? What willthat be but preaching to us daily?"

"That will do, " she answered faintly; "I must think it out. You havedone more for me this afternoon than any one has. " And seeing howexhausted she was, I left her, and stole back to my place. 

She slept presently, and I sat still in the glimmering firelight, listening to the sounds downstairs that told of Allan's arrival; butI could not go down and show my tear-stained face. Deborah came uppresently to lay the little tea-table, and then Carrie woke up, and Iwaited on her as usual, and tried to coax her failing appetite; andby-and-by came the expected tap at the door. 

Of course it was Allan; no one but himself would come in with thatalert step and cheerful voice. 

"Well, Carrie, my dear, " he said, affectionately, bending over heras she looked up at him--whatever he felt at the sight of her changedface he kept to himself; he kissed me without a word and took hisseat by the bedside. 

"You know, Allan?" she whispered, as he took her hand. 

"Yes, I know; Uncle Geoffrey has told me; but it may not be as badas you think--you have much for which to be thankful; for weeks henever thought you would get over it. What does it matter about thelameness, Carrie, when you have come back to us from the very jaws ofdeath?" and his voice trembled a little. 

"I felt badly about it until Esther talked to me, " she returned. "Esther has been such a nurse to me, Allan. "

He looked at me as she said this, and his eyes glistened. "Esther isEsther, " he replied, laconically; but I knew then how I satisfied him. 

"When we were alone together that night--for I waited downstairs tosay good-night to him, while Deborah stayed with Carrie--he suddenlydrew me toward him and looked in my face. 

"Poor child, " he said, tenderly, "it is time I came home to relieveyou; you have grown a visionary, unsubstantial Esther, with largeeyes and a thin face; but somehow I never liked the look of you sowell. "

That made me smile. "Oh, Allan, how nice it is to have you with meagain!"

"Nice! I should think so; what walks we will have, by the bye. Imean to have Carrie downstairs before a week is over; what is thegood of you both moping upstairs? I shall alter all that. "

"She is too weak too move, " I returned, dubiously. 

"But she is not too weak to be carried. You are keeping her tooquiet, and she wants rousing a little; she feeds too much on her ownthoughts, and it is bad for her; she is such a little saint, youknow, " continued Allan, half jestingly, "she wants to be leavened alittle with our wickedness. 

"She is good; you would say so if you heard her. "

"Not a bit more good than some other people--Miss Ruth, forexample;" but I could see from his mischievous eyes that he was notthinking of Ruth. How well and handsome he was looking: he had grownbroader, and there was an air of manliness about him--"my bonnielad, " as I called him. 

I went to bed that night with greater contentment in my heart, because Allan had come home; and even Carrie seemed cheered by thehopeful view he had taken of her case. 

"He thinks, perhaps, that after some years I may not be quite sohelpless, " she whispered, as I said good-night to her, and her facelooked composed and quiet in the fading firelight; "anyhow, I mean tobear it as well as I can, and not give you more trouble. "

"I do not think it a trouble, " was my answer as her arms releasedme; and as I lay awake watching the gleaming shadows in the room, Ithought how sweet such ministry is to those we love, their veryhelplessness endearing them to us. After all, this illness had drawnus closer together, we were more now as sisters should be, united insympathy and growing deeper into each other's hearts. "How pleasantit is to live in unity!" said the Psalmist; and the echo of the wordsseemed to linger in my mind until I fell asleep. 

CHAPTER XXI. 

SANTA CLAUS. 

After all Allan's sanguine prognostication was not fulfilled. Thenew year had opened well upon us before Carrie joined the familycircle downstairs. 

But the sickroom was a different place now, when we had Allan'scheery visits to enliven our long evenings. A brighter element seemedintroduced into the house. I wondered if Carrie felt as I did! if herheart leaped up with pleasure at the sound of his merry whistle, orthe light springing footsteps that seemed everywhere!

His vigorous will seemed to dominate over the whole household; hewould drag me out peremptorily for what he called wholesome exercise, which meant long, scrambling walks, which sent me home with tinglingpulses and exuberant spirits, until the atmosphere of the sick roommoderated and subdued them again. 

He continued to relieve me in many ways; sometimes he would come inupon us in his quick, alert way, and bundle me and my work-basketdownstairs, ordering me to talk to mother, while he gave Carrie adose of his company. Perhaps the change was good for her, for Ialways fancied she looked less depressed when I saw her again. 

Our choice of reading displeased him not a little; the religiousbiographies and sentimental sacred poetry that Carrie speciallyaffected were returned to the bookshelves by our young physician withan unsparing hand; he actually scolded me in no measured terms forwhat he called my want of sense. 

"What a goose you are, Esther, " he said, in a disgusted voice; "but, there, you women are all alike, " continued the youthful autocrat. "Youpet one another's morbid fancies, and do no end of harm. BecauseCarrie wants cheering, you keep her low with all these books, whichfeed her gloomy ideas. What do you say? she likes it; well, manypeople like what is not good for them. I tell you she is not in a fitstate for this sort of reading, and unless you will abide by mychoice of books I will get Uncle Geoffrey to forbid them altogether. "

Carrie looked ready to cry at this fierce tirade, but I am afraid Ionly laughed in Allan's face; still, we had to mind him. He set me towork, I remember, on some interesting book of travels, that carriedboth of us far from Milnthorpe, and set us down in wonderful tropicalregions, where we lost ourselves and our troubles in gorgeousdescriptions. 

One evening I came up and found Allan reading the "Merchant ofVenice, " to her, and actually Carrie was enjoying it. 

"He reads so well, " she said, rather apologetically, as she caughtsight of my amused face; she did not like to own even to me that shefound it more interesting than listening to Henry Martyn's life. 

It charmed us both to hear the sound of her soft laugh; and Allanwent downstairs well satisfied with the result of his prescription. 

On Christmas Eve I had a great treat. Ruth wanted me to spend theevening with her; and as she took Carrie into her confidence, she gother way without difficulty. Carrie arranged every thing; mother wasto sit with her, and then Allan and Deborah would help her to bed. Iwas to enjoy myself and have a real holiday, and not come home untilAllan fetched me. 

I had quite a holiday feeling as I put on my new cashmere dress. Ruth had often fetched me for a drive, but I had not been inside theCedars for months, and the prospect of a long evening there wasdelicious. 

Flurry ran out into the hall to meet me, and even Giles' grave facerelaxed into a smile as he hoped "Miss Cameron was better;" butFlurry would hardly let me answer, she was so eager to show me thewreaths auntie and she had made, and to whisper that she had hung outa stocking for Santa Claus to fill, and that Santa Claus was going tofill one for Dot too. 

"Come in, you naughty little chatterbox, and do not keep Esther inthe hall, " exclaimed Ruth, from the curtained doorway; and the nextminute I had my arms round her. Oh, the dear room! how cozy it lookedafter my months of absence; no other room, not even mother's prettydrawing-room at Combe Manor, was so entirely to my taste. 

There was the little square tea-table, as usual, and the dark bluechina cups and saucers, and the wax candles in their silver sconces, and white china lamp, and the soft glow of the ruddy firelightplaying into the dim corner. 

Ruth drew up the low rocking chair, and took off my hat and jacket, and smoothed my hair. 

"How nice you look Esther, and what a pretty dress! Is that Allan'spresent? But you are still very thin, my dear. 

"Oh, I am all right, " I returned, carelessly, for what did it matterhow I looked, now Carrie was better? "Dear Ruth, " I whispered, as shestill stood beside me, "I can think of nothing but the pleasure ofbeing with you again. "

"I hope you mean to include me in that last speech, " said a voicebehind me; and there was Mr. Lucas standing laughing at us. He hadcome through the curtained doorway unheard, and I rose in some littleconfusion to shake hands. 

To my surprise, he echoed Miss Ruth's speech; but then he had notseen me for three months. I had been through so much since we last met. 

"What have they been doing to you, my poor child?" Those wereactually his words, and his eyes rested on my face with quite agrieved, pitying expression. 

"Allan told me I was rather unsubstantial-looking, " I returned, trying to speak lightly; but somehow the tears came to my eyes. "Iwas so tired before he came home, but now I am getting rested. "

"I wonder at Dr. Cameron letting a child like you work so hard, " heretorted, quite abruptly. He had called me child twice, and I waseighteen and a half, and feeling so old--so old. I fancy Ruth saw mylip quiver, for she hastily interposed:

"Let her sit down, Giles, and I will give her some tea. She looks ascold as a little starved robin. "

And after that no one spoke again of my altered looks. It troubledme for a few minutes, and then it passed out of my mind. 

After all, it could not be helped if I were a little thin and worn. The strain of those three months had been terrible; the dailyspectacle of physical suffering before my eyes, the wakeful nights, the long monotonous days, and then the shock of knowing that Carriemust be a cripple, had all been too much for me. 

We talked about it presently, while Flurry sat like a mouse at myfeet, turning over the pages of a new book of fairy tales. The kindsympathy they both showed me broke down the barrier of my girlishreserve, and I found comfort in speaking of the dreary past. I didnot mind Mr. Lucas in the least: he showed such evident interest inall I told them. After dinner he joined us again in the drawing-room, instead of going as usual for a short time to his study. 

"When are you coming back to stay with us?" he asked, suddenly, ashe stirred the logs until they emitted a shower of sparks. 

"Yes, " echoed his sister, "Carrie is so much better now that wethink it is high time for you to resume your duties; poor Flurry hasbeen neglected enough. "

My answer was simply to look at them both; the idea of renewing workhad never occurred to me; how could Carrie spare me? And yet ought Inot to do my part all the more, now she was laid by? For a moment thesense of conflicting duties oppressed me. 

"Please do not look pale over it, " observed Mr. Lucas, kindly; "butyou do not mean, I suppose, to be always chained to your sister'scouch? That will do neither of you any good. "

"Oh, no, I must work, of course, " I returned, breathlessly. "Carriewill not be able to do anything, so it is the more necessary for me, but not yet--not until we have her downstairs. "

"Then we will give you three weeks' grace, " observed Mr. Lucas, coolly. "It is as you say, with your usual good sense, absolutelynecessary that one of you should work; and as Flurry has been withouta governess long enough, we shall expect you to resume your duties inthree weeks' time. "

I was a little perplexed by this speech, it was so dignified andperemptory; but looking up I could see a little smile breaking out atthe corner of his mouth. Ruth too seemed amused. 

"Very well, " I returned in the same voice; "I must be punctual, or Ishall expect my dismissal. "

"Of course you must be punctual, " he retorted; and the subjectdropped, but I perceived he was in earnest under his jesting way. Flurry's governess was wanted back, that was clear. 

As for me, the mere notion of resuming my daily work at the Cedarswas almost too delightful to contemplate. I had an odd idea, thatmissing them all had something to do with my sober feelings. I feltit when I went up to kiss Flurry in her little bed; the darling childwas lying awake for me. 

She made me lie down on the bed beside her, and hugged me close withher warm arms, and her hair fell over my face like a veil, and thenprattled to me about Santa Claus and the wonderful gifts she expected. 

"Will Santa Claus bring you anything, Esther?"

"Not much, I fear, " was my amused answer. We were rather a gift-lovingfamily, and at Combe Manor our delight had been to load the breakfasttable on Christmas day with presents for every member of the family, including servants; but of course now our resources were limited, and I expected few presents; but in my spare time I had contriveda few surprises in the shape of work. A set of embroidered babylinen for Flurry's best doll, dainty enough for a fairy baby; awhite fleecy shawl for mother, and another for Carrie, and a chair-backfor Ruth; she was fond of pretty things, but I certainly did not lookfor much in return. 

Allan had brought me that pretty dress from London, and another forCarrie, and he had not Fortunatus' purse, poor fellow!

"I have got a present for you, " whispered Flurry, and I couldimagine how round and eager her eyes were; I think with a littleencouragement she would have told me what it was; but I assured herthat I should enjoy the surprise. 

"It won't keep you awake trying to guess, will it?" she asked, anxiously; and when I said no, she seemed a little disappointed. 

"Dot has got one too, " she observed, presently; but I knew all aboutthat. Dot was laboriously filling an album with his choicest worksof art. His fingers were always stained with paint or Indian ink atmeal times, and if I unexpectedly entered the room, I could see asquare-shaped book being smuggled away under the tablecloth. 

I think these sudden rushes were rather against the general finishof the pictures, causing in some places an unsightly smudge or ablotchy appearance. In one page the Tower of Babel was disfigured bythis very injudicious haste, and the bricks and the builders werewholly indistinguishable for a sad blotch of ochre; still, the titlepage made up for all such defects: "To my dear sister, Esther, fromher affectionate little brother, Frankie. "

"Aunt Ruth has one, too, " continued Flurry; but at this point Ithought it better to say good-night. As it was, I found Allan hadbeen waiting for me nearly half-an-hour, and pretended to growl at mefor my dawdling, though in reality he was thoroughly enjoying histalk with Ruth. 

Carrie was awake when I entered the room; she was lying watching thefire. She welcomed me with her sweetest smile, and though I fanciedher cheek was wet as I kissed it, her voice was very tranquil. 

"Have you had a pleasant evening, Esther?"

"Very pleasant. Have you missed me very much, darling?"

"I always miss you, " she replied, gently; "but Allan has done hisbest to make the time pass quickly. And then dear mother was so good;she has been sitting with me ever so long; we have had such a nicetalk. Somehow I begin to feel as if I had never known what mother wasbefore. "

I knew Carrie wanted to tell me all about it, but I pretended I wastired, and that it was time to be asleep. So she said no more; shewas submissive to us even in trifles now; and very soon I heard thesound of her soft, regular breathing. 

As for me, I laid wide awake for hours; my evening had excited me. The thought of resuming my happy duties at the Cedars pleased andexhilarated me. How kind and thoughtful they had been for my comfort, how warmly I had been welcomed!

I fell to sleep at last, and dreamed that Santa Claus had brought mea mysterious present. The wrappers were so many that Deborah woke mebefore I reached the final. I remember I had quite a childish feelingof disappointment when my pleasant dream was broken. 

What a Christmas morning that was! Outside the trees were bendingwith hoar frost, a scanty whiteness lay on the lawn, and the softmysterious light of coming snow seemed to envelope everything. Insidethe fire burned ruddily, and Carrie lay smiling upon her pillows, with a little parcel in her outstretched hands. I thought of myunfinished dream, and told it to her as I unfolded the silver paperthat wrapped the little box. 

"Oh, Carrie!" I exclaimed, for there was her little amethyst crossand beautiful filagree chain; that had been father's gift to her, theprettiest ornament she possessed, and that had been my secretadmiration for years. 

"I want you to have it, " she said, smiling, well pleased at myastonished face. "I can never wear it again, Esther; the world and Ihave parted company. I shall like to see you in it. I wish it weretwice as good; I wish it were of priceless value, for nothing is toogood for my dear little sister. "

I was very near crying over the little box, and Carrie was praisingthe thickness and beauty of her shawl, when in came Dot, with hisscrap-book under his arm, and Jack, with a wonderful pen-wiper shehad concocted, with a cat and kitten she had marvelously executed ingray cloth. 

Nor was this all. Downstairs a perfect array of parcels was groupedround my plate. There was a book from Allan, and a beautiful littletraveling desk from Uncle Geoffrey. Mother had been searching in herjewel case, and had produced a pearl-ring, which she presented to mewith many kisses. 

But the greatest surprise of all was still in store for me. Flurry'sgift proved to be a very pretty little photograph of herself andFlossy, set in a velvet frame. Ruth's was an ivory prayer-book: butbeside it lay a little parcel, directed in Mr. Lucas' handwriting, and a note inside begging me to accept a slight tribute of hisgratitude. I opened it with a trembling hand, and there was anexquisite little watch, with a short gold chain attached to it--aperfect little beauty, as even Allan declared it to be. 

I was only eighteen, and I suppose most girls would understand myrapture at the sight. Until now a silver watch with a plain blackguard had been my only possession; this I presented to Jack on thespot, and was in consequence nearly hugged to death. 

"How kind, how kind!" was all I could say; and mother seemed nearlyas pleased as I was. As for Uncle Geoffrey and Allan, they took it inan offhand and masculine fashion. 

"Very proper, very prettily done, " remarked Uncle Geoffrey, approvingly. "You see he has reason to be grateful to you, my dear, and Mr. Lucas is just the man to acknowledge it in the most fittingway. "

"I always said he was a brick, " was Allan's unceremonious retort. "It is no more than he ought to have done, for your pluckiness savedFlurry. " But to their surprise I turned on them with hot cheeks. 

"I have done nothing, it is all their kindness and goodness to me:it is far too generous. How ever shall I thank him?" And then Isnatched up my treasure, and ran upstairs to show it to Carrie; and Ido not think there was a happier girl that Christmas morning thanEsther Cameron. 

The one drawback to my pleasure was--how I was to thank Mr. Lucas?But I was spared this embarrassment, for he and Flurry waited afterservice in the porch for us, and walked down High street. 

He came to my side at once with a glimmer of fun in his grave eyes. 

"Well, Miss Esther, has Santa Claus been good to you? or has hetaken too great a liberty?"

"Oh, Mr. Lucas, " I began, in a stammering fashion, but he held uphis hand peremptorily. 

"Not a word, not a syllable, if you please; the debt is all on myside, and you do not fancy it can be paid in such a paltry fashion. Iam glad you are not offended with me, that is all. " And then heproceeded to ask kindly after Carrie. 

His manner set me quite at my ease, and I was able to talk to him asusual. Dot was at the window watching for our approach. He clappedhis hands delightedly at the sight of Mr. Lucas and Flurry. 

"I suppose I must come in a moment to see my little friend, " hesaid, in a kindly voice, and in another moment he was comfortablyseated in our parlor with Dot climbing on his knee. 

I never remember a happier Christmas till then, though, thank God, Ihave known still happier ones since. True, Carrie could not join thefamily gathering downstairs; but after the early dinner we all wentup to her room, and sat in a pleasant circle round the fire. 

Only Fred was missing; except the dear father who lay in the quietchurchyard near Combe Manor; but we had bright, satisfactory lettersfrom him, and hoped that on the whole he was doing well. 

We talked of him a good deal, and then it was that Dot announced hisgrand purpose of being an artist. 

"When I am a man, " he finished, in a serious voice, "I mean to workharder than Fred, and paint great big pictures, and perhaps somegrand nobleman will buy them of me. "

"I wonder what your first subject will be, Frankie?" asked Allan, ina slightly amused voice. He was turning over Dot's scrap-book, andwas looking at the Tower of Babel in a puzzled way. 

"The Retreat of the Ten Thousand under Xenophon, " was the perfectlystartling answer, at which Allan opened his eyes rather widely, andUncle Geoffrey laughed. Dot looked injured and a little cross. 

"People always laugh when I want to talk sense, " he said, ratherloftily. 

"Never mind, Frankie, we won't laugh any more, " returned Allan, eager to soothe his favorite; "it is a big subject, but you haveplenty of years to work it out in, and after all the grand thing inme is to aim high. " Which speech, being slightly unintelligible, mollified Dot's wrath. 

CHAPTER XXII. 

ALLAN AND I WALK TO ELTHAM GREEN. 

The next great event in our family annals was Carrie's firstappearance downstairs. 

Uncle Geoffrey had long wished her to make the effort, but she hadmade some excuse and put it off from day to day; but at last Allantook it into his head to manage things after his usual arbitraryfashion, and one afternoon he marched into the room, and, quietlylifting Carrie in his arms, as though she were a baby, desired me tofollow with, her crutches, while he carried her downstairs. 

Carrie trembled a good deal, and turned very white, but she offeredno remonstrance; and when Allan put her down outside the parlor door, she took her crutches from me in a patient uncomplaining way thattouched us both. 

I always said we ought to have prepared Dot, but Allan would nothear of my telling him; but when the door opened and Carrie entered, walking slowly and painfully, being still unused to her crutches, wewere all startled by a loud cry from Dot. 

"She is like me! Oh, poor, poor Carrie!" cried the little fellow, with a sob; and he broke into such a fit of crying that mother wasquite upset. It was in vain we tried to soothe him; that Carrie drewhim toward her with trembling arms and kissed him, and whispered thatit was God's will, and she did not mind so very much now; he onlykept repeating, "She is like me--oh, dear--oh dear! she is like me, "in a woe-begone little voice. 

Dot was so sensitive that I feared the shock would make him ill, butAllan came at last to the rescue. He had been called out of the roomfor a moment, and came back to find a scene of dire confusion--ittook so little to upset mother, and really it was heartbreaking toall of us to see the child's grief. 

"Hallo, sonny, what's up now?" asked Allan, in a comical voice, lifting up Dot's tear-stained face for a nearer inspection. 

"Oh, she is like me, " gasped Dot; "she has those horrid things, youknow; and it's too bad, it's too bad!" he finished, with anotherchoking sob. 

"Nonsense, " returned Allan, with sturdy cheerfulness; "she won't usethem always, you silly boy. "

"Not always!" returned Dot, with a woe-begone, puckered-up face. 

"Of course not, you little goose--or gander, I mean; she may have tohobble about on them for a year or two, perhaps longer; but UncleGeoff and I mean to set her all right again--don't we, Carrie?"Carrie's answer was a dubious smile. She did not believe in her ownrecovery; but to Dot, Allan's words were full of complete comfort. 

"Oh, I am so glad, I am so glad!" cried the unselfish littlecreature. "I don't mind a bit for myself; I shouldn't be Dot withoutmy sticks, but it seemed so dreadful for poor Carrie. "

And then, as she kissed him, with tears in her eyes, he whispered"that she was not to mind, for Allan would soon make her all right:he always did. "

Carrie tried to be cheerful that evening, but it cost her a greateffort. It was hard returning to everyday life, without strength orcapacity for its duties, with no bright prospect dawning in thefuture, only a long, gray horizon of present monotony and suffering. But here the consolation of the Gospel came to her help; the severetest of her faith proved its reality; and her submission and totalabnegation of will brought her the truest comfort in her hour of need. 

Looking back on this part of our lives, I believe Carrie needed justthis discipline; like many other earnest workers she made an idol ofher work. It cost her months of suffering before she realized thatGod does not always need our work; that a chastened will is moreacceptable to Him than the labor we think so all-sufficient. Sadlesson to poor human pride, that believes so much in its own efforts, and yet that many a one laid by in the vigor of life and work, has tolearn so painfully. Oh, hardest of all work, to do nothing whileothers toil round us, to wait and look on, knowing God's ways are notour ways, that the patient endurance of helplessness is the dutyordained for us!

Carrie had to undergo another ordeal the following day, for she wasjust settled on her couch when Mrs. Smedley entered unannounced. 

I had never liked Mrs. Smedley; indeed, at one time I was very nearhating her; but I could not help feeling sorry for the woman when Isaw how her face twitched and worked at the sight of her favorite. 

Carrie's altered looks must have touched her conscience. Carrie wasa little nervous, but she soon recovered herself. 

"You must not be sorry for me, " she said, taking her hand, foractually Mrs. Smedley could hardly speak; tears stood in her hardeyes, and then she motioned to me to leave them together. 

I never knew what passed between them, but I am sure Mrs. Smedleyhad been crying when I returned to the room. She rose at once, makingsome excuse about the lateness of the hour--and then she did what shenever had done before--kissed me quite affectionately, and hoped theywould soon see me at the vicarage. 

"There, that is over, " said Carrie, as if to herself, in a relievedtone; but she did not seem disposed for any questioning, so I let herclose her eyes and think over the interview in silence. 

The next day was a very eventful one. I had made up my mind to speakto mother and Carrie that morning, and announce my intention of goingback to the Cedars. I was afraid it would be rather a blow to Carrie, and I wanted to get it over. 

In two or three days the three weeks' leave of absence would be over--Ruth would be expecting to hear from me. The old saying, "_L'hommepropose, Dieu dispose_, " was true in this case. I had little ideathat morning, when I came down to breakfast, that all my cherishedplans were to be set aside, and all through old Aunt Podgill. 

Why, I had never thought of her for years; and, as far as I cantell, her name had not been mentioned in our family circle, except onthe occasion of dear father's death, when Uncle Geoffrey observedthat he or Fred must write to her. She was father's and UncleGeoffrey's aunt, on their mother's side, but she had quarreled withthem when they were mere lads, and had never spoken to them since. Uncle Geoffrey was most in her black books, and she had not deignedto acknowledge his letter. 

"A cantankerous old woman, " I remember he had called her on thatoccasion, and had made no further effort to propitiate her. 

It was rather a shock, then, to hear Aunt Podgill's name uttered ina loud voice by Allan, as I entered the room, and my surprisedeepened into astonishment to find mother was absolutely crying overa black-edged letter. 

"Poor Mrs. Podgill is dead, " explained Uncle Geoffrey, in rather asubdued voice, as I looked at him. 

But the news did not affect me much; I thought mother's handkerchiefneed hardly be applied to her eyes on that account. 

"That is a pity, of course; but, then, none of us knew her, " Iremarked, coldly. "She could not have been very nice, from youraccount, Uncle Geoffrey, so I do not know why we have to be so sorryfor her death, " for I was as aggrieved as possible at the sight ofmother's handkerchief. 

"Well, she was a cantankerous old woman, " began Uncle Geoffrey; andthen he checked himself and added, "Heaven forgive me for speakingagainst the poor old creature now she is dead. "

"Yes, indeed, I have a great respect for Aunt Podgill, " put inAllan; and I thought his voice was rather curious, and there was arepressed mirthful gleam in his eyes, and all the time mother went oncrying. 

"Oh, my dear, " she sobbed at last, "I am very foolish to be soovercome; but if it had only come in Frank's--in your father's time, it might--it might have saved him;" and here she broke down. 

"Ah, to be sure, poor thing!" ejaculated Uncle Geoffrey in asympathizing tone; "that is what is troubling her; but you must cheerup, Dora, for, as I have always told you, Frank was never meant to bea long-lived man. "

"What are you all talking about?" I burst out, with vexedimpatience. "What has Mrs. Podgill's death to do with father? and whyis mother crying? and what makes you all so mysterious and tiresome?"for I was exasperated at the incongruity between mother's tears andAllan's amused face. 

"Tell her, " gasped out mother: and Uncle Geoffrey, clearing hisvoice, proceeded to be spokesman, only Allan interrupted him at everyword. 

"Why, you see, child, your mother is just a little upset atreceiving some good news--"

"Battling good news, " put in Allan. 

"It is natural for her, poor thing! to think of your father; but wetell her that if he had been alive things would have shapedthemselves differently--"

"Of course they would, " from that tiresome Allan. 

"Aunt Podgill, being a cantankerous--I mean a prejudiced--person, would never have forgotten her grudge against your father; but as inour last moments 'conscience makes cowards of us all, ' as Shakespearehas it"--Uncle Geoffrey always quoted Shakespeare when he wasagitated, and Allan said, "Hear, hear!" softly under his breath--"shecould not forget the natural claims of blood; and so, my dear, "clearing his throat a little more, "she has left all her littlefortune to your mother; and a pretty little penny it is, close uponseven hundred a year, and the furniture besides. "

"Uncle Geoffrey!" now it was my turn to gasp. Jack and Dot burst outlaughing at my astonished face; only Dot squeezed my hand, andwhispered, "Isn't it splendid, Essie?" Mother looked at me tearfully. 

"It is for your sakes I am glad, that my darling girls may not haveto work. Carrie can have every comfort now; and you can stay with us, Esther, and we need not be divided any longer. "

"Hurrah, " shouted Dot, waving his spoon over his head; but I onlykissed mother without speaking; a strange, unaccountable feelingprevented me. If we were rich--or rather if we had this independence--I must not go on teaching Flurry; my duty was at home with motherand Carrie. 

I could have beaten myself for my selfishness; but it was true. Humiliating as it is to confess it, my first feeling was regret thatmy happy days at the Cedars were over. 

"You do not seem pleased, " observed Allan, shrewdly, as he watched me. 

"I am so profoundly astonished that I am not capable of feeling, " Ireturned hastily; but I blushed a little guiltily. 

"It is almost too good to believe, " he returned. "I never liked theidea of you and Carrie doing anything, and yet it could not behelped; so now you will all be able to stay at home and enjoyyourselves. "

Mother brightened up visibly at this. 

"That will be nice, will it not, Esther? And Dot can have hislessons with you as usual. I was so afraid that Miss Ruth would wantyou back soon, and that Carrie would be dull. How good of your AuntPodgill to make us all so happy! And if it were not for your father--"and here the dear soul had recourse to her handkerchief again. 

If I was silent, no one noticed it; every one was so eager indetailing his or her plans for the future. It was quite a relief whenthe lengthy breakfast was over, and I was free to go and tell Carrie;somehow in the general excitement no one thought of her. I reproachedmyself still more for my selfishness, and called myself all manner ofhard names when I saw the glow of pleasure on her pale face. 

"Oh, Esther, how nice! How pleased dear mother must be! Now we shallhave you all to ourselves, and you need not be spending all your daysaway from us. "

How strange! Carrie knew of my warm affection for Ruth and Flurry, and yet it never occurred to her that I should miss my dailyintercourse with them. It struck me then how often our nearest anddearest misunderstand or fail to enter into our feelings. 

The thought recurred to me more than once that morning when I sat atmy work listening to the discussion between her and mother. Carrieseemed a different creature that day; the wonderful news had liftedher out of herself, and she rejoiced so fully and heartily in ourgood fortune that I was still more ashamed of myself, and yet I wasglad too. 

"It seems so wonderful to me, mother, " Carrie was saying, in hersweet serious way, "that just when I was laid by, and unable to keepmyself or any one else, that this provision should be made for us. "

"Yes, indeed; and then there is Dot, too, who will never be able towork, " observed mother. 

It was lucky Dot did not hear her, or we might have had a reproachful_resume_ of his artistic intentions. 

"Dear mother, you need not be anxious any longer over the fortune ofyour two cripples, " returned Carrie, tenderly. "I shall not feel somuch a burthen now; and then we shall have Esther to look after us. "And they both looked at me in a pleased, affectionate way. What couldI do but put down my work and join in that innocent, loving talk?

At our early dinner that day Allan seemed a little preoccupied andsilent, but toward the close of the meal he addressed me in hisoff-hand fashion. 

"I want you to come out with me this afternoon; mother can lookafter Carrie. "

"It is a half holiday; may I come too?" added Jack, coaxingly. 

"Wait till you are asked, Miss Jacky, " retorted Allan good-humoredly. "No, I don't want your ladyship's company this afternoon; I musthave Esther to myself. " And though Jack grumbled and lookeddiscontented, he would not change his decision. 

I had made up my mind to see Ruth, and tell her all about it; but itnever entered my head to dispute Allan's will if he wanted me to walkwith him. I must give up Ruth, that was all; and I hurried to put onmy things, that I might not keep him waiting, as he possessed hisfull share of masculine impatience. 

I thought that he had some plan to propose to me, but to my surprisehe only talked about the most trivial subjects--the weather, thestate of the roads, the prospects of skating. 

"Where are we going?" I asked at last, for we were passing theCedars, and Allan rarely walked in that direction; but perhaps he hada patient to see. 

"Only to Eltham Green, " he returned briefly. 

The answer was puzzling. Eltham Green was half a mile from theCedars, and there was only one house there, beside a few scatteredcottages; and I knew Uncle Geoffrey's patient, Mr. Anthony Lambert, who lived there, had died about a month ago. 

As Allan did not seem disposed to be communicative, I let the matterrest, and held my peace; and a few minutes quick walking brought usto the place. 

It was a little common, very wild and tangled with gorse, and insummer very picturesque. Some elms bordered the road, and there was alarge clear-looking pond, and flocks of geese would waddle over thecommon, hissing and thrusting out their yellow bills to every passer-by. 

The cottages were pretty and rustic-looking, and had gay littlegardens in front. They belonged to Mr. Lucas; and Eltham Cottage, asMr. Lambert's house was called, was his property also. 

Flurry and I had always been very fond of the common, where Flossyhad often run barking round the pond, after a family of yellowducklings. 

"Eltham Cottage is still to let, " I observed, looking up at theboard; "it is such a pretty house"

Allan made no response to that, but bade me enter, as he wanted tolook at it. 

It was a long, two-storied cottage, with a veranda all round it, andin summer a profusion of flowers--roses and clematis, and a splendidpassionflower--twined round the pillars and covered the porch. 

The woman who admitted us ushered us into a charming little hall, with a painted window and a glass door opening on to the lawn. Therewas a small room on one side of it, and on the other the dining roomand drawing-room. The last was a very long, pleasant room, with threewindows, all opening French fashion on to the veranda, and anotherglass door leading into a pretty little conservatory. 

The garden was small, but very tastefully laid out; but there was asouthern wall, where peaches and nectarines were grown, and beehivesstood, and some pretty winding walks, which led to snug nooks, whereferns or violets were hidden. 

"What a sweet place!" I exclaimed, admiringly, at which Allan lookedexultant; but he only bade me follow him into the upper rooms. 

These were satisfactory in every respect. Some were of sunny aspect, and looked over the garden and some large park-like meadows; thefront ones commanded the common. 

"There is not a bad room in the house, " said Allan; and then he mademe admire the linen-presses and old-fashioned cupboards, and thebright red-tiled kitchen looking out on a laurestinus walk. 

"It is a dear house!" I exclaimed, enthusiastically, at which Allanlooked well-pleased. Then he took me by the arm, and drew me to alittle window-seat on the upper landing--a proceeding that remindedme of the days at Combe Manor, when I sat waiting for him, andlooking down on the lilies. 

"I am glad you think so, " he said, solemnly; "for I wanted to askyour advice about an idea of mine; it came into my head this morningwhen we were all talking and planning, that this house would be justthe thing for mother. "

"Allan!" I exclaimed, "you really do not mean to propose that weshould leave Uncle Geoffrey?"

"No, of course not, " with a touch of impatience, for he was always alittle hasty if people did not grasp his meaning at once, "but, you, see, houses in Milnthorpe are scarce, and we are rather too tight afit at present. Besides, it is not quiet enough for Carrie: the noiseof the carts and gigs on Monday morning jars her terribly. What Ipropose is, that you should all settle down here in this prettycountrified little nook, and take Uncle Geoff and Deb with you, andleave Martha and me to represent the Camerons in the old house in theHigh street. "

"But, Allan--" I commenced, dubiously, for I did not like the ideaof leaving him behind; but he interrupted me, and put his views moreforcibly before me. 

Carrie wanted quiet and country air, and so did Dot, and theconservatory and garden would be such a delight to mother. UncleGeoffrey would be dull without us, and there was a nice little roomthat could be fitted up for him and Jumbles; he would drive in to hiswork every morning and he--Allan--could walk out and see us on twoor three evenings in the week. 

"I must be there, of course, to look after the practice. I am afraidI am cut out for an old bachelor, Esther, like Uncle Geoff, for I donot feel at all dismal at the thought of having a house to myself, "finished Allan with his boyish laugh. 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

TOLD IN THE SUNSET. 

What a clever head Allan had! I always said there was more in thatboy than half a dozen Freds! To think of such a scheme coming intohis mind, and driving us all nearly wild with excitement!

Allan's strong will bore down all opposition. Mother's feebleremonstrances, which came from a sheer terror of change; even UncleGeoffrey's sturdy refusal to budge an inch out of the old house wherehe had lived so long, did not weigh a straw against Allan's solidreasoning. 

It took a vast amount of talking, though, before our young autocratachieved his final victory, and went off flushed and eager to settlepreliminaries with Mr. Lucas. It was all sealed, signed, anddelivered before he came back. 

The pretty cottage at Eltham was to be ours, furnished with AuntPodgill's good old-fashioned furniture, and in the early days ofApril we were to accomplish our second flitting. 

The only remaining difficulty was about Jack; but this UncleGeoffrey solved for us. The gig would bring him into Milnthorpe everymorning, and he could easily drive Jack to her school, and the walkback would be good for her. In dark, wintry weather she could returnwith him, or, if occasion required it, she might be a weekly boarder. 

Mr. Lucas came back with Allan, and formally congratulated mother onher good fortune. 

I do not know if it were my fancy, but he seemed a little grave andconstrained in his manners that evening, and scarcely addressed me atall until the close of his visit. 

"Under the circumstances I am afraid Flurry will have to lose hergoverness, " he said, not looking at me, however, but at mother; andthough I opened my lips to reply, my mother answered for me. 

"Well, yes, I am afraid so. Carrie depends so much on her sister. "

"Of course, of course, " he returned, hastily; and actually he neversaid another word, but got up and said good-by to mother. 

But I could not let him go without a word after all his kindness tome; so, as Allan had gone out, I followed him out into the hall, though he tried to wave me back. 

"It is cold; I shall not open the hail door while you stand there, Miss Esther, "

"Oh, I do not mind the cold one bit, " I returned, nervously; "but Iwant to speak to you a moment, Mr. Lucas. Will you give Ruth my love, and tell her I will come and talk to her to-morrow, and--and I am sosorry to part with Flurry. "

"You are not more sorry than she will be, " he returned, but not inhis old natural manner; and then he begged me so decidedly to go backinto the warm room that I dared not venture on another word. 

It was very unsatisfactory; something must have put him out, Ithought, and I went back to mother feeling chilled and uncomfortable. Oh, dear! how dependent we are for comfort on the words and mannersof those around us. 

I went to the Cedars the following afternoon, and had a longcomfortable talk with Ruth. She even laid aside her usual quietundemonstrativeness, and petted and made much of me, though shelaughed a little at what she called my solemn face. 

"Confess now, Esther, you are not a bit pleased about all this money!"

"Oh, indeed I am, " I returned, quite shocked at this. "I am sodelighted for mother and Dot and Carrie. "

"But not for yourself, " she persisted. 

There was no deceiving Ruth, so I made a full confession, andstammered out, in great confusion, that I did not like losing her andFlurry; that it was wrong and selfish, when Carrie wanted me so; butI knew that even at Eltham I should miss the Cedars. 

She seemed touched at that. "You are a faithful soul, Esther; younever forget a kindness, and you cannot bear even a slight separationfrom those you love. We have spoiled you, I am afraid. "

"Yes, indeed, " I returned, rather sadly, "you have been far too goodto me. "

"That is a matter of opinion. Well, what am I to say to comfort you, when you find fault with even your good luck? Will it make you anybetter to know we shall all miss you dreadfully? Even Giles owned asmuch; and as for Flurry, we had quite a piece of work with her. "

"Mr. Lucas never even said he was sorry, " I returned, in a piquedvoice. It was true I was quite spoiled, for I even felt aggrievedthat he did not join us in the drawing-room, and yet I knew he was inthe house. 

"Oh, you do not know Giles, " she answered, brightly; "he is one ofthe unselfish ones, he would not have damped what he thought yourhappiness for the world. You see, Esther, no one in their senseswould ever believe that you were really sorry at your stroke of goodfortune; it is only I who know you, my dear, that can understand howthat is. "

Did she understand? Did I really understand myself? Anyhow, I felthorribly abashed while she was speaking. I felt I had been conductingmyself in an unfledged girlish fashion, and that Ruth, with her staidcommon sense, was reproving me. 

I determined then and there that no more foolish expression ofregret should cross my lips; that I would keep all such nonsense tomyself; so when Flurry ran in very tearful and desponding, I tookRuth's cue, and talked to her as cheerfully as possible, giving hersuch vivid descriptions of the cottage and the garden, and the dearlittle honeysuckle arbor where Dot and she could have tea, that shespeedily forgot all her regrets in delicious anticipations. 

"Yes, indeed, " observed Ruth, as she benevolently contemplated us, "I expect Flurry and I will be such constant visitors that yourmother will complain that there is no end of those tiresome Lucases. Run along, Flurry, and see if your father means to come in and havesome tea. Tell him Esther is here. "

Flurry was a long time gone, and then she brought back a messagethat her father was too busy, and she might bring him a cup there, and that she was to give his kind regards to Miss Cameron, and thatwas all. 

I went home shortly after that, and found mother and Carrie deep indiscussion about carpets and curtains. They both said I looked tiredand cold, and that Ruth had kept me too long. 

"I think I am getting jealous of Ruth, " Carrie said, with a gentlesmile. 

And somehow the remark did not please me; not that Carrie reallymeant it, though; but it did strike me sometimes that both mother andshe thought that Ruth rather monopolized me. 

My visits to the Cedars became very rare after this, for we weresoon engrossed with the bustle of moving. For more than six weeks Itrudged about daily between our house and Eltham Cottage. There werecarpets to be fitted, and the furniture to be adapted to each room, and when that was done, Allan and I worked hard in the conservatory;and here Ruth often joined us, bringing with her a rare fern or plantfrom the well-stocked greenhouses at the Cedars. She used to sit andwatch us at our labors, and say sometimes how much she wished shecould help us, and sometimes she spent an hour or two with Carrie tomake up for my absence. 

I rather reveled in my hard work, and grew happier every day, andthe cottage did look so pretty when we had finished. 

Ruth was with me all the last afternoon. We lighted fires in all therooms, and they looked so cozy. The table in the dining-room wasspread with Aunt Podgill's best damask linen and her massiveold-fashioned silver; and Deborah was actually baking her famousgriddle cakes, to the admiration of our new help, Dorcas, beforethe first fly, with mother and Carrie and Dot, drove up to thedoor. I shall never forget mother's pleased look as she stood inthe little hall, and Carrie's warm kiss as I welcomed them. 

"How beautiful it all looks!" she exclaimed; "how home-like andbright and cozy; you have managed so well, Esther!"

"Esther always manages well, " observed dear mother, proudly. Theextent to which she believed in me and my resources was astonishing. She followed me all over the house, praising everything. I was gladRuth heard her, and knew that I had done my best for them all. Allanaccompanied the others, and we had quite a merry evening. 

Ruth stayed to tea. "She was really becoming one of us!" as motherobserved; and Allan took her home. We all crowded into the porch tosee them off; even Carrie, who was getting quite nimble on hercrutches. It was a warm April night; the little common was floodedwith moonlight; the spring flowers were sleeping in the white rays, and the limes glistened like silver. Uncle Geoffrey and I walked withthem to the gate, while Ruth got into her pony carriage. 

I did not like saying good-night to Allan; it seemed so strange forhim to be going back to the old house alone; but he burst into one ofhis ringing laughs when I told him so. 

"Why, I like it, " he said, cheerily; "it is good fun being monarchof all I survey. Didn't I tell you I was cut out for an old bachelor?You must come and make tea for me sometimes, when I can't get outhere. " And then, in a more serious voice, he added, "It does put oneinto such good spirits to see mother and you girls safe in thispretty nest. "

I had never been idle; but now the day never seemed long enough formy numerous occupations, and yet they were summer days, too. 

The early rising was now an enjoyment to me. I used to work in thegarden or conservatory before breakfast, and how delicious thosehours were when the birds and I had it all to ourselves; and I hardlyknow which sang the loudest, for I was very happy, very happy indeed, without knowing why. I think this unreasoning and unreasonablehappiness is an attribute of youth. 

I had got over my foolish disappointment about the Cedars. Ruth kepther word nobly, and she and Flurry came perpetually to the cottage. Sometimes I spent an afternoon or evening at the Cedars, and then Ialways saw Mr. Lucas, and he was most friendly and pleasant. He usedto talk of coming down one afternoon to see how I was getting on withmy fernery, but it was a long time before he kept his promise. 

The brief cloud, or whatever it was, had vanished and he was his owngenial self. Flurry had not another governess, but Ruth gave herlessons sometimes, and on her bad days her father heard them. It wasrather desultory teaching, and I used to shake my head rathersolemnly when I heard of it; but Ruth always said that Giles wishedit to be so for the present. The child was not strong, and wasgrowing fast, and it would not hurt her to run wild a little. 

When breakfast was over, Dot and I worked hard; and in the afternoonI generally read to Carrie; she was far less of an invalid now, andused to busy herself with work for the poor while she lay on hercouch and listened. She used to get mother to help her sometimes, andthen Carrie would look so happy as she planned how this garment wasto be for old Nanny Stables, and the next for her little grandsonJemmy. With returning strength came the old, unselfish desire tobenefit others. It put her quite into spirits one day when Mrs. Smedley asked her to cover some books for the Sunday school. 

"How good of her to think of it; it is just work that I can do!" shesaid, gratefully; and for the rest of the day she looked like the oldCarrie again. 

Allan came to see us nearly every evening. Oh, those delicioussummer evenings! how vividly even now they seem to rise before me, though many, many happy years lie between me and them. 

Somehow it had grown a sort of habit with us to spend them on thecommon. Mother loved the sweet fresh air, and would sit for hoursamong the furze bushes and gorse, knitting placidly, and watching thechildren at their play, or the cottagers at work in their gardens;and Uncle Geoffrey, in his old felt hat, would sit beside her, reading the papers. 

Allan used to tempt Carrie for a stroll over the common; and whenshe was tired he and Jack and I would saunter down some of the longcountry lanes, sometimes hunting for glow-worms in the hedges, sometimes extending our walk until the moon shone over the silentfields, and the night became sweet and dewy, and the hedgerowsglimmered strangely in the uncertain light. 

How cozy our little drawing-room always looked on our return! Thelamp would be lighted on the round table, and the warm perfume offlowers seemed to steep the air with fragrance; sometimes the glassdoor would lie open, and gray moths come circling round the light, and outside lay the lawn, silvered with moonlight. Allan used toleave us regretfully to go back to the old house at Milnthorpe; hesaid we were such a snug party. 

When Carrie began to visit the cottages and to gather the childrenround her couch on Sunday afternoons, I knew she was her old selfagain. Day by day her sweet face grew calmer and happier; her eyeslost their sad wistful expression, and a little color touched her wancheeks. 

Truly she often suffered much, and her lameness was a sad hindrancein the way of her usefulness; but her hands were always busy, and onher well days she spent hours in the cottages reading to two or threeold people, or instructing the younger ones. 

It was touching to see her so thankful for the fragments of workthat still fell to her share, content to take the humblest task, ifshe only might give but "a cup of cold water to one of these littleones;" and sometimes I thought how dearly the Good Shepherd must lovethe gentle creature who was treading her painful life-path solovingly and patiently. 

I often wondered why Mr. Lucas never kept his promise of coming tosee us; but one evening when Jack and Allan and I returned from ourstroll we found him sitting talking to mother and Uncle Geoffrey. 

I was so surprised at his sudden appearance that I dropped some ofthe flowers I held in my hand, and he laughed as he helped me to pickthem up. 

"I hope I haven't startled you, " he said, as we shook hands. 

"No--that is--I never expected to see you here this evening, " Ireturned, rather awkwardly. 

"Take off your hat, Esther, " said mother, in an odd tone; and Ithought she looked flushed and nervous, just as she does when shewants to cry. "Mr. Lucas has promised to have supper with us, and, mydear, he wants you to show him the conservatory and the fernery. "

It was still daylight, though the sun was setting fast; we hadreturned earlier than usual, for Allan had to go back to Milnthorpe, and he bade us goodnight hastily as I prepared to obey mother. 

Jack followed us, but mother called her back, and asked her to go toone of the cottages and fetch Carrie home. Such a glorious sunset metour eyes as we stepped out on the lawn; the clouds were a marvel ofrose and violet and golden splendor; the windows of the cottage wereglittering with the reflected beams, and a delicious scent of lilieswas in the air. 

Mr. Lucas seemed in one of his grave moods, for he said very littleuntil we reached the winding walk where the ferns were, and then----

I am not going to repeat what he said; such words are too sacred;but it came upon me with the shock of a thunderbolt what he had beentelling mother, and what he was trying to make me understood, for Iwas so stupid that I could not think what he meant by asking me tothe Cedars, and when he saw that, he spoke more plainly. 

"You must come back, Esther; we cannot do without you any longer, "he continued very gently, "not as Flurry's governess, but as hermother, and as my wife. "

He was very patient with me, when he saw how the suddenness and thewonder of it all upset me, that a man like Mr. Lucas could love me, and be so clever and superior and good. How could such a marvelousthing have happened?

And mother knew it, and Uncle Geoffrey, for Mr. Lucas had takenadvantage of my absence to speak to them both, and they had given himleave to say this to me. Well, there could be no uncertainty in myanswer. I already reverenced and venerated him above other men, andthe rest came easy, and before we returned to the house the firststrangeness and timidity had passed; I actually asked him--summoningup all my courage, however--how it was he could think of me, a meregirl without beauty, or cleverness, or any of the ordinaryattractions of girlhood. 

"I don't know, " he answered, and I knew by his voice he was smiling;"it has been coming on a long time; when people know you they don'tthink you plain, Esther, and to me you can never be so. I first knewwhat I really felt when I came out of the room that dreadful night, and saw you standing with drenched hair and white face, with Dot inyour arms and my precious Flurry clinging to your dress; when I sawyou tottering and caught you. I vowed then that you, and none other, should replace Flurry's dead mother;" and when he had said this Iasked no more. 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

RINGING THE CHANGES. 

When Mr. Lucas took me to mother, she kissed me and shed abundanceof tears. 

"Oh, my darling, if only your poor father could know of this, " shewhispered; and when Uncle Geoffrey's turn came he seemed almost astouched. 

"What on earth are we to do without you, child?" he grumbled, wipinghis eye-glasses. "There, go along with you. If ever a girl deserved agood husband and got it, you are the one. "

"Yes, indeed, " sighed mother; "Esther is every one's right hand. "

But Mr. Lucas sat down by her side and said something so kind andcomforting that she soon grew more cheerful, and I went up to Carrie. 

She was resting a little in the twilight, and I knelt down besideher and hid my face on her shoulder, and now the happy tears wouldfind a vent. 

"Why, Esther--why, my dear, what does this mean?" she asked, anxiously; and then, with a sudden conviction dawning on her, shecontinued in an excited voice--"Mr. Lucas is here; he has been sayingsomething, he--he----" And then I managed somehow to stammer out thetruth. 

"I am so happy; but you will miss me so dreadfully, darling, and sowill Dot and mother. "

But Carrie took me in her arms and silenced me at once. 

"We are all happy in your happiness; you shall not shed a tear forus--not one. Do you know how glad I am, how proud I feel that heshould think so highly of my precious sister! Where is he? Let me getup, that I may welcome my new brother. So you and your dear Ruth willbe sisters, " she said, rallying me in her gentle way, and that mademe smile and blush. 

How good Carrie was that evening! Mr. Lucas was quite touched by herfew sweet words of welcome, and mother looked quite relieved at thesight of her bright face. 

"What message am I to take to Ruth?" he said to me, as we stoodtogether in the porch later on that evening. 

"Give her my dear love, and ask her to come to me, " was myhalf-whispered answer; and as I went to bed that night Carrie'swords rang in my ears like sweetest music--"You and Ruth will besisters. "

But it was Allan who was my first visitor. Directly Uncle Geoffreytold him what had happened, he put on his broad-brimmed straw hat, and leaving Uncle Geoffrey to attend to the patients, came stridingdown to the cottage. 

He had burst open the door and caught hold of me before I could putdown Dot's lesson book. The little fellow looked up amazed at hisradiant face. 

"What a brick you are, Esther, and what a brick he is!" fairlyhugging me. "I never was so pleased at anything in my life. Hurrahfor Mr. Lucas at the Cedars!" and Allan threw up his hat and caughtit. No wonder Dot looked mystified. 

"What does he mean?" asked the poor child; "and how hot you look, Essie. "

"Listen to me, Frankie, " returned Allan, sitting down by Dot. "Thejolliest thing in the world has happened. Esther has made herfortune; she is going to have a good husband and a rich husband, andone we shall all like, Dot; and not only that, but she will have adear little daughter as well. "

Dot fairly gasped as he looked at us both, and then he asked merather piteously if Allan was telling him a funny story to make himlaugh. 

"Oh, no, dear Dot, " I whispered, bringing my face on a level withhis, and bravely disregarding Allan's quizzical looks. "It is quitetrue, darling, although it is so strange I hardly know how to believeit myself. But one day I am going to the Cedars. "

"To live there? to leave us? Oh, Essie!" And Dot's eyes grew largeand mournful. 

"Mr. Lucas wants me, and Flurry. Oh, my darling, forgive me!" as abig tear rolled down his cheek. "I shall always love you, Dot; youwill not lose me. Oh, dear! oh dear! what am I to say to him, Allan?"

"You will not love me the most any longer, Essie. "

And as I took him in my arms and kissed him passionately his cheekfelt wet against mine. 

"Oh, Frankie, fie for shame!" interrupted Allan. "You have madeEsther cry, and just now, when she was so happy. I did not think youwere so selfish. "

But I would not let him go on. I knew where the pain lay. Dot wasjealous for the first time in his life, and for a long time herefused to be comforted. 

Allan left us together by-and-by, and I took my darling on my lapand listened to his childish exposition of grief and the recital ofgrievances that were very real to him. How Flurry would always haveme, and he (Dot) would be dull and left out in the cold. How Mr. Lucas was a very nice man; but he was so old, and he did not want himfor a brother--indeed, he did not want a brother at all. 

He had Allan and that big, stupid Fred--for Dot, for once in hissweet life, was decidedly cross. And then he confided to me that heloved Carrie very much, but not half so well as he loved me. Hewished Mr. Lucas had taken her instead. She was very nice and verypretty, and all that, and why hadn't he?

But here I thought it high time to interpose. 

"But, Dot, I should not have liked that at all. And I am so happy, "I whispered. 

"You love him--that old, old man, Essie!" in unmitigated astonishment. 

"He is not old at all, " I returned, indignantly; for, in spite ofhis iron-gray hair, Mr. Lucas could hardly be forty, and was still ayoung-looking man. 

Dot gave a wicked little smile at that. In his present mood herather enjoyed vexing me. 

I got him in a better frame of mind by-and-by. I hardly knew what Isaid, but I kissed him, and cried and told him how unhappy he mademe, and how pleased mother and Carrie and Jack were; and after thathe left off saying sharp things, and treated me to a series ofpenitent hugs, and promised that he would not be cross with "mylittle girl" Flurry; for after that day he always persisted incalling her "my little girl. "

Dot had been a little exhausting, so I went down to the bench nearthe fernery to cool myself and secure a little quiet, and there Ruthfound me. I saw her coming over the grass with outstretched hands, and such a smile on her dear face; and though I was so shy that Icould scarcely greet her, I could feel by the way she kissed me howglad--how very glad--she was. 

"Dear Esther! My dear new sister!" she whispered. 

"Oh, Ruth, is it true?" I returned, blushing. "Last night it seemedreal, but this morning I feel half in a dream. It will do me good toknow that you are really pleased about this. "

"Can you doubt it, dearest?" she returned, reproachfully. "Have younot grown so deep into our hearts that we cannot tear you out if youwould? You are necessary to all of us, Esther--to Flurry and me as toGiles----"

But I put my hand on her lips to stop her. It was sweet, and yet ittroubled me to know what he thought of me; but Ruth would not bestopped. 

"He came home so proud and happy last night. 'She has accepted me, Ruth, ' he said, in such a pleased voice, and then he told me what youhad said about being so young and inexperienced. "

"That was my great fear, " I replied, in a low voice. 

"Your youth is a fault that will mend, " she answered, quaintly. "Iwish I could remember Giles' rhapsody--'So true, so unselfish, sowomanly and devoted. ' By-the-by, I have forgotten to give you hismessage; he will be here this afternoon with Flurry. "

We talked more soberly after a time, and the sweet golden forenoonwore away as we sat there looking at the cool green fronds of theferns before us, with mother's bees humming about the roses. Therewas summer over the land and summer in my heart, and above us theblue open sky of God's Providence enfolding us. 

I was tying up the rose in the porch, when I saw Mr. Lucas andFlurry crossing the common. Dot, who was helping me, grew a littlesolemn all at once. 

"Here is your little girl, Essie, " he said very gravely. My dearboy, how could he?

"Oh, Esther, " she panted, for she had broken away from her father atthe sight of us, "auntie has told me you are going to be my ownmamma, in place of poor mamma who died. I shall call you mammy. I waslying awake ever so long last night, thinking which name it shouldbe, and I like that best. "

"You shall call me what you like, dear Flurry; but I am only Esthernow. "

"Yes, but you will be mammy soon, " she returned, nodding her littlehead sagely. "Mamma was such a grand lady; so big and handsome, shewas older, too--" But here Mr. Lucas interrupted us. 

Dot received him in a very dignified manner. 

"How do you do?" he said, putting out his mite of a hand, in such anold-fashioned way. I could see Mr. Lucas' lip curl with secretamusement, and then he took the little fellow in his arms. 

"What is the matter, Dot? You do not seem half pleased to see methis afternoon. I suppose you are very angry with me for proposing totake Esther away. Don't you want an old fellow like me to be yourbrother?"

Dot's face grew scarlet. Truth and politeness were sadly atvariance, but at last he effected a compromise. 

"Esther says you are not so very old, after all, " he stammered. 

"Oh, Esther says that, does she?" in an amused voice. 

"Father is not old at all, " interrupted Flurry, in a cross voice. 

"Never mind, so that Esther is satisfied, " returned Mr. Lucas, soothingly; "but as Flurry is going to be her little girl, you mustbe my little boy, eh, Dot?"

"I am Esther's and Allan's little boy, " replied Dot, ratherungraciously. We had spoiled our crippled darling among us, and hadonly ourselves to blame for his little tempers. 

"Yes, but you must be mine too, " he replied, still more gently; andthen he whispered something into his ear. I saw Dot's sulkycountenance relax, and a little smile chase away his frown, and inanother moment his arms closed round Mr. Lucas' neck; thereconciliation was complete. 

What a happy autumn that was! But November found us strangely busy, for we were preparing for my wedding. We were married on New Year'sDay, when the snow lay on the ground. A quiet, a very quiet wedding, it was. I was married in my traveling dress, at Giles' expressedwish, and we drove straight from the church door to the station, forwe were to spend the first few weeks in Devonshire. 

Dear Jessie, my old schoolmate, was my only bridesmaid; for Carriewould not hear of fulfilling that office on her crutches. 

I have a vague idea that the church was very full and I have a mistyrecollection of Dot, with very round eyes, standing near Allan; but Ican recall no more, for my thoughts were engaged by the solemn vowswe were exchanging. 

Three weeks afterward, and we were settled in the house that was tobe mine for so many happy years; but never shall I forget thesweetness of that home-coming. 

Dear Ruth welcomed us on the threshold, and then took my hand andGiles' and led us into the bright firelit room. Two little facespeeped at us from the curtained recess, and these were Dot andFlurry. I had them both in my arms at once. I would not let Gileshave Flurry at first till he threatened to take Dot. 

Oh, how happy we were. Ruth made tea for us, and I sat in myfavorite low chair. The children scrambled up on Giles' knee, and hepeeped at me between their eager faces; but I was quite content tolet them engross him; it was pleasure enough for me to watch them. 

"Why, how grand you look, Essie!" Dot said at last. "Your fingersare twinkling with green and white stones, and your dress rustleslike old Mrs. Jameson's. "

 "'And she shall walk in silk attire, And silver have to spare, '"

sang Giles. "Never mind Dot, Esther. Your brave attire suits you well. "

"She looks very nice, " put in Ruth, softly; "but she is our dear oldEsther all the same. "

"Nonsense, auntie, " exclaimed Flurry, in her sharp little voice. "She isnot Esther any longer; she is my dear new mammy. " At which we all laughed. 

I was always mammy to Flurry, though my other darlings called me mother;for before many years were over I had Dots of my own--dear little fatWinnie, her brother Harold, and baby Geoffrey--to whom Ruth was always"auntie, " or "little auntie, " as my mischievous Harold called her. 

As the years passed on there were changes at Eltham Cottage--some of themsad and some of them pleasant, after the bitter-sweet fashions of life. 

The first great sorrow of my married life was dear mother's death. Shefailed a little after Harold's birth, and, to my great grief, she neversaw my baby boy, Geoffrey. A few months before he came into the world shesank peacefully and painlessly to rest. 

Fred came up to the funeral, and stayed with Allan; he had grown a longbeard, and looked very manly and handsome. His pictures were neveraccepted by the hanging committee; and after a few years he grew tired ofhis desultory work, and thankfully accepted a post Giles had procured forhim in the Colonies. After this he found his place in life, and settleddown, and when we last heard from him he was on the eve of marriage with aCanadian girl. He sent us her photograph, and both Giles and I approved ofthe open, candid face and smiling brown eyes, and thought Fred had donewell for himself. 

Allan was a long time making his choice; but at last it fell on our newvicar's daughter, Emily Sherbourne; for, three years after our marriage, Mr. Smedley had been attacked by sudden illness, which carried him off. 

How pleased I was when Allan told me that he and Emmie had settled itbetween them. She was such a sweet girl; not pretty, but with a lovable, gentle face, and she had such simple kindly manners, so different from thegirls of the present day, who hide their good womanly hearts under suchabrupt loud ways. Emily, or, as we always called her, Emmie, was notclever, but she suited Allan to a nicety. She was wonderfully amiable, andbore his little irritabilities with the most placid good humor; nothingput her out, and she believed in him with a credulity that amused Allanlargely; but he was very proud of her, and they made the happiest couplein the world, with the exception of Giles and me. 

Carrie lost her lameness, after all; but not until she had been up toLondon and had undergone skillful treatment under the care of a veryskillful physician. I shall always remember Dot's joy when she took herfirst walk without her crutches. She came down to the Cedars with Jack, now a fine well-grown girl, and I shall never forget her sweet April faceof smiles and tears. 

"How good God has been to me, Essie, " she whispered, as we sat togetherunder the cedar tree, while Jack ran off for her usual romp with Winnieand Harold. "I have just had to lie quiet until I learned the lesson Hewanted me to learn years ago, and now He is making me so happy, and givingme back my work. "

It was just so; Carrie had come out of her painful ordeal strengthenedand disciplined, and fit to teach others. No longer the weak, dreamy girlwho stretched out over-eager hands for the work God in His wise providencewithheld from her, she had emerged from her enforced retirement a brighthelpful woman, who carried about her a secret fund of joy, of which noearthly circumstances could deprive her. 

"My sweet sister Charity, " Allan called her, and the poor of Milnthorpehad reason to bless her; for early and late she labored among them, tending the sick and dying, working often at Allan's side among his poorerpatients. 

At home she was Uncle Geoffrey's comfort, and a most sweet companion forhim and Jack. As for Dot, he lived almost entirely at the Cedars. Gileshad grown very fond of him, and we neither of us could spare him. They sayhe will always be a cripple; but what does that matter, when he spends dayafter day so happily in the little room Giles has fitted up for him?

We believe, after all, Dot will be an artist. He has taken a lifelikeportrait of my Harold that has delighted Giles, and he vows that he shallhave all the advantages he can give him; for Giles is very rich--so richthat I almost tremble at the thought of our responsibilities; only I knowmy husband is a faithful steward, and makes a good use of his talents. Carrie is his almoner, and sometimes I work with her. There are somealmshouses which Giles is building in which I take great interest, andwhere I mean to visit the old people, with Winnie trotting by my side. 

Just now Giles came in heated and tired. "What, little wife, stillscribbling?"

"Wait a moment, dear Giles, " I replied. "I have just finished. "

And so I have--the few scanty recollections of Esther Cameron's life. 

THE END.